An unlikeable man (Martin Freeman) with an unlikeable girlfriend (Gwyneth Paltrow), unlikeable job (advert music composer) and unlikeable friend (Simon Pegg) falls for an unlikeable woman (Penelope Cruz) in an unlikeable film (The Good Night).
 
What went so wrong? The performances are good right across the board: Martin Freeman does his Martin Freeman thing; Danny Devito in particular brings pathos and humour to an underwritten part; even Jarvis Cocker, who pops up in a superfluous fake-documentary interview section, is watchable.

There are some laughs: Gwynnie telling Freeman she hopes he shits his pants in his sleep; Penelope Cruz's sassy "real life" scenes with Freeman and Simon Pegg talking about having sex with his mother all raise a chuckle.

The problems start with the concept and its execution. Writer-director Jake Paltrow must by now be almost as sick of hearing unfavourable comparisons with The Science Of Sleep as he is with people pointing out that he is Gwyneth's brother, but it's unavoidable: while watching him half-heartedly flirt with an interesting premise (lucid dreaming), you can't help but start wondering what kind of bright-eyed cinematic fun Charlie Kaufman or Michel Gondry would be having with the same subject. Where Science Of Sleep is sharp and lively, The Good Night is woolly and, well, really quite depressing.

And that's what's really wrong with this film: it's just so bloody miserable. Self-centred characters in stifled, dead-end relationships wallow around in the murk of a film whose overriding tone is one of self-pitying gloom. Great films have been made about privileged, unhappy people, but this one comes across as little more than vain and spoilt.

When rich and successful people get depressed about their empty lives, they should probably go to expensive therapists, rather than subject everybody else to ordeals like this singularly joyless hour and a half. (Adam Hell)