It surely cannot be long before an international law is decreed that everyone must love Jennifer Aniston, given her position as the world’s favourite wronged woman. And in truth, she’s not difficult to adore, but the asinine mush surrounding her in this movie most certainly is.
The plot of this sort-of-but-actually-not sequel to The Graduate has a kernel of cleverness beneath its colourful but tasteless flesh, yet it’s chewed up and spat out far too soon. The question of whether the proto-Benjamin Braddock (Costner) is Sarah’s (Aniston) long-lost pop is answered before the halfway mark — and if you want to visit the movie clean, skip to the verdict, as here be (sadly necessary) spoilers...
Once it’s discovered that testicular dysfunction rules him out of fatherhood, a distinctly icky romance is entered into and the Graduate references hurled out the window. With the mystery solved, there’s no plot left and confusion reigns — quite possibly as a result of Rob Reiner being brought in mid-shoot to replace writer Ted Griffin as director. Sarah’s affair with this slimy playboy keeps revisiting the possibility of incest, instantly flattening the movie’s froth, and as the film dredges sub-plots in search of an ending to a story that barely exists, the only thing that becomes clear is that rumour was far more entertaining than fact.
