Vicky Cristina Barcelona
I’m frankly getting tired of being the kid in the crowd pointing at the emperor’s bare-naked buttcheeks, but someone (besides Chicago Reader’s J.R. Jones) has got to make the case for the achingly obvious: Woody Allen’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona is a sophomoric, cliched howler, so ludicrously bad in so many ways one doesn’t know where to begin. It could be with the arch narration, the prose and thrust and supposedly-short-story tone of which is so amateurish that it could never find publication outside of a high school lit mag, much less substantiate itself as a film’s redundant narration literally explaining actions as we see them, or worse, explaining things we should see and experience but don’t. Or, perhaps, with Allen’s conception of character, which has become so one-dimensional that his heroines wouldn’t seem out of place in a decades-old YA novel. Or Allen’s ponderous recycling of storylines, M.O.s, jokes, compositions and sometimes entire scenes from his other films. Or his pretentious-idiot-freshman ideas of "creative people" and artists and the mythical dichotomy between the artistic life and the mundane lives of "ordinary" people.
Or his relentlessly held faith with wealth porn. Or his nonsensical notions of art and painting and photography and poetry, all of which are invoked in the film without being convincingly portrayed. Or his banal invocation of Gaudi and Miro and "Spanish guitar" in the same way he got derisive yucks years earlier namedropping Bergman and Kurosawa and Klimt. Or the simple thinness of the story, which tries to emulate Rohmer but amounts to a quarter of a decent Rohmer script, but with none of the humor or feeling.
Sure, Cruz, Hall and Bardem were charming, if in spite of some of the extraordinarily unnatural things they were given to say. (Johansson is milky-gorgeous, but comparatively dull.) But Allen’s film is a tired, sick dinosaur around them, and the exasperating experience of it hardly meshes with the happy tolerance and even indulgent praise it’s received by the majority of critics, including a handful of smart ones, who I can only assume have been so deadened by superhero bullshit that this movie looked like a refreshing glass of urine might to a man dying of thirst in the desert. Honestly, on paper it wouldn’t pass muster in an undergrad screenwriting course, and on the screen it’s a patronizing snooze.
The movie is beautiful to watch, both setting and actors. Cruz is not only exquisite to look at, but hilarious, and the movie's simple presentation of the juxtaposition between longing for the fantasy of passion and romance vs. the stability of reality and how one becomes the other anyway, is lovely. Not everything has to be deep, dark and obscure to be brilliant. Go watch it again.
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I'd watch it again only under threat of torture. And no one said it has to be obscure or dark; just coherent and unpatronizing. But I'll see you in person.
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I'll see you in person too. Was that supposed to be a threat? Have you seen me in my wetsuit? I'm like a f***ing superhero!? I'll get a bootlegged copy of the movie and make you watch it when you get here. In slo mo. Thrice. ;)
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I have seen you in your wet suit, and if I threatened something, you'd know it.
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this is hotter than the movie. that may be a first in movie reviewing ;)
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Hussy.
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I'm with Gae -- I thought it was beautiful, charming, and wonderfully acted. It's about these shallow people who are too locked up by their inhibitions to really enjoy an unmediated experience of life and passion. I think it's one of Woody's best films in quite a while, and I'm someone who's actually liked his recent work for the most part.
My review:
http://seul-le-cinema.blogspot.com/2008/08/815-vicky-cristina-barcelona.html
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And I bet you're not even wearing a wetsuit, Ed, which makes you a whole lot more credible than I am. ;)
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Ed,
On a more informative note, I just read your review and agree with most of it and especially this (which i was far more ineloquently trying to explain as my position to Mike's wife): "This sensitivity to emotional complexity belies the blunt simplicity of the voiceover, which is always reducing such moments to clichés. The toneless narrator can only state facts, and his dry recitations are obviously redundant when they are followed, as they are several times, by lingering closeups on Hall's face, catching the mysterious quality of a smile spreading across her long face, or the way her dark eyes seem mesmerized by a beautiful guitar song. Woody proves himself much more attuned to the emotional stakes of his story than the narrator, and his images are constantly undermining the distance created by the voiceover device...For the most part, though, Vicky Cristina Barcelona feels fresh and vibrant, mocking its droning literary narration..."
