dir. Nora Ephron
writ. Nora Ephron (screenplay), Julie Powell (book), Julia Child & Paul Prud'homme (book - My Life in France)
feat. Meryl Streep, Amy Adams, Stanley Tucci, Chris Messina
The internet age turns a new corner in this film which presents the following message: Emulating one of your heroes by doggedly imitating one small aspect of her grand accomplishments might lead you out of self-pity and to great wealth and fame. Nora Ephron sets a new low on the scale of success, celebrating a girl with limited writing skill (as presented in the film, I've not read the blog or book) and zero charisma. This is not to say that Julie doesn't show astounding effort in her conquest of Julia's cookbook, making some 500-odd recipes in 365 days. But that isn't the subject at hand, nor is the occasionally forcibly resurfaced notion that as a girl who never finishes a project, the commitment is the greater purpose of the story, not the resultant undue glory.
This is the fable of the loser. Julie deserves pride the equivalent of a lottery winner. Her relationships in the film could stock a couple of antiquated self-help books for the meek and soulless. Her friends and husband play as tired, poorly sketched caricatures.
Sure, the film will distract you from all this dreck with delightful turns by Streep and Tucci as Julia Child and her husband, Paul. But the contrast (and relief) in these uplifting scenes, devoid of subtextual prattle, permitting actions and consequences to speak for themselves only accentuates the lack of depth in the characters of Julie and her husband, who constantly self-analyze and spew the tired results, intending them as the drama so sorely missing from their lives and the film.
No comments:
Post a Comment