This review was written for the Toronto International Film Festival screening of "A Good Year." 

TORONTO -- "A Good Year" marks an experimental venture by director Ridley Scott and star Russell Crowe into romantic comedy with slapstick touches. It's always commendable for talented artists to flex different muscles and try new things. But from the looks of this movie, comedy is the forte of neither man. You sense in every frame the strain to be lighthearted. Consequently, "A Good Year" is at times downright clumsy. You know what the filmmakers are trying to achieve and see the labor going into the attempt, but for them to fall so short is unsettling.

The duo's enviable track record and the pleasant thought of spending two hours in the south of France with a movie derived from a novel by popular travel memoirist Peter Mayle will entice many to "A Good Year." But like a sip of the vinegary wine made on the Provencal estate around which the movie revolves, the bitter aftertaste will lead to poor word of mouth.

The movie, written by Marc Klein ("Serendipity"), telegraphs every punch. A prologue catches the movie's British hero, Max Skinner, as a young boy (Freddie Highmore), learning about life and wine on the French estate of his Uncle Henry (Albert Finney). Despite the idyllic and harmonious surroundings though, young Max is not above cheating his uncle at chess.

Flash forward many years to catch Mad Max - this is Crowe now -the ruthless London stock market trader in action. He pushes every legal envelop to make millions, sees beautiful women as trophies, takes pride in his callousness and refuses to go on holiday for fear an even more ruthless trader will steal his job.

When news arrives that his uncle has died and the chateau and its vineyards are now his, you just know a few days in the French sun will reacquaint him with his childhood values and cure him of his insensitivity. You expect a French girl to win his heart. Oh, there she is, cafe owner Fanny Chenal (Marion Cotillared)! A rustic couple - the chateau's longtime vigneron Francis Duflot (Didier Bourdon) and his vivacious wife Ludivine (Isabelle Candelier) -- will certainly help him rediscover his soul. And no one hires Finney to play one scene so you anticipate that Uncle Henry will appear in flashbacks to remind Max of what he has lost.

London sequences are shot and edited in a jumpy, frantic manner to mirror Max's go-go-go lifestyle. Yet when Max returns to France, Scott doesn't let the movie relax and absorb the scenery. Instead Max's rental car spins in circles looking for directions, a dog nips at his heels, cell phones ring constantly, a tennis match turns into war and Max renovates the chateau in one frenzied weekend. Even the picturesque hill village of Menerbes, which in reality is tranquil even at the height of the tourist season, is jammed with noisy extras by Scott to make it look like a circus.

The romance between Max and Fanny feels forced. Nothing about these two makes them compatible. The real problem though is characters throughout the movie lack dimension. If Max has loved only one person his whole life, why has he not spoken to his uncle in years? And why did he lose his values? If heartbreak has caused Fanny to never trust a man again, then why does she fall in love with Max after one dinner?

Speaking of "why," why does Francis deliberately make bad chateau wine while using grapes from a secret plot to make a super-expensive cult wine? Doesn't that mean he was cheating Uncle Henry? Why is his wife always being seductive around Max?

When Christie (Australian Abbie Cornish), a girl from California's Napa Valley, turns up days after Henry's death and claims to be his illegitimate daughter, are you really supposed to believe she has no interest in any inheritance? And how can Max on a Sunday night in Provence telephone his office in London, where it is daytime and the stock market is open?

Then there's the film's sense of humor or lack thereof. Gags about a dog peeing on legs and American tourists complaining menus are written in French are too tired for words. An endless slapstick sequence of Crowe struggling to extricate himself from a deep though empty swimming pool is embarrassingly bad.

Crowe never looks comfortable. Just as his facial stubble changes from scene to scene, his approach to Max changes from moment to moment. The character isn't so much contradictory or complex; he's simply confusing. Crowe never gets a handle on him.

For that matter, little subtlety creeps into the acting, which is understandable given that these roles are more caricature than character. One exception is Archie Panjabi, who as Max's assistant lets slight reproaches seep into exchanges with her boss without him seeming to notice.