Woody Abroad: Vicky Cristina Barcelona

David Begelman

Maybe it’s no accident that Woody Allen films like Match Point and his latest, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, are such successful ventures, whereas Scoop, a film that came between the two, was more or less a dud. Ironically, the director appeared in a major role in Scoop, but not in the other two films. The quality of Woody’s work nowadays seems immeasurably better when he puts himself behind the camera, rather than in front of it. It’s as though the Annie Hall era has been over for some time. Self-casting in roles with one-liners smacking of stand-up comedy routines may have worn thin as a continuing chapter of modern cinema.

At first blush, Vicky Cristina Barcelona seems to be just a comedy about American tourists abroad in Spain. Looks can be deceiving. It is actually a more complicated film than Match Point. The latter is about the sticky predicament of a murderer who evades justice by chance. (One of the graphic images in the film symbolizes the indeterminacy of outcome: a tennis ball teetering on the edge of a net, unsure about which way to fall).

Vicky Cristina Barcelona, a comedy of manners, dwells on the way love is loosened up in exotic circumstances. Yet there is another theme implicit in its narrative. Are novel love entanglements signs of liberation or personal imbalance? Are they manifestations of a new sexual freedom or symptoms of going haywire? And how do we tell these apart?

 In Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, there was no quandary over dramatic purpose; the unsettling aspects of love gone flukey had to be relieved and equilibrium restored. In Woody Allen’s movie, you’re never sure whether love’s confusions steer its principals in the right or wrong directions. And its characters all ask themselves the same question: “Am I where I should be, or just plain wacky?” Vicky Cristina Barcelona isn’t a comedy of errors; it’s a comedy about whether what happens in love is an error to begin with.

The plot revolves around two friends, Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) who, at the invitation of Vicky’s relative Judy Nash (Patricia Clarkson) and her husband, Mark (Kevin Dunn) are on summer vacation in Barcelona, a gorgeous, ochre-hued Spanish city. The film is graced by the lush cinematography of Javier Aguirresarobe, and there is a voice-over by a narrator (voice of Christopher Evan Welch), who describes the ongoing action throughout the course of the film. Performances of principal actors are beautifully nuanced, and at a high level of achievement—thanks to the director.  

The two women are distinguishable types. Vicky is a staid, somewhat conventional woman with academic interests. (Her attraction to Barcelona is inspired by her fascination with Catalonia, especially the works of the architect Gaudi.) Her commitments are all in place, as well as the one to her fiancé, Doug (Chris Messina). Cristina is quite different. She has just had a disappointing love relationship, is unsure of what she wants in life, and has little sense of achievement, except having recently completed a short film about—wouldn’t you guess?—love.

At a restaurant, the two eyeball an artist, Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), an attractive man they remember seeing at an art exhibition earlier that day. The three exchange glances, after which Juan Antonio approaches their table. Without the drawn-out preliminaries that would distinguish an American approach to hitting on two women, he summarily invites them to fly with him to Oviedo for a night of fun and love making. Cristina is up for what seems to her to be a novel and enticing adventure, whereas Vicky initially protests the outrageous idea. Yet they both find themselves acceding to the plan, whereupon everyone’s world starts to change, and at breakneck speed.

Vicky’s erstwhile composure is shattered after a night of lovemaking with Juan Antonio (a secret she keeps even from Cristina), while Cristina later moves in with him. Into Cristina’s world of new enthusiasms steps Maria Elena, Juan Antonio’s former wife (Penelope Cruz). Maria Elena has recently attempted suicide, and out of concern for her (or emotional enmeshment, depending on the spin you put on it) Juan Antonio brings her home to a love-nest already in place. Maria Elena’s stability seems to strengthen as she gets to realize that the attraction among the threesome is just what the doctor ordered. They all draw closer together, even sexually, as Christina’s talent as a photographer blossoms. (Woody’s ode to the relationship among love, liberation, and creativity?).

The plot continues to thicken as lovers reprise their trysts and separate again. The soufflé has risen in a stunning moment of culinary delight before flattening down to an ordinary existence.

