I saw Isbael Coixet‘s Elegy (Samuel Goldwyn, 8.8) twice before it opened — once at a screening, again at the Aero theatre –and in so doing told myself and two or three friends that I rather liked it, or at least was okay with it. But I haven’t been able to write a darn thing about it. Despite the fine lead performances by Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz and the secondary Patricia Clarkson, Peter Sarsgaard, Dennis Hopper, etc. Despite enjoying the upscale pedigree, the obvious intelligence of Nicholas Meyer‘s screenplay (based on Phillip Roth‘s “The Dying Animal”), the tasteful nudity, the general atmosphere of cultivation, manicured toenails and older-guy gloom.
Why did I blow it off? Because there was something too glum and quiet and resigned about it — something overly subdued, sensitive, talky. I enjoyed the quality vibe, I had no real problems with any of it, but it didn’t turn me on in the slightest.
And because — here we go with another shallow thought (and what would this site be without such things on an occasional basis?) — I didn’t like the idea of a fetching 30ish brunette like Cruz going to bed with an old coot like Kingsley. He’s too weathered, too nuts (Kingsley will always be Don Logan, and vice versa), his nose has gotten too bulbous with age (it was just the right size when he made Betrayal and Gandhi in the early ’80s) and I didn’t like the bedroom scene with Clarkson when the camera just sits there and stares at the puffy soles of his white feet and his pushed-together toes for a couple of minutes straight. Call me empty, but that’s why more people haven’t paid to see it.
All is well in Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Weinstein Co., 8.15) when Penelope Cruz‘s neurotic firecracker is on-screen and having her way, and particularly when she’s arguing with Javier Bardem‘s compulsive seducer-slash-painter. These two provide the erotic blood-flow in this Woody Allen film, and thank the Movie Gods for that. VCB is certainly worth seeing for Cruz and Bardem alone, but if the film had been entirely about them I would have been 100% delighted.
As is, VCB is about a couple of American girls — Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) — getting romantically involved with Bardem (and to a lesser extent Cruz) during a summer in Barcelona, and the hard fact is that Johansson and Hall are nowhere near as interesting as their Spanish-born costars.
And yet Vicky Cristina Barcelona played better at Monday’s night’s premiere screening in Westwood than it did for me in Cannes, and I’m trying to figure out why.
One reason had to do with mere suggestion, I suppose. The crowd at Westwood’s Village theatre laughed heartily at just about every joke and visual inference, and the press people in the Grand Palais last May were much more subdued. Another persuader was the fact that I read David Denby‘s review of Allen’s film just before the Village screening, and an observation of his had a surprising effect.
One of my beefs against Vicky Cristina Barcelona when I reviewed it on 5.16.08 was the incessant narration. I described it as “persistent, obnoxious and thoroughly unwanted” and said that it made “this story of overlapping, off-and-on love affairs in present-day Barcelona so on-the-nose and over-explained that I was feeling actively hostile less than 15 minutes in.”
Denby, however, wrote the following: “Allen uses a narrator (Christopher Evan Welch) to explain who the women are, and, at first, it seems as if the director is just filling in backstory and telling us things we might have noticed ourselves. But this narrator does for Allen what narrators once did for Francois Truffaut — he allows him to skip merely functional exposition and jump from highlight to highlight.”
Truffaut! A light went on. Or rather, I found myself gradually succumbing to a cousin of the movie lover’s “Russian Tea Room syndrome.” Legendary critic Andrew Sarris described this back in the ’80s as a willingness to not only accept but applaud speed-bumpy things in a foreign-language film (precious-sounding dialogue, say, or a clumsily-composed narrative) that an American viewer might reject outright if included in an English-language film, and especially a Hollywood-produced one.
An hour or so after finishing the Denby review (which I read while sitting at Jerry’s Deli), the lights came down at the Village and I began watching Vicky Cristina Barcelona with the idea that it was, in fact, a French-language Truffaut film, and it played like a whole different animal. Not painful, not prickly. Not first-rate but a mostly agreeable thing.
