Notting Hill takes a stab at exploring the issue of superstar Anna Scott's (Roberts) popularity, particularly as it applies to her relationship with an ordinary bloke like William Thacker (Grant). While that leads to some of the movie's best dialogue -- including a priceless centerpiece where William must pretend to interview Anna at a press junket -- it also occasions some clunkers, particularly when Roberts must make a forlorn appeal to Grant to ignore her celebrity status ("I'm just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her," eww!).

For the most part, though, the movie doesn't have to try that hard. Both of the leads are delightful (with Julia Roberts having lost, for the most part, all those steely affectations that once had me cringing at the mere sight of her face). Their performances are defined in large part by the witticisms scribbled by Robert Curtis, the writer whose Four Weddings and a Funeral was an international hit for Grant. As good as some of his new one-liners are, however, Curtis never strays far enough from formula to make this picture anything special -- just familiar.

Once again, the central romance is propped up by a small army of quirky supporting players, who comment chattily on the action, or lack thereof, and conveniently fill in William's backstory. There's his googly-eyed sister (Emma Chambers), a sad stockbroker (Hugh Bonneville), and best pal Max (Tim McInnerny) and his wheelchair-bound wife (Gina McKee). There's also his distressingly unclean housemate, Spike (Rhys Ifans), who begs the question of how on earth an obviously together guy like William would wind up rooming with such a basket case, but makes for reliable comic relief.

The best bits, I think, are the ones that seem to cut closest to the bone. More than once, Roberts is called on to muse fairly solemnly on the nature of fame and the fate that befalls aging starlets. Since she may as well be playing "Julia Roberts" here, rather than Anna Scott, it's tempting to read those scenes as documentary, particularly considering how well Roberts brings them off. Of course, it's foolish to confuse fact and fiction, but the movie couldn't work half as well as it does with a less famous actress in the role.

I was saving this last paragraph to complain about the remarkably phony final reel, and maybe to take some potshots at the filmmakers' unfortunately literal-minded decision to set several scenes to schmaltzy pop soundtracks (an unfortunate trait of too many British comedies). But I've lost interest in lodging any substantial misgivings. Yes, the movie has a happy ending, against all odds, and what else could we expect? And how much sense does it make to praise this cheery romantic comedy and then complain that, in the end, it's, well, too cheery?

U.K., 1999