In renowned French filmmaker Chantal Ackerman's first American film, William Hurt plays a repressed New York psychiatrist who switches apartments with fiery Parisian dancer Juliette Binoche. While Hurt plays therapist to Binoche's string of eccentric boyfriends, Binoche and her wacky British pal accidentally take over Hurt's psychiatric practice—and, predictably, do a better job reaching them than Hurt did. It's a reasonably interesting premise, but unfortunately, it's abandoned after about half an hour: Hurt soon flies back to New York, and upon learning of Binoche's shenanigans, becomes infatuated with her and pretends to be one of his own patients so he can be near her. What happens next will be immediately familiar to anybody who's ever seen a romantic comedy: Binoche falls for the stable, cerebral therapist, while Hurt finds in Binoche the earthy passion sorely lacking in his dull existence—which comes complete with a snooty, repressed, extremely wealthy fiancee. Both Binoche and Hurt are talented actors, but they're both stuck playing archetypes rather than characters. Hurt, in particular, underplays his role to the point where he barely seems conscious. Binoche is charming, but she can't prevent A Couch In New York from deteriorating into an almost insultingly predictable, Hollywood-style romantic comedy.