I still preferred Cruz and Bardem’s scenes to everything else, but the narration didn’t get on my nerves because it was now the narration in Truffaut’s Two English Girls or The Woman Next Door,and that was okay.
It still felt as if Allen was faintly mocking his own writing style and penchant for having his characters forever going to musuems, chatting in cafes and talking about artistic longings…aaah, I’m blathering. My basic point is that it played better the second time so do what you will. Odds are you’ll have a pretty good time with it.
Of course, if you’re under-25 you won’t go at all because GenY audiences, to go by the box-ofice track record of Allen films over the last eight or ten years, are averse to the Allen sensibility.
I want to repeat one complaint from last May, which is Allen’s no-naked-breast- shot rule. “He’s telling a story that’s swimming in mad erotic currents,” I wrote, “and yet he’s clearly decided against boob exposure — not even a casual random glimpse. It’s obviously unnatural and un-European. Presumably this was about avoiding an R rating, but the oddly prudish vibe works against the story and the general mood, so why even pick up the brush if you’re afraid to paint a nipple?”
From the 2nd floor (1st etage) balcony cafe at the Martinez Hotel, just before yesterday’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona sit-down with Woody Allen, Penelope Cruz and Rebecca Hall — Sunday, 5.18.08, 11:28 am
Yesterday afternoon’s Indy 4 press conference — Sunday, 5.18.08, 3:42 pm
Petit Majestic bar, site of a nightly street party
Framed still of Robert Redford and Sydney Pollack during their May 1972 Cannes visit on behalf of Jeremiah Johnson.
Vicky Cristina Barcelona director-writer Woody Allen during today’s round-table session at the Hotel Martinez — 5.18, 12:05 am.
Penelope Cruz — the absolute, pistol-hot star of Vicky Cristina Barcelona — 5.18, 11:45
Grand Palais steps about a half-hour prior to today’s Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull screening — 5.18, 12:32 pm
5.17, 5:45 pm
At the just-concluded (and all too brief) press conference for Vicky Cristina Barcelona: (l. to r.) Rebecca Hall, Woody Allen, Penelope Cruz — Saturday, 5.17.06, 2:38 pm
The only parts of Woody Allen‘s Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Weinstein Co., 8.29) that feel truly alive and crackling are the Spanish-language scenes between Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz. These two, portraying a pair of tempestuous, self-obsessed painters whose marriage has fallen apart due to an overload of heat and impulse and Spanish vinegar, are dynamite together. They create spark showers when they rage and taunt and rekindle their mutual hunger and disharmony. Cruz, especially, is electricity itself. When she loses her temper, it’s sheer bliss.
Javier Bardem, Penelope Cruiz, Scarlett Johansson and Woody Allen during filming of Vicky Crhistina Barcelona.
Unfortunately, there are many more scenes of them speaking Allen’s English- language dialogue, and that’s a significant problem. Not only for Bardem and Cruz but for costars Scarlett Johansson, Rebecca Hall (the Christina and Vicky of the title) and secondary players Chris Messina, Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn. I never thought I’d see the day when one of the great comedy writers of the 20th Century would write unintentional howlers, but this happens every so often in VCB, and I was not happy to witness this.
An even bigger problem is a persistent, obnoxious and thoroughly unwanted narration track that makes this story of overlapping, off-and-on love affairs in present-day Barcelona so on-the-nose and over-explained that I was feeling actively hostile less than 15 minutes in. Until Javier and Penelope went into their crazy-love routine, that is, and then everything was well again. In brief spurts.
There were boos in the Salle Debussy as the closing credits began to unspool. I don’t know who was doing the booing, but I know I heard at least five or six guys letting go.
