Shall We Dance

I like to think I give Japanese cinema a fair shake, but I never quite caught the bug for Masayuki Suo’s internationally successful McRom-com, Shall We Dance. As dinky male menopause yarns go, it wasn’t bad, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that had it won you over completely, it was surely the first rung of some twelve step programme to bourgeois rehabilitation and a subscription to an interior decorating magazine.

The English language remake, a shamelessly repackaged Miramax commodity (so soon after they flogged the original to death), is equally crowd-pleasing in a so-so, reasonably amusing way, despite potentially box-office poisoning casting. Richard Gere takes centre stage as a successful lawyer bored with life, the missus (Sarandon), the obligatory two kids and everything. After catching sight of La Lopez’s ice-maiden dance instructor, he impulsively attends a ballroom dancing class unbeknownst to the wife. Then he catches sight of J-Lo’s rear and decides to stick at it. Tango montages rapidly follow.

Oddly, Gere’s mannequin rivalling acting range suits the role almost as well as Jen’s arse does and there’s a couple of nice supporting turns, especially from Richard Jenkins as the Private Investigator hired by Sarandon to track her hubby’s nocturnal activities and Stanley Tucci as a camp closet hoofer. But as we plod toward the Big Ballroom Competition Final, such bright spots are ultimately eclipsed by generic inevitability and comfy resolutions.

No matter. Shall We Dance is sure to be a hit as a lovely, cosy haven for whatever godforsaken types watch Strictly Come Dancing. All the better to round them up and Patti Hearst the fuckers.

106mins. Cert 12a. Opens February 18th