Zero Stars

A friend of mine commented that screenings of “When in Rome” could revive the ancient Roman practice of communal purging.

He’s right. Instead of being booked into theaters, this rancid so-called romantic so-called comedy would be a better fit for one of the Eternal City’s apocryphal vomitoriums.

When in Rome

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Rated PG-13 for some suggestive content

Length: 91 minutes

Released: January 29, 2010 Nationwide

Score: 0.5

Cast: Kristen Bell, Josh Duhamel, Will Arnett, Alexis Dziena, Jon Heder

Director: Mark Steven Johnson
Producer: Rikki Lea Bestall, Gary Foster, Andrew Panay, Ezra Swerdlow
Writer: David Diamond, David Weissman
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance
Distributor: Walt Disney Pictures

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An embarrassment for all concerned, “When in Rome” announces its awfulness from the get-go, with a clichéd literal picture-postcard opening credit sequence and a perky Jason Mraz song that’s so generic it threatens to erase your ears, the way the mischievous cartoonist rubbed out Daffy Duck’s body parts in “Duck Amuck.”

Next, we get two plugs for Applebee’s in the first 10 minutes, and a formal-dress high-society party in the lobby of Manhattan’s famed Guggenheim Museum where the only visible black person is the celebrity deejay (Ghostface Killah). But don’t despair, diversity fans: Later in the film, Shaq makes a cameo.

A vehicle for adorable Kristen Bell (“Forgetting Sarah Marshall”) and unthreateningly hunky Josh Duhamel (known to tabloid readers as the husband of Fergie, of the Black Eyed Peas), “When in Rome” casts Bell as Beth Harper, a “hopelessly single” Guggenheim curator (!) who claims to be happy that her only significant relationship is with her job.

In Rome — “the most romantic city in the world” — for the wedding of her little sister (Alexis Dziena, whose startling nude scene was a highlight of Jim Jarmusch’s “Broken Flowers”), the cynical and champagne-besotted Beth removes several coins from an allegedly magical fountain of love, to save the coin-tossers from the perils of romance.

Instead, the gesture causes the coins’ owners to fall hopelessly in love with Beth. The foursome — a creepy artist (Will Arnett), a creepy model (Dax Shepard), a creepy magician (Jon “Napoleon Dynamite” Heder) and a creepy Danny DeVito (sorry for the redundancy) — suddenly invade Beth’s life, causing chaos.

Also pursuing Beth is extremely marriageable Nick (Duhamel), a New York sportswriter Beth met at her sister’s wedding. But is Nick also a victim of the fountain’s spell?

“When in Rome” provides an object lesson in the concept of suspension of disbelief. “King Kong,” for example, is impossible, but we’re able to buy the idea that an uncharted island has remained unchanged for millions of years because of the way the concept is introduced. Watching “The Wizard of Oz” (a movie that “When in Rome” alludes to), we’re happy to accept that a twister can deposit a farm girl in a magical land. But even as a romantic fantasy, “When in Rome” is utterly unbelievable, and thus entirely uninvolving.

How did the coins’ owners track Beth to Manhattan? How are they able to live in the city? What about their previous lives? The movie’s otherwise “realistic” context makes the filmmakers’ likely shoulder-shrugging answer — “It’s magic!” — unacceptable.

The wince-inducing, over-the-top cartoon mugging of Beth’s suitors clashes with the relatively naturalistic performances of the leads. Some “laugh” sequences also are jarring. A visit to an unlikely trendy restaurant named Blackout, where patrons eat in the dark and are served by waiters with night-vision goggles, might work as a “Saturday Night Live” skit, but here, it’s irrelevant and insufferable.

The fact that “When in Rome” isn’t just bad but stupefying isn’t surprising when one realizes it was directed by Mark Steven Johnson, whose record of wretchedness remains unsullied: He previously helmed “Ghost Rider” and “Daredevil,” and co-wrote a top candidate for the honor of Most Flabbergasting Movie Ever, the shocking “Jack Frost” (the family film in which dead dad Michael Keaton is reincarnated as a lovable living snowman).

There’s plenty of shame to go around here, but the Guggenheim should be even more embarrassed than the actors for its participation in this project. Even in the guise of fictional light entertainment, does New York’s famed modern art institution really want to suggest that nitwits like Kristen Bell’s flighty love-shirker and Danny DeVito’s sausage mogul influence curatorial decisions, or that an arty photograph of Josh Duhamel could be the centerpiece of a new exhibit?

— John Beifuss, 529-2394