I haven’t the time to write any kind of comprehensive review of this sometimes unintentionally comedic, frequently cliche-ridden parody of a Woody Allen film, but it dawned on me early on that it plays exactly like a Ben Stiller Show parody of a typical Allen effort. Allen has been accused of parodying himself for years, but now he’s really done it. And it pains me to say this. No one filmmaker has given me greater pleasure for a longer period of time than Allen. I worship the guy, but VCB is agony to sit through at times. Some of it is fine or passable. You could call it a light romp and let it go at that. But when it goes off the rails…my God!
If it turns out that Allen was in fact spoofing himself (and thereby having us off) by mocking the kind of anguished, sometimes very funny, sometimes darkly subversive relationship movie he’s been known for since the release of Manhattan nearly 30 years ago, then I will be hugely impressed.
But I seriously doubt if Vicky Cristina Barcelona is a jape. I think he made it with the same earnest spirit and intent that have fueled all his films. This is another story of artist- and intellectual-class characters falling in and out of affairs, sorting things out as they stroll through art galleries and other picturesque points of interest, betraying each other, acting badly (and sometimes hilariously), serving each other great meals and good wine and bringing out the hurt, lust and confusion.
Again, if only Allen had decided to make a Javier-and-Penelope movie in Spanish, and just gotten rid of the whole American-girls-visiting-Barcelona-and-learning- about-the-complexities-of-adult-love angle, he might have had something good and possibly great. A critic friend said on the way out that he believes Bardem and Cruz made up a lot of (if not all of) their inflamed Spanish-language dialogue. It’s a sensible theory. Their back-and-forth is much sharper, explosive and more flowing than the English-language dialogue, so go figure.
During their fighting scenes Bardem repeatedly tells Cruz to speak in English. He does so out of consideration for the English-speaking Johansson, who, having become Bardem’s live-in lover, is a constant witness. By my count he says this line to Cruz at least 9 or 10 times. Why it’s repeated so often is mystifying. Every time he said this, of course, I was saying to myself, “No, no…keep it in Spanish!”
Oh, and the much-touted make-out scene between Johansson and Cruz, shot in a red-tinted dark rooom, is, at best, diverting. It’s just a slow kiss or two and a slight embrace. It certainly doesn’t build into anything. Allen cuts away just as it gets going.
It also seems strange that Allen has imposed a no-naked-breast-shot rule upon Vicky Cristina Barcelona. He’s telling a story that’s swimming in mad erotic currents, and yet he’s clearly decided against boob exposure — not even a casual random glimpse. It’s obviously unnatural and very un-European. Presumably this was about avoiding an R rating, but the oddly prudish vibe works against the story and the general mood, so why even pick up the brush if you’re afraid to paint a nipple?
Isabel Coixet‘s Elegy, the Penelope Cruz-Ben Kingsley drama that debuted at the Berlin Film Festival, is going to be domestically distributed by Samuel Goldwyn Films and Sony Pictures Worldwide Acquisitions Group…whatever that means. Indiewire is reporting that Netflix’s Red Envelope Entertainment “is also on board for the release and will work to promote the film to their 7 million subscribers,” blah blah. Pic is based on Philip Roth‘s short novel The Dying Animal.
Presumably Elegy will be released domestically sometime this year.
Variety‘s Leslie Felperin gave Elegy a thumbs-up response. Key passage: “Scenes unfold in a series of near-musical dialogue duets, with Ben Kingsley offering finely-phrased arias of self-deprecation and despair. Despite the age difference, he and Penelope Cruz (who’s never been better in English) look somehow chemically balanced and credible as a couple in a way Nicole Kidman and Anthony Hopkins never did in The Human Stain.”
Variety‘s Todd McCarthy reported at 9:30 pm this evening that Clint Eastwood‘s Changeling (Universal, 11.8), a 1920s mystery drama with Angelina Jolie, John Malkovich, Amy Ryan and Colm Feore, will compete at next month’s Cannes Film Festival.
With the official Cannes announcement due tomorrow morning, McCarthy also revealed three other surprises:
(a) Woody Allen‘s Vicky Cristina Barcelona, which stars Penelope Cruz, Scarlett Johansson and Javier Bardem, “will appear in Cannes after all, with Allen attending the fest over the initial weekend.”
