OK, I admit I cried a small bucket at the end... but at least I hated myself for it. This is bland and obsequious tripe or, as my own dog would say, "Woof!"

Sometimes, and especially on a crummy afternoon in the middle of March, it's nice to be able to switch off and settle down to enjoying the sight of middle-class families eating well and playing together in sprawling, bucolic gardens.

In the cinema, all of us tough, cynical critics had tears welling in our eyes, swallowing hard; our lips, so often curled in a cheap sneer, were now trembling, because of the same desperately sad thought: "Owen Wilson used to be really good..."

The production is light, filled with big love and sobbing cries, two talented stars that sufficiently play their roles, and plenty of awww moments the movie makes sure to replay during the end credits. What’s not to enjoy?