Wimbledon

There are shades of originality showing up here and there in Wimbledon, which mixes some intriguing sports play with standard, yet sweet, romantic schlock. Paul Bettany, one of the movie-world’s better supporting players as of late, shows that he has the chops to be a leading man while wielding a frequently impressive backhand return. Bettany plays Peter Colt, a British tennis player coming to the end of his career, barely managing a wild-card qualification at the famed tennis match of the movie’s title. Colt plans to make the tourney his last, and it looks as if he’ll retire from the game with little fanfare. He plans to make an admirable go of it, undoubtedly lose in an ugly way, and retire to a humiliating job as a posh country club’s tennis pro, where he will get hit on by women twice his age. All of this changes quickly when he sees Kirsten Dunst naked. Sometimes annoyingly cute, but the appeal of its stars and some decent tennis action keep things passably enjoyable. I know that’s not a ringing endorsement, and it’s not meant to be.