(b) There may be a sliver of sunshine peeking through the clouds regarding the reported not-quite-ready situation concerning Steven Soderbergh‘s two Che Guevara films, The Argentine and Guerilla. “No one is saying the situation has definitely changed, but the competition schedule is being left flexible enough to accommodate Soderbergh in case he decides the films are in shape to present to the public — a result for which Cannes programmers have evidently been given some reason to hope,” McCarthy wrote.
(c) Barry Levinson‘s widely reviled What Just Happened? may not close the festival, despite an earlier report that it would.
Responding to the Weinstein Co.’s decision to open Vicky Cristina Barcelona on 8.29.08 instead of December, N.Y. Post critic Lou Lumenick wrote a day or two ago that he’d “be tempted to say the Woody Allen movie is being dumped if I hadn’t gotten a lecture last year from Harvey Weinstein himself on how the second half of August is no longer a wasteland.”
I was lectured on this very same point in 1993 by a Columbia Pictures publicist when I was researching an article about Mike Myers‘ So I Married An Axe Murderer. I had mentioned in conversation that August, during which the studio was thinking about releasing the film, was seen as a “dumping ground,” and boy, did they jump all over me! [SIMAAM was finally released on 7.30.93.]
In any case, Lumenick might want to also consider an opinion of VCB that I heard a couple of days ago from an actor-director friend, to wit: “Not great but very good…funny and sweet and sad and way, way better then his last few movies, including Match Point…Penelope Cruz walks away with it. And the sex scene [lesbo action between Scarlett Johansson and Rebeca Hall or Cruz or whomever] is really, really sexy. It’s so weird that Woody Allen did it.”
A friend with access to huddlings in the Woody Allen camp says that in his next film (i.e., the one after Vicky Cristina Barcelona) Evan Rachel Wood will play Larry David‘s love interest. The untitled piece “is an old script that Woody wrote for himself but now he feels too old for it, so we’ll get the young sexpot Larry David,” I was told an hour ago.
Evan Rachel Wood
For what it’s worth I think the idea is kind of nervy-cool. Bizarre but why not? What with that blood-spattered Marilyn Manson sex video last year and this bizarre piece of news (which I believe is coming from a reliable place, whether or not it plans out), Wood is seeming more and more of an oddball in terms of her romantic whatevers.
My source has also seen Vicky Cristina Barcelona and says “it’s good. Not great but very good, and Penelope Cruz walks away with it. She is great in it and should wind up with an Oscar nomination. (I think.) VCB is funny and sweet and sad and way, way better then his last few movies, including Match Point.
“If [Woody] had spent just a little more time cutting it and being less lazy it could have been one of his great movies,” he claims. “Still it’s very good, and the sex scene [lesbian action between Scarlett Johansson and Rebeca Hall or Cuz or whomever] is really, really sexy. It’s so weird that Woody Allen did it.”
Rope of Silicon‘s Brad Brevet has posted two stills from Woody Allen‘s unfortunately titled Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Weinstein Co., 12.12.08) — one of costars Javier Bardem and Rebecca Hall, another (below) of a femme fatale-ish Penelope Cruz.
Bardem, Hall; Cruz in Vicky Cristina Barcelona
The oft-repeated synopsis: Vicky and Cristina (Hall and Scarlett Johansson), spending a summer in Spain, make the acquaintance of a flamboyant artist and compulsive hound (Bardem) and his beautiful but insane ex-wife (Cruz). Vicky is about to be married. They find themselves at emotional and sexual cross-purposes. Lezzie action reportedly occurs between two of the three women (reportedly Johansson and Hall, but you never know).
Penelope Cruz presents the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar to…does anyone care? The Academy didn’t even nominate the best film in this category, and I haven’t discerned any real enthusiasm for the nominees that made the cut. It will probably be The Counterfeiters. And the Oscar goes to…The Counterfeiters. Enthusiasm in the room is muted. I’ll rent it down the road.
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