Spanglish

Oh, the white liberal guilt, as Kurt never sang. James L. Brook’s rather limp comedy fancies itself as an intercultural celebration in much the same way as Daniel Bedingfield fancies himself as a musician. It doesn’t make it so, but in Mr. Bedingfield’s defence at least he warbles in three minute bursts. I think I was watching Spanglish for most of last month.
This winsome Cinderella tale of assimilation by a bourgeois Bel Air version of the Borg sees the heartstoppingly beautiful Paz Vega take up residence as a maid for Adam Sandler’s Clasky family with her equally gorgeous daughter in tow. Sandler’s patriarch is a celebrated chef given to bouts of soulful melancholia - a disposition that’s entirely understandable in the circumstances. Between his dissatisfied daughter, the help’s dissatisfied daughter, the live-in alcoholic mother-in-law and his adulterous, screamingly neurotic harpy of a wife (Leoni), one can only wonder why he hasn’t reached for the noose.
Naturally this cuckoo-clock of a household is soon on the mend. Ms. Vega starts speaking English, her daughter becomes a proper LA princess and everyone learns fluffy liberal life lessons, while wondering Will The Boss Fuck The Maid? Thankfully, these weedy sitcom-friendly proceedings are bulked up by Sandler’s magnificent performance as a pudgy beta husband in dire need of comfort.
That said if Spanglish were any more pedestrian, it would be paved with cobblestones.

Running Time 130mins. Cert 12a. Opens February 25th.