Starring Diane Lane. Rated G

Since this would-be confection centres on Diane Lane as an American on the cusp of self-discovery, touring sun-dappled regions of Southern Europe, one might reasonably expect this to be another run at Under the Tuscan Sun. But it takes more than an attractive lead indulging in the finest comestibles to pull that off, and Paris Can Wait actually manages to make those things look silly, as well.

This is the first narrative feature for Eleanor Coppola, who already has a fine reputation as an artist and documentary filmmaker. Her Hearts of Darkness, shot in the literal heat of husband Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, is a go-to exemplar of you-are-there nonfictioning. That’s why it’s disheartening to see such a feeble effort come from her at age 80, even if the thin tale is based on events that she personally experienced.

Lane plays Anne Lockwood, a comely California woman stranded at the Cannes Film Festival when her big-shot producer husband (played by Alec Baldwin, who literally phones in his part after a brief opening setup) heads off for a work trip she wants to skip. Now she has to get all the way from the Côte d’Azur to Paris in the all-forgiving late spring. Talk about your First World hardships!

To the rescue comes hubby’s sometime partner, Jacques, who offers his vintage Peugeot convertible as her chariot du jour. Popular in France but not that well-known abroad, Arnaud Viard plays this aging roué as a scarf-wearing, chain-smoking stereotype—a driven artiste with chronic money problems who nonetheless takes time to stop and smell the Rosé. And the Pouilly-Fuissé. And all the chocolates and cheeses of Provence.

Normally, gastro-travelogues are diverting no matter how you slice them. But the film is not particularly well-shot, and the editing and musical score are unusually awkward.

Actorly stiffness extends to Lane, who exhibits zero chemistry with Viard. Perhaps due to a casting error, his character seems more creepy than charming, and the leads both end up sounding relatively phonetic in their English-language line readings.

Anyway, it’s weird that Eleanor Coppola, of all people, would settle on a female lead who remains little more than an easily bored extension of her powerful husband. Maybe Paris can wait for better movie, but can she?