Verdict: Has about as much in common with Frances Mayes as it does with Willie Mays, but it does have the marvelous Diane Lane . . . in Italy.

By ELEANOR RINGEL GILLESPIE
Cox News Service

As for the rest, well, remember the painful divorce from her cheating husband? The gay tour (“We're gay and away!”) that takes her to Italy? The Italian stud she meets in Rome?

I didn't think so.

All of that has been concocted for the movie — and more. Guess Hollywood didn't think stucco was sexy enough.

Mayes' book, which was sort of about how much fun it is to be rich enough to buy and restore a centuries-old villa in Tuscany and to have time enough to cook long, sumptuous meals, has become a dreamy '50s-style movie romance with a gloss of 21st-century female empowerment.

In the film, Frances, a writer played by the iridescent Diane Lane, learns that her husband is having an affair. They divorce, he buys her out of their San Francisco house and her lesbian friends talk her into taking their ticket on a gay tour of Italy (one is too pregnant to travel). When Frances demurs, they insist, “That's your depression talking.”

“My depression doesn't speak Italian,” she replies.

Turns out, it does. When the bus is fortuitously stalled by a herd of sheep in front of a decrepit but lovely villa, Frances hops out on impulse and, through another fortuitous turn, manages to steal the place from rival bidders.

From there, the renovation becomes a metaphor for kick-starting her new life. The people who now matter are the sympathetic but married real estate agent (Vincent Riotta) who lives nearby; a trio of Polish workers, only one of whom speaks English; and the local eccentric — a beautiful Englishwoman (Lindsay Duncan) who is introduced ecstatically rubbing a duckling against her face and who's fond of quoting her once-upon-a-time lover, Federico Fellini. At one point, she emulates Anita Ekberg's romp in the fountain in “La Dolce Vita.”

It could be said that this movie is aimed at people who know about Fellini and “La Dolce Vita,” but who've never actually seen a Fellini movie, including “La Dolce Vita.” “Under the Tuscan Sun” is a well-behaved, art-lite picture, reminiscent of “Chocolat.” Eager to please, it hopes to elicit laughs from an electrocuted washing machine and sighs from passionate sex in an antique store.

However, the movie is rescued from itself by a couple of things. One is the rural Italy that Mayes celebrated in her book. The flowers, the hills, the piazzas, the churches, the olive trees, the cobbled streets — it's all so beautiful that the film can be enjoyed as a travelogue, if nothing else.

And then there's Diane Lane, the movie's saving grace, and the reason I still might recommend it. Last year's “Unfaithful” put her back in the game, earning her a best actress Oscar nomination. “Under the Tuscan Sun,” for all its faults, puts her on the A-list. Radiant yet accessible, foolish yet appealing, this gorgeous and gifted actress has a lightweight's looks and a heavyweight's acting chops. Not only does she prove she can carry a film, even as the script is sliding into mediocrity, but she's so good you find yourself thinking you could possibly stomach a sequel.

“Under the Tuscan Moon,” anyone?