SERENDIPITY, that happiest of words, is the ability to make fortunate discoveries by accident. This unplanned state alas cannot be matched by filmmakers, where planning must be to the max. Fake snow flakes must fall that little bit too perfectly in Central Park in Peter Chelsom's chick flick by numbers.

Thinking-woman's crumpet John Cusack finds himself tangled up in love's web once more after High Fidelity and America's Sweethearts, again having his heart strings twanged this way and that. He is Jonathan, a softly-spoken, scruffy, vulnerable 35-year-old New York television news executive, late-Christmas shopping in Bloomingdales, where he encounters beautiful, posh English rose Sara (Kate Beckinsale) at a glove department, their hands reaching for the same last pair. Glove at first sight leads to love at first sight, or at least cute mutual attraction as they retire to Serendipity, a Big Apple patisserie, and an ice-skating dalliance beneath the stars.

And they live happily ever after? Well, that wouldn't be much of a film would it, so no, they vow that fate must play its hand, and it does, keeping them apart for seven years, by which time both are on the cusp of marrying someone else, someone wrong.

Jonathan is not sure he wants to encase his perfectly pleasant if dull trophy bride (Bridget Moyhnahan from Sex And The City); Sara, a kooky English girl making her San Francisco living as a counsellor has all the answers, except to her own doubts over her commitment to Lars (John Corbett). One look at the Kenny G hair of this self-centred international flautist, and one listen to his faux Eastern noodling, should have been all the signs she needed.

As is the way in such romantic comedies, there is still time for second thoughts, their escapes aided by respective best friends, a cynical New York Times obituary writer for Jonathan and a New Age shop owner for Sara, neither of them given memorable lines. Instead the best supporting role goes to the ever reliable Eugene Levy as a supercilious tie salesman, guarding his Bloomingdales counter with jobsworth dogmatism.

Cusack is charmingly scruffy throughout, Beckinsale brittle but undeniably fragrant, as Peter Chelsom's comedy settles for a fashion-conscious hinterland between the inventive magic of Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in Sleepless In Seattle and the sickly chocolate-box romance of Matthew McConaughey and Jennifer Lopez in the dire The Wedding Planner.

Serendipity is initially likeable but never loveable, shaping to make the right moves but running out of steam, on account of being too unbelievable. Mark Klein's script lacks perceptive wit, Chelsom's direction has none of the quirkiness that marked out his British works, Hear My Song and Funny Bones.

No pain, no gain, the saying goes, and Serendipity is just too nice when it needs to be more naughty.