As soon as the "Lifetime Movies" card popped on screen, I should have just shut this thing off and watched "Commando". "But it's by a COPPOLA", I said to myself, "it can't be that bad, right?" Eleanor, Francis Ford's wife, has been a documentary film-maker for decades, chronicling the making-ofs and behind-the-scenes of her husband and childrens' feature films. "Paris Can Wait" marks her first foray into non-documentary feature film making, and I think I'd prefer watching a water buffalo being slaughtered instead of this insipid pap. The nonexistent story concerns the wife of a successful filmmaker (imagine that!) on a road trip through France with one of her husband's French business associates. The entire trip is composed of food porn and the Frenchie mansplaining to Diane Lane everything from Roman history to Escargot. "Jou-see, yu Amewikahns do sings lahk ziss, but we Fronsh are supairiair en everay possibul weh. Uh hong hong." She sits passively in the car waiting for her obnoxious cohort to take them to the next picnic or 5 star restaurant, occasionally taking mediocre looking pictures on an extremely expensive camera that would make any shot look professional. In that span of time, we find out she likes roses and chocolate, just like every other person in her pandered-to demographic. Then there is the Lifetime Movies trademark weepy scene where they try to shoe-horn in some emotional depth by having her suddenly remember in a candle-lit church that her baby died. Somehow, someway, the Frenchie annoys her into being attracted to him, and we are left with Lane half-winking at the camera, contemplating the prospect of cheating on her husband. I would only recommend this movie to rich, white, elderly women who don't want to think about anything. As for me I'm swimming up the Nung river to start a Vietnamese death cult after witnessing the horror...the horror...of "Paris Can Wait".