Film review: Salmon Fishing In The Yemen (12A) By Siobhan Synnot Published on Tuesday 17 April 2012 00:00 IN A month when Wrath Of The Titans reveals that even on Mount Olympus Sam Worthington is less a Greek hero and more a fullback who has mislaid his ball, and an entire troupe of superheroes take to the skies and yet still no-one discusses the incompatibility of form-fitting spandex and bathroom breaks (Avengers Assemble), the idea of relocating 10,000 salmon to a river in a Middle East desert seems rather less quirky than the filmmakers may have hoped. "Charming" is one adjective Salmon Fishing In The Yemen is reaching for. Others might be "droll," "screwball" or "good-looking." Alas, "lacklustre" and "undernourished" also apply. "It wasn't really about fishing at all," says someone towards the end of the film. Crikey, Yemen does love to cast out fishing metaphors like worms on a hook, but it gets its line snarled up when it should be reeling us in. Ewan McGregor stars as Fred, a fisheries expert with an awkward social manner and an even more awkward marriage to Rachael Stirling, where marital whoopee concludes with a pat on the shoulder and "There, that should hold you." Oh yes, she's a cold fish. Emily Blunt is Harriet Chetwode-Talbot, a bustling counterpoint who has been given a money-no-object commission by a billionaire sheikh (Amr Waked) to set up a salmon river in his country, which he hopes will bring the land to life, and a peaceful leisure activity to his subjects. If director Lasse Hallstrom had focused on the satirical possibilities of Paul Torday's novel, instead of compressing it to a grating Kristin Scott Thomas performance as Alastair Campbell in heels, then this could have been a smart subversive swipe at Anglo-Arab relations, crowd-pleasing politicking, nationalism and the strain of believing ten impossible things before breakfast. Instead Scott Thomas clacks around being alternately supportive (more than two million voters are keen anglers, apparently) or as frantic as a woman who has just drunk two pots of coffee and can't find her keys. Yet the film begins promisingly, with Fred being disdainful of both Emily and a paymaster he takes to be a loon who regards his country as his personal Center Parc. But when the sheikh rocks up as a beatific zen master who owns both an impressive Scottish estate and an anthology of Deepak Chopra quotes, you know that the film has no intention of going against the flow, and spends the rest of its time swooning over fabulous stately palaces, sunsets, rivers and deserts. This is a shame, because Blunt and McGregor are an inspired pairing, who bring out the best in each other and have a grasp of screwball's fluid, breezy rhythms. Blunt is an unusual beauty with crafty eyes and a hinterland of intelligence, and as he gets older, I'm starting to enjoy McGregor more and more anyway. He's far less emphatic nowadays, and has developed a deft comic touch that cries out for a deft comic script. At least as Alfred, he has a character arc: blossoming from a nerd with a schoolboy haircut to an altogether more hunky prospect. Blunt doesn't even get that, just a soppy subplot about a soldier boyfriend who goes missing. Hallstrom never tames the conflict between sugary romance and tart one-liners, soggy whimsy and plot incidents such as death and terrorism. The result is a fishy tale of cod sensibilities with no particular sense of plaice. Director: Lasse Hallstrom Running time: 107 minutes