and a jukebox soundtrack of clumsily—slapped—on blondie hits. jenny seagrove, sally phillips, and kelly preston — in herfinalfilm role — are the threesome reliving a youthful dream to see the lights in parma cathedral. joining them is elizabeth dormer—phillips' maddie, daughter of the recently—deceased anna, whose dying wish was for them all to make this last—minute pilgrimage. broad strokes interrailing japes ensue, as the group pinball across france, italy and spain, losing their money, passports, and minds as they deal with births, deaths, and marriages. the internet scares me. you could be talking to anyone. i mean, i could be- a serial killer — i'm not! if you stand this next is something like shirley valentine — in which a middle—aged housewife finds a new lease on life while holidaying in greece — then off the rails really pales by comparison. there's little of the wit, grit, or bittersweet humour of that willy russell—scripted gem in this ragbag of romantic cliches and cut—and—paste pop songs — which, for all its eye—catching