Anne (Diane Lane) is at a crossroads in her life. She then decides to take a car trip from the south of France to Paris with one of her husband's associates, charming Gallic rogue who is happy to squire her on a tour of some of the finest meals in Provence.
Anne doesn't drive her own journey. She spends scene after scene passively letting Jacques tell her what to do, eat and think. And there's no detouring around that.
The scenery is very pretty, but the constant reminders from the French guy about how Americans are always in a hurry and should enjoy life more the way the French do make you want to reach into the screen and hit him over the head with a cheese platter.
Perhaps worst of all are the limited expectations Coppola has for her own heroine. It's hard to love a movie where a woman finds herself from the passenger seat.
. . .Paris Can Wait still leaves me hungry for more -- more substantive conversation about something besides self-indulgence. . .and more than a frivolous consideration of this middle-aged woman reevaluating her choices.
