This lightweight movie is about a stockbroker with a major choice: Will he remain in the high-stress trading pits of London (where he has all the money he wants and the women swoon over him), or will he give it all up for the slow-paced beauty of southern France? (where, again, he has all the money he wants and the women swoon over him.)

We know what decision he’ll make the first time the camera cuts to the sun-kissed vineyards of Provence, but it doesn’t matter. In fact we know everything that’s going to happen, but the sheer predictability is part of the pleasure. (Will he get the girl? I won’t spoil the ending for you.)

The writing’s not great, the jokes aren’t that funny. Russell Crowe’s attempts at comedy are sometimes downright awkward. But that’s mostly forgiven as the movie immerses us in the dappled beauty of Provence. A lusty red wine, a fragrant cheese, a well-turned leg or two. It’s a little timeout from reality.

Before the film started, we watched about six trailers that showed typical Hollywood fare: explosions! death! evil killers with bad camera angles! I was glad I wasn’t about to sit through one of those.