Genre: comedy, romance

The Prince & Me

Directed by Martha Coolidge

Written by Jack Amiel,

Michael Begler, Katherine Fugate

Starring Julia Stiles and Luke Mably

Classification: PG

Rating: *½

The last time I saw a Prince of Denmark, the tragic guy was right where he should be -- on the stony ground with the other bodies amid the fifth-act carnage. Who knew that, all these centuries later, some modern-day descendant would get resurrected in a Hollywood romantic comedy. Happily, for those who care about tradition, the news isn't all bad: In its nearly two-hour running time, in its always lugubrious pace, in its almost complete absence of laughs, The Prince & Me is a comedy that plays like a tragedy. No stricken bodies, though, unless you count the ones in the audience slumped back in their seats -- perchance they slept.

And surely they dreamed of a better flick than this. Our sweet Prince is known as Eddie (Luke Mably) on this go-round, but he's still a melancholy Dane -- what with nothing to do but race cars, gamble euros, and chase women all day long, it can get a blue-blood down. So he decides to go back to university, not to Wittenberg but to a lesser W -- Wisconsin. Seems those Midwest farmer's daughters really turn him on.

Enter Paige (Julia Stiles), an earnest med student with no time for the boys. Eddie, shrewdly disguised as a regular fellow (just your usual commoner with a plummy accent and a valet), spots her across a crowded bar. Naturally, they meet. Naturally, they banter and bicker and then make up. Unnaturally, they take a whole damn hour before angling toward their first kiss. C'mon -- even life works faster than that.

Yes, a lively rhythm is the oxygen of any romantic comedy, but this one stands at grave risk of suffocation. I blame it on the bard -- a.k.a. director Martha Coolidge -- who wields the camera like a lead weight. Scenes that are supposed to be lyrical lie limp; chemistry that is designed to be sparked remains dormant; jokes that are meant to be bright stay dim. The script doesn't help, insistent on padding an already predictable yarn with bloated tangents and meretricious side-trips. Like the Thanksgiving trek home to Paige's farm, where Eddie milks a cow and steps in poo and suits up for a time-honoured rural tradition -- the annual lawn-mower race. Now that's some fun.

Anyway, later rather than sooner, the veil of hidden identity gets lifted, whereupon Paige decides to follow her Prince back to the royal court. There, some Danish folks speak English with a Scandinavian accent; other Danish folks speak English with a British accent; apparently, no Danish folks speak Danish. It must be said there's something rotten in the state of . . . well, you get the idea. Meanwhile, with his daddy awfully sick, Eddie is poised to ascend the throne, leaving our innocent Yank abroad to grapple with a tough career choice: Gosh, should I be a doctor, or should I be a queen? MD or HRH? Hey, why not . . . oops, I couldn't possibly give away the thank-God-it's-finally-over ending.

There is, however, one line to savour here, not perhaps of iambic elegance but resonant nonetheless. Says Paige wearily: "I wish I could fast-forward through these next five years." Well, just wait for the video, kid, and watch The Prince & Me as it's meant to be seen -- with a finger pressed hard on the FF button, gunning for the finish line.