There's very little magic for most of the 95 minutes of this film—just a succession of stock situations and characters leading to a plot resolution which was obvious almost from the start.

If you're a Nia Vardalos fan, if you've been dying to see what an American film crew can do with the Acropolis, or if can't get enough of tired jokes and clichéd plot devices masquerading as characters, I can heartily recommend My Life in Ruins to you. Otherwise, you might prefer to seek your summer entertainment elsewhere.

The film centers on Vardalos, an unemployed academic working as a tour guide in Greece. We don't learn much about her except that she's lost her "kefi" (mojo) and needs to get it back. In her kefi-less state she's possibly the worst tour guide in the history of the world, unpleasant and impatient and given to lecturing her vacationers as if they were recalcitrant freshman in Classics 101. They respond by giving her poor ratings, leading the tour company to assign her the worst buses and hotel accommodations and the least desirable tourists; you can be sure that the drunken Aussies, ancient Brits, hot-to-trot Spaniards and loud-mouthed Americans will all find their way to her group. And if that's not bad enough, she and her group are victimized at regular intervals by a rival tour leader (Alistair McGowan in frantic Roberto Benigni mode); apparently the aptly named Pangloss Tours is as blind to reality and its consequences as Candide's tutor.

My Life in Ruins is a baffling film on so many levels, beginning with the most obvious: Who is the target market? The PG-13 rating suggests junior high and up, yet the lame jokes would be more appealing to grade schoolers (there's even a bus driver surnamed "Kaka," with the inevitable nickname of "Poopy"). Director Donald Petrie sends out many signals that it's all meant to be a fantasy (from repeated references to Zorba the Greek to the postcard framings which open and close the film), yet there's very little magic for most of the 95 minutes of this film—just a succession of stock situations and characters leading to a plot resolution which was obvious almost from the start.

The script (by Mike Reiss and Vardalos) and cinematography (by Jose Louis Alcaine) are often at cross-purposes; while the latter showcases the natural beauties of Greece (note that Greece put up some of the financing for this film, and granted the first-ever permission for an American crew to film at the Acropolis), the former portrays the native Greeks as lecherous, dishonest and incompetent. And I don't think the world really needs another film promoting the opinion that women shouldn't seek education or careers. What they really need, although of course they're too foolish to realize it, is a good bang delivered by a shaggy, earthy male.

It's too bad My Life in Ruins fails so miserably at the macro level, because there are some good moments at the micro level. Bernice Stegers delivers some solid zingers as the boss of the tour agency; Sheila Bernette manages to some fun as a kleptomaniac senior citizen; and Alex Georgoulis has a smoldering presence as the bus driver. More disappointing is Richard Dreyfuss, who is meant to supply the heart and soul which Vardalos is lacking; unfortunately, he constantly overplays the role and never misses an opportunity to deliver a little more schtick. All in all, you're better off renting the DVDs for Never on Sunday or even Zorba the Greek, films which at least knew enough to pick a lane and stay with it. | Sarah Boslaugh

---