Earth to the Citizens of the U. S. of A.:
VOTE.
And, uh, VOTE FOR KERRY -- OR DIE!
Om shanti, baby.
posted by Lisa Rosman at 11:26 PM 0 comments
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Wining and Whining: Why Alfie Fails and Sideways Merely Flails
There's no way this is going to make a difference, but don't bother
seeing the remake of Alfie, slated for release Nov. 5. Those who
dismiss it as the callow eye candy that it blatantly markets itself as
won't see it anyway. And those who, like me, sometimes hasten to a
theater precisely for callow eye candy will no doubt ignore my words
-- but beware, for ye shall be truly disappointed.
I'm the original sucker for Hollywood blockbusters' special effects,
whether they be great car chases or great beauty. And Jude Law's great
beauty is such an empirical fact that I never trust anyone, be he man,
woman, beast, or fowl, who denies its existence. That said, after this
fiasco, Jude is no longer the Law of my Land. I may never again be
able to summon a girlie hard-on for he who preens through every shot
of the worst movie I've seen all year.
This is a movie about NYC partly filmed in London: unforgivable. This
is a movie whose protagonist not only directly addresses the camera,
but speaks in voiceover: unforgivable. A movie riddled with every
irritating editing device from the worst of draggy `60s movies and
today's MTV-inspired shite: unforgivable. A movie that spells out
every plot point, every sight gag, every wordplay so thoroughly that
it makes Jim Carrey look like a master of subtlety:
oh-so-unforgivable. Worse, this is a movie that pulls out every
cheaply sentimental stop yet concludes unhappily (yes, I am spoiling
the ending in a last-ditch effort to discourage attendance), looking
to score the French-film points of not going for the cheap happy
ending: unforgivable and cheap. Yes, I hate Alfie, and, yes, I was
dying to see it, and, yes, no matter what I say, if you really love
ogling Jude's pretty lashes and Marc Jacobs-clad ass, you'll see this
anyway. But let me say one more thing: Netflix. Hang on to your
hard-on a little longer.
There's something else, too. Part of why the original (1966) intrigued
was because it provided a glimpse into the unadulterated assoholicism
of Alfie (then-toothsome Michael Caine). The new film soft-pedals its
narrator, rendering him more toxically ambivalent than acerbic. Jude's
Alfie is someone who struggles with his emotions, dammit, and weeps a
tiny tear. This is a chick-with-a-dick movie: a category that
re-examines masculine identity and vulnerability, striving for a new
level of honesty but so frequently turning out More of the Same.
Sideways covers much of the same territory, but it's not the pure bile
that is Alfie. It's nearly glorious, actually, but it sure ain't a
great bottle of wine, even if it invites such comparisons. You needn't
be a vintner to know that a fine wine symphonizes all of its elements,
as disparate as they may be, and while Sideways is comprised of many
beautiful notes, they fail to settle into a prevailing tone. Luckily,
that reconciliation isn't necessary to dig the film, especially
because its protagonist also is thrown by such unevenness.
The story of two 40something never-beens wending their way through
California's wine country the week before one gets hitched, Sideways
is a buddy movie that weeps for its own soulfulness. Certainly the
word soulful runs like a subtitle throughout the whole film, though
it's uttered merely once. Paul Giamatti, as a flailing writer who's
more articulate when discussing wine than his novel, is soulful. Miles
(jazz musicians are tres soulful) struggles mightily to reconcile
himself to his own menschy sourpussiness, to his failed marriage and
career, and to the bumblings of bad-actor Jack (Thomas Haden Church),
his caddish college roommate who's still his best friend, if partly by
default. Giamatti is dead-on -- his DNA is practically emblazoned with
the word soulful (see American Splendor) -- as is his
is-she-or-ain't-she love interest Maya, as played by Virginia Madsen.
That snapdragon Sandra Oh is wasted as Jack's fling, though, and I
waver when it comes to Church. The true measure of good casting is
whether you can imagine any other actor in the role, and I found
myself wondering if casting a mediocre TV actor as a mediocre TV actor
sacrificed nuance to authenticity. Although Jack makes for some good,
ham-hock laughs, they jar rather than dazzle when coupled with Miles'
gaping loneliness.
I'm still hoping for more from director Alexander Payne, who's yet to
live up to the brilliance that was 1999's Election. (About Schmidt was
a chick-with-a-dick movie if there ever were one, slow-poking at an
old-school male navigating the landscape of Midwestern gender
politics.) This film meanders a little too long, particularly at its
end, and blinks a little too often, as if Payne isn't yet acclimated
to California's golden light after the gloom of his typically
Nebraska-set films. But Sideways boasts wonderfully written dialogue
-- particularly between Miles and Maya -- and some genuine surprises
(that I will not spoil), so far and few between in a
too-many-cooks-in-the-kitchen era of screenwriting. If it only
approaches stripping to these men's core, and to the core of the truce
they call a friendship, it's still far better than most of what
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