Not enough said. Like many comedies, this one would have fallen apart if Julia Louis-Dreyfus had please just said something. Just spit it out, lady! One minute of candid disclosure, and the premise of the plot would have evaporated. Many comedies are built this way: some absurd, epic failure to communicate is the engine of the story, a failure so emotionally immature that I stop laughing and start facepalming, because it’s just too big a mistake for me to sympathize with. What makes the genre of romantic comedy so generally lame is that they mostly are based on behaviour so immature that the average person can sympathize with it. One of the glowing reviews of Enough Said said it was a “mature” comedy. Sure, maybe in the sense that it didn’t rely on fart jokes, but the huge new-relationship-mistake of a premise was too glaringly daft for “mature.”
All that said, I certainly didn’t hate Enough Said. It was sweet, fun, and certainly way better than most comedies.