"AH BUT it was all so simple then", so Gladys Knight once sang.

Girls were girls, boys were boys, and Doris Day and Rock Hudson could conceivably fall in love on screen, despite the fact that the latter was gay and had no more interest in the former than, say, Renee Zellweger (when not preparing for a Bridget Jones flick) would have in a bar of chocolate. But more of that later.

Down with Love is a very strange proposition indeed. A remake/parody/tribute to classics such as Send Me No Flowers and Pillow Talk, its '60s sensibilities are up there on screen from the very beginning, right down to the old Cinescope logo which lets us know exactly what we're in for.

And that is a saccharine sweet, spoofy few hours. Bony Maloney, sorry, Renee, plays Barbara Novak, a wide-eyed writer who arrives in the Big Apple in 1962 with her book Down With Love to inform all women that the secret to a happy life resides in denying yourself love (which causes all the problems) and simply having lots of sex - and munching on copious bars of chocolate to replace those love hormones.

But her mega-seller begins to cause all sorts of problems for poor mankind, so in steps Catcher Block (Ewan McGregor), a dastardly seductive rascal who aims to seduce Barb into falling in love with him by denying her the sex she craves.

And who wouldn't fall in love with him? McGregor has already had his matinee idol credibility established by Baz Luhrman in Moulin Rouge, and here adds wink-wink comedy to his leading man repertoire. With his attitude, the cocky strut and the smile, oh, the smile, it's a good job I was sitting, as we are talking a serious case of weakened knees.

Zellweger is as cute as a very thin button, crinkling up her eyes even more than usual, but clearly enjoying herself, posing in an assortment of dramatic fashion ensembles. They've got some lovely dialogue to mess around with and it's all done with a big smile, but how much you enjoy the end product will depend on how much you are prepared to buy into the conceit.

The self-conscious nature of the jokes, with their accompanying bongo and jingling soundtrack are an acquired taste, and may become a little wearying for some cinema-goers. The patent deliverance of each joke, including an Austin Powers-esque split-screen moment, require an adjustment, but, once made, the rest of the film dances by.

The leads are aided by a set of fabulous performances from David Hyde-Pierce and Sarah Paulson as their respective editors, who have a lovely chemistry all of their own - the former snagging most of the best lines.

It's a nicely knowing film, with Paulson spouting women's libber talk while making coffee for the men of the board. Simply prepare yourself for a cinematic dose of innuendo and double entendre, which plays it to the max, and is all the more fabulous for it.