First the good things: Wilde's dialog and insight are fantastic--intelligent and witty, sharp and skewering, with characters that act on hidden motives and utter timeless quotes left and right. And as the story gets more and more chaotic, the strands come together wonderfully. Strangely, Parker doesn't seem sure about how to play it. Instead of the biting dark comedy of An Ideal Husband, he goes for a more silly rom-com feel here, which undermines just about everything. The romances aren't believable, the comedy isn't funny (only the Wilde wit is) and the cast never seem to know what to do with themselves, veering between camp farce and sophisticated humour. Firth is the only one with any consistency; Witherspoon is the only one who's actually funny; Massey and Wilkinson are hopelessly miscast together. It's all so stilted that it's almost painful to watch at times. With this cast, this filmmaker and this source material, we aggressively want to like it. But we can't.