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At Cannes, I wrote, "Woody Allen’s 'Vicky Christina Barcelona' might be the easiest film to sit through of all in his recent European period, but that doesn’t mean it’s any damn good." I quote myself not so much to take issue with your assertion re the emperor's naked buttocks, but to register a certain surprise: it felt, at the time, that maybe 85% of the other American critics there were on the same page as me. And yet on release it gets raves, a few from some of the same people who said "meh" on the Croisette. Mongo confused.
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Tis veritably unaccountable. Has anyone yet hollered and fumed at yet another global-warming factor in the demise of American criticism: that it is now, increasingly, seen by editors and publishers as being very distasteful and even, dare we say, unprofitable, to have a critic slam a high-profile movie, whether or not it sucks? Such critics do not last; yes men flourish. The very notion of negative criticism is becoming officially inappropriate.
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Couldn't agree more, as I wrote here (http://thephoenix.com/Boston/Movies/66509-VICKY-CRISTINA-BARCELONA/) last week.
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Hallelujah. Forgive me for leaving you out initially.
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Blunt narration stating facts? Surely you folks have seen "Barry Lyndon", or read Kubrick's "Napoleon" script? Woody Allen is a bore. He's making movies for the Carnegie Hill set. "Lunch, and then we're off to shop condos! Coming?"
Fact is, all Allen really wants to do is bone Johanssan.
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Nice butcher job on a fine film. Not A list Woody perhaps but immensely enjoyable. What have you ever done you fucking asshole?
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Here's what: laughed at your childish bullshit.
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Thank you -- for a long time, it's been ok to dislike a Woody Allen film, but to suggest it's -- GASP!! -- just plain stupid and immature, was like peeing in the Holy Water bowl. SACRILEGE!!! So thanks -- you made it clear to me I don't have to see it. (Long long time ago when I was reviewing movies, and was on my way to see a Woody Allen movie (Bananas? I said "a long long time ago.") And a young lady I knew asked me if I liked Woody Allen movies and I could only say: "I always WANT TO, but he always ruins it." Hasn't changed much in all those years.
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Yes, Mr. Atkinson, it sucked massively. Even the performances were lightweight and futile to me. This lazy by-the-numbers trash, replete with easily some of the most abysmal, fruity, condescending, IDIOTIC narration in cinematic history my ears were subject to this side of Dogville, effectively dashed any waning hopes I had of the Woodster getting back to making real films like the awesome Husbands and Wives (when he wasn't making *occasional* crap like Alice and September on the side, that is).
So yeah, fuck Vicky, Cristina and Barcelona.
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Interesting review. You have made me rethink the film somewhat. I still think it's Woody's best since Sweet & Lowdown (not saying much I know but...). The movie found an effective way to dramatize a particular problem of love and life. I don't disagree with your insights, I just don't think they ruined the film. What I do take umbrage with is your insinuation that critics who like the film are either being A) Disingenuous B) Stupid or C) overeager to praise anything that isn't a Hollywood mass-market money machine. Some critics might fit those categories but VCB got enough good notices from legitimate critics that it's probably best just to disagree and give your reasons. Impugning their professional integrity might be a tad overreactive, don't you think?
While I still don't understand all the critical hosannas foisted upon Match Point, I think enough intelligent people liked the movie for me to simply say that even though I felt it a poorly written recycled exercise in lugubrious existential hand-wringing with a total tin ear for British patois, I respect people who honestly were moved by the film. Maybe I'm missing something. Perhaps with VCB, you're just missing something and all the critics who liked it aren't stupid or lying (I'm exaggerating your point but I'm playing Devil's Advocate.) Now as for Scoop, any critic who liked that IS an idiot. Woody, come back, we miss you so. Anyway. Nice review nonetheless.
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Woody Allen's latest may not convert new fans, but for those interested this lusty travelogue makes the most of its Spanish setting, with fascinating characters.
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Vicky Cristina is a bomb: AGREED!
Another fun demolition job --
http://moviesintofilm.com/midnightkiss_barcelona.htm
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Whoa, late to the Wood-bash, I see. Mr. A, I think you had a bad day, or else saw this at a screening with a bunch of smug NY Times-reading bourgeoisie. I saw it in the context of a mini Bardem-revival and it fit well. Just because Woody's characters and even story line might be vapid doesn't mean the movie is. If you read between the lines he basically skewers his own demographic (i.e. the beauty-worshipping, terminally insecure UWS yuppie scum who all must die and be buried with their New Yorker collections).
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