Woody Allen admitted that Vicky Cristina Barcelona fulfilled his fantasy of becoming a European filmmaker. For some time now, he has enjoyed more popularity in Europe than at home. For one who has already gone through his Godard, Truffaut, Fellini, and Bergman phases—not to mention in this film a hint of Pedro Almodóvar—the home away from home must continue to be appealing. But in a rare moment of soul-searching, Allen also admitted that the only place he ever really wanted to be is in his bed. Considering this filmmaker’s prodigious output, not likely.

   

   

    

       

 

 

 

“The Avengers”: Epic Saga or Eye-Sore? 

David Begelman

Film Critic 

When the Wizard of Oz from behind his curtain addressed the quivering Tin Man, it took the form of an inhospitable volley: “You clinking, clanking, clattering collection of caliginous junk!” The tirade was an obvious case of overkill, flung as it was at a guileless target.

Sorry to say, the Wizard’s words may be a bit more apt as a description of Joss Whedon’s 2012 blockbuster, “The Avengers.” The flick grossed 200.3 million in its first weekend, and is paradoxically wowing film critics of every stripe. It is the sixth installment in Marvel Studios’ like-minded fare, and was given a financial jump-start through a handsome loan by Merrill Lynch in 2005.

With a favorable rating by critics of 93% on the website “Rotten Tomatoes,” you wonder whether they are abandoning serious criticism, and writing as though they were press agents for production companies. According to them, the film “lives up to its hype,” and “never forgets its heroes’ humanity.” Balderdash.

The heroes in question are a motley group, faintly reminiscent of a gaggle of notables in All Star Comics of the 1940s. Those included Hawkman, Doctor Fate, Hour-Man, Spectre, Sandman, Atom, Flash, and the Green Lantern—with guest appearances by Superman and Batman. And as though it were a reminder that another half of humanity exists, Wonder Woman was made a later addition to the macho crew fighting for the American way of life.

In “The Avengers,” the fearless band of super heroes is Iron Man (Robert Downey, Jr.), Captain America (Chris Evans), the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo), Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner), and Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) as the token female. Other prominent figures include Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. (Samuel L. Jackson), the C.E.O. of the group. He in turn is obliged to follow the directives of nameless bigwigs forever cast in shadows. They have a habit of issuing orders that can be counted on to be wrong.  

Just to show you that mortal heroes can cavort with the otherworldly, Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and Loki (Tom Hiddleston), godlike figures recruited from Scandinavian mythology, join the mix. (Thor is the Norse equivalent of Zeus, the thunderous overlord of Mount Olympus in Greek mythology; Loki is the counterpart of Hephaestus, the orthopedically compromised god of fire and the forge.)

The fearless five, along with hammer-flinging Thor, often seem to be no match for the nefarious Loki, who is out to subjugate the earth. After all, he is in control of Tesseract, a mysterious energy source that has allowed him to escape through a portal to become an all-around nuisance. Scenes of what happens to New York City with his newly found power are literally flung at you, with no end in sight. The rapid-fire visual effects of battle and carnage in the film are perhaps what many critics find irresistible, since they speak to a technical mastery of the medium. But the overall effect of the never-ending barrage is one of dreary repetition and, alas, fatigue.

Audiences are becoming inured to the glitziness of technical effects—as in the “The Matrix Revolutions,” “Batman, the Dark Knight” “Underworld” and “Transformers” epics. Believable narratives about other than one dimensional characters have become minor preoccupations. Seamless and less than silly screenplays are fast becoming obsolete with the arrival of each hugely subsidized blockbuster awash in unending violence.

The virtues of “The Avengers” are slim pickings, indeed. They include the quips and asides of Robert Downey, Jr. and Mark Ruffalo’s acting. But these are minority blessings in a bramble of effects that should tax the patience, if not the retinas, of moviegoers. There ought to be more to a film than being bombarded relentlessly with every new-fangled contrivance production technocrats have in store for us.

 

.