TEARJERKER OR TURKEY?

IT’S REDUCING female audiences to tears and is already being tipped for Oscar glory. But is the remake of A Star Is Born, starring Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, a romantic tour de force to rival Titanic — or just another schmaltzy Hollywood love-in? Two writers go head to head . . .

For crying out loud, could everyone please stop crying? on a weekday evening, at a blameless cinema in West London, I am surrounded by bawling women — and more than a few snivelling men.

We have just watched the much-lauded remake of A Star Is Born, starring Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga as the star-crossed lovers; a pair of rock ’n’ roll superstars who glide past each other on the parabola of fame.

In a matter of weeks the film has become a box office smash on both sides of the Atlantic.

There are already whispers of oscar glory, of instant classic status, of an unforgettable emotional experience amid the onrush of supposedly magnificent songs.

So why am I sitting here, unmoved and uncaring, after two hours of this five-hankie weepie?

Partly because — whisper it — this Star Is Born often fails to live up to its promise, while the corn is as high as an elephant’s eye.

It’s not that it doesn’t have its moments, nor that Bradley and Gaga don’t try their best. He gives it his all as grizzled, alcoholic rocker Jackson Maine, while she brings a fierce, natural charm to the role of Ally, an iron-lunged waitress who thinks everyone in the music industry will hate her nose.

Au contraire, Cinderella! Minutes after they meet, a smitten Jackson already loves everything about her, including her craggy profile.

‘Your nose is beautiful. Can I touch it?’ he growls, his vodkasoused baritone throbbing with ardour, his blazing blue eyes bobbing like apples in a basin of booze.

Soon, she is buying him a puppy and cooking him eggy breakfasts before they spend their days duetting on dreary country rock ballads and taking baths together.

Between slugs of firewater, he urges her to strive for artistic truth in her music. ‘If you don’t dig deep in your soul, you won’t have legs,’ he rumbles. Eh? Try telling that to Kylie Minogue.

This version, directed by Cooper himself, is the fourth incarnation of a film that won’t die.

The Hollywood story of a talented female ingénue plucked from obscurity by a handsome, but fading, male star, who must then watch from the sidelines as his fame is eclipsed by hers, clearly has a timeless appeal.

For this remake, the third to follow in the wake of the 1937 original, Bradley Cooper grows a head of greasy chestnut curls and a big ol’ beard — both of which fail to mask his outrageously good looks.