Tilo is a mistress of spices; she has the ability to understand them and use them to help others and the gift of second sight. She has been sent from India to San Francisco, to cure the spiritual and emotional ills of those around her with her spices. But there are rules she must follow. She can never touch the skin of another person, she can never leave the shop and she must never use the spices for her own purposes. But when a handsome stranger comes off his motorbike outside the store, Tilo begins to wonder if she might not be able to bend the rules.

In order for a romance to work cinematically, everything should be handled with the lightest touch. But thanks to the director's ham-fisted approach, it's a jam roly-poly of a film rather than a gossamer-light confection. The earnest way he treats the material is his undoing. Instead of being poignant, Tilo's visions are melodramatic. The clumsy voice-over that reveals her thoughts is so serious that it soon becomes laughable. Every line is delivered as if the fate of the world hangs in the balance; sucking the fun from what should be pure entertainment. The budgetary constraints of the movie also damage it. The visual effects don't hold up to scrutiny - a couple of fire-walking scenes look very ropey. Shooting all the interiors in the Isle of Man may also have been a bad idea. Many of the British actors playing Americans can't sustain a believable accent. Much of the money seems to have gone on the score that smothers the majority of the scenes. The result is a deeply unsatisfying whole that lacks charm and outstays its' welcome despite being only a shade over ninety minutes.

Dylan McDermott was clearly told that the role of Doug required someone very manly. To fit this ideal, he has grown copious amounts of facial hair. He's the sort of actor that has spent much of his career passing unnoticed and that's because he is desperately average. He fulfils the role of romantic lead okay. He hits his marks and says his lines with some indication of feeling, but is hampered by a total lack of chemistry with his female co-star. He only comes to life when his scenes have some emotional depth and he can get his teeth into them.

The score by Craig Pruess is too big for the film. It smothers most of the movie, again over-emphasising the Indian mysticism with its' incessant sitar, ethereal Hindi vocals and pipes. The problem is that the music doesn't always relate to the subject matter of the scene or it tries to influence it. I sometimes feels confused, throwing in random thriller squeals here and R 'n' B rhythms and vocal touches there. The magical aspect of the film is represented by predictable chimes, while the romance is hammered home with schmaltzy guitar and gamelan. The problem is that the percussion is too pervasive and the whole kit and caboodle too loud.