Letters to Juliet Soundtrack

There is a moment in “Letters to Juliet” in which Vanessa Redgrave locks eyes with Franco Nero — and that moment is the whole movie.

It’s not just that she is still an exquisite woman, and he’s still a robustly virile man. It’s not just that they bring their own history to this film — their scandalously passionate romance on the set of “Camelot,” their recent, late-in-life marriage.

It’s that these are two great performers, and they’re able to invest even the briefest moment with truth and life and passion.

Unfortunately, “Letters to Juliet” is a movie made up of disparate moments — and none of them are as real as this silent scene, played out by two senior citizens. It makes you only want to see more of the two of them, finding love among the ruins.

Unfortunately, the dull majority of the movie is given over to saucer-eyed Amanda Seyfried, who has all the power and presence of a daisy, and the uncharacteristically annoying Gael García Bernal.

They’re in Italy on a supposedly romantic vacation when Seyfried discovers a sort of lonely-hearts society — the Secretaries of Juliet — and, through them, a 50-year-old letter from a teenage girl who stood up her lover. Seyfried, ever the romantic, decides to bring these two together.

Cue Vanessa Redgrave.

Cue too, unfortunately, Redgrave’s grandson, played by Christopher Egan. He is a superior snob. He is an obnoxious know-it-all. He is a character so absolutely insufferable that he could almost pass as an extra heir to the British throne.

Of course, he and Seyfried loathe each other on sight.

Of course, you know exactly where this is going, don’t you?

You should, if you’ve seen any number of romantic comedies.

And believe me, seeing any number of romantic comedies would be a better use of your time than sitting through “Letters to Juliet,” which plays like a Tuscan travelogue set to a Colbie Caillat soundtrack.

It’s not that it’s a dreadful film; the Italian locations are lovely, at least, and there’s always Redgrave to watch. And like this week’s other safe-for-kids romance, “Just Wright,” it eschews cheap jokes and gratuitous grappling. (The reason for its PG rating, amazingly, seems to be some pre-Raphaelite nudes shown under the opening credits.)

But, basically, “Letters to Juliet” is little more than a basic-cable movie, the sort of thing you watch when you’re home sick with the flu and forget about by the next morning.

So save yourself some time. Forget about it now, and put the saved money toward your own Tuscan getaway. With any luck, you’ll get there before 50 years pass — and your own Vanessa Redgrave, or Franco Nero, will be waiting.