An angel of death (Nicolas Cage) falls in love with a surgeon (Meg Ryan) and wishes he were a real man.
I like love stories, but this was just too corny for me. Meg overdoes her perky-girl-next-door persona. When she flashes her big trademark grin or lets a single tear trickle ever-so-slowly down her beautiful face, it feels like she's just posing. I didn't buy her as a real person; there's too much staring thoughtfully into the camera and spouting trite dialogue. And who races downhill on a bike at the edge of a cliff with no hands and eyes closed? I'm still wondering why Nic Cage is a star. He plays the same gosh-gee-whiz angel that Brad Pitt did in Meet Joe Black minus Brad's good looks, charm, and sex appeal. His unwavering nobility is way too precious and those lingering close-ups - please!
The movie is burdened with a clichéd script that constantly implores us to Appreciate Life! Dare to Love! Reach Out and Touch Someone! Eat a Pear While There's Still Time! There is nothing to balance the sticky sentimentality except for Dennis Franz as an annoying ex-angel. I liked the use of the beautiful song, "In the Arms of an Angel," but can't recommend this movie.