The three in question wish they had sat out this particular dance. Matthew Perry, Neve Campbell, and Dylan McDermott deserve much better scripts than Three to Tango, which shoves them into a zany relationship two-step characterized by awkward slapstick and a bunch of unfunny gay jokes. It's about at the level of Perry's other vehicles from this period -- which is to say, not good. Campbell is best when the material draws out her effectiveness with subtlety. This film, on the other hand, asks Perry and her to act out a purportedly hilarious set piece in which they vomit up rancid tuna melts on a sidewalk, which abuses even Perry's minimal dignity, and leaves Campbell's in pieces there on that street corner. McDermott is spared some of this nonsense, and fares better by getting to slip into the background; a strange victory to claim, when the business is usually about more rather than less screen time. There's some fertility to the mistaken sexuality joke at the film's center, but there could have been more if it had been handled above the level of schoolyard simplicity. Of all the people to feel sorry for related to this project, the viewer might be likeliest to pity him or herself. After all, those who worked on it at least got paid.