Kathy Bates is wallowing in a stale marriage, fantasising of a romance with British crooner Jonathan Pryce. Then her object of dreamy affection is offed by a crossbow-wielding serial killer (yes, that was a crossbow-wielding serial killer). Naturally distraught, Bates journeys to green, quaint England to pay her respects, getting into all sorts of scrapes before teaming up with Pryce's gay lover (Rupert "Chameleon" Everett) to track down the arch(ery) fiend...
Sounds bloody awful, eh? But if any man can carry off this kind of camp, knockabout farce - this is a movie where plane passengers burst into riotous song and spying grannies pop up from behind hedges á la Benny Hill - it should be PJ Hogan (Muriel's Wedding, My Best Friend's Wedding). The fact that he falls smack on his face proves just how misjudged, AKA utterly crap, the material is.
Few movies contain so many awkward lurches in tone, produce so many deafening silences where audience laughter should be. Cringeworthy doesn't even come close. If you're going to miss one movie this year, make sure it's this.
