Hampstead

(Cert 12A, 103 mins)

Cast in the same mould as Richard Curtis’ rom-com Notting Hill, Hampstead is a twee tale of star-crossed lovers across the social divide, who find common ground in a court case over squatters’ rights in verdant and des-res London NW3.

Robert Festinger’s script is loosely inspired by the true story of a homeless Irishman called Harry Hallowes, who won title deeds worth two million pounds after living in a tumbledown wooden shack on Hampstead Heath for two decades.

The jaw-dropping truth is interwoven with sugar-coated fiction in Joel Hopkins’ rose-tinted picture, which engineers romance between a socially awkward hermit and an American expat widow.

Diane Keaton plays Emily Walters, who lost her no-good husband a year ago and has been dealing with her grief by volunteering at a local charity shop.

Other female residents of her apartment block, led by busy body Fiona (Lesley Manville), include Emily in their social gatherings and offer withering advice on remarrying at the earliest opportunity.

“If you wait too long, you shrivel up like some imported apricot sitting on the shelf in Waitrose,” chirps Fiona.

She sets up Emily with creepy accountant James Smythe (Jason Watkins), who promises to clear her mounting debts – with “no strings attached”.

However, after one uncomfortable date, Emily is staring through her binoculars when she spies Donald Horner (Brendan Gleeson) in his woodland retreat.

She becomes fascinated by the surly misfit and worms her way into his simple existence to the surprise of her wellto-do son Philip (James Norton).

And when greedy property developers serve Donald with an eviction notice, Emily coordinates the Save The Shack campaign, galvanising the other do-gooder residents into action.

There are flashes of earthy humour along the way as the plot meanders towards its life-affirming resolution. When a rival for Keaton’s affections feebly brandishes a ukulele as a weapon, Gleeson barks: “What are you going to do? Strum me to death?”

Ultimately though, Hampstead is like a glass of expensive champagne that has lost most of its fizz, yet still slips down pleasantly.

Keaton and Gleeson are an attractive odd couple, who are more convinced of their characters’ suitability than the rest of us.

Watkins is skin-crawling as a bean counter with ulterior motives and an ensemble of British character actors fill out the largely forgettable supporting roles.