Shopgirl

Adapted by Steve Martin from the novella by Steve Martin and starring Steve Martin this constipated and passionless romance film it is fair to say can be blamed on this one time wild and crazy guy gone serious. The book, brief as it is runs out of steam after a promising start and this basically three character film would probably stagger around in the same lugubrious stupor were it not for the way Martin has to turn one of his characters into a zany deus ex machina in order to jolt some life into it for the film's bittersweet happy ending.

Vermont transplant Mirabelle Butterfield is an undiscovered artist working as a sales clerk at Sak's Fifth Avenue in LA. Unfulfilled and lonely (even her cat won't come out to greet her upon returning from a day's work)she meets and dates two completely different men. Jeremy is a man child that finds wonderment in neon signs and sees no problem in using plastic sandwich bags for a condom. Then there's sophisticate Ray Porter who has homes in LA and Seattle and gets around by private jet. Jeremy is quickly jettisoned once Mirabelle feels she has something more serious and tangible in her relationship with the wealthier and older Ray so he gets a job as a roadie and goes on tour with a rock band. Meanwhile Ray's feelings remain ambiguous. It eventually goes bad in the most mannerly of fashion just in time for the freshly scrubbed Jeremy to reappear.

Shopgirl has a sleek trendy look to it with it's stylish sets and well heeled characters roaming the upscale store, chic museums and fine restaurants as well as Porter's sterile residences. But the film plods along at an uninteresting pace because the film never really gets deeply into the characters. Without the interior monologue of the novella director Anand Tucker seems content to allow his characters to tell their stories with wan expressions of joy and sadness. To make sure you don't miss these telling glances he spends a lot of time overusing slow motion and employing a prodding music score to bring some life to the characters.

Claire Danes does what she can with the glum Mirabelle and it's not a whole lot since Tucker seems content to just film her pretty face in a series of reactions. She and Martin have some decent scenes with each other (especially when she attempts to cut back on her anti-depressent)but the relationship for the most part is tepid. Steve Martin is a disaster as Ray lacking the actors chops to show any emotion, even the restrained variety that the non-committal Porter protects himself with. In order to balance these dull lifeless creatures Tucker and Martin turn Jeremy (Jason Schwartzman) into a lovable shaggy dog, cutely clueless and upbeat.

Shopgirl is Woody Allen territory without the comic irony and Erich Rohmer land without the introspection or depth of character. It's well mannered has a nice veneer but lacks the energy to ever really take off. Jeremy and Ray are cliché polar opposites, (old wild and crazy Steve versus the mature and refined Steve)but naturally caring and compassionate in their own way. Martin and Tucker refuse to employ negative capability to either character thus diluting the film's somber dramatic tone even more. Ray's passive interest lacks edge in either direction and the selfishness of his actions are betrayed by the makers need to almost make him as sympathetic as Mirabelle, thus stealing her thunder and reason to rage. It undermines Shopgirl which drably plays it safe from beginning to end.

It's no real secret that through his writing, Steve Martin has depth and sentimentality that Hollywood doesn't always let him show. He has shown signs of a longing to grow old gracefully (as his almost gimmick-free gigs as Oscar host have shown) and let his acerbic wit and insight drive projects more than the over-the-top slapstick antics of the 1970s Steve Martin.

It's also no real secret that many of his recent films have been far from great.

So, still having faith in the man, and having loved the novel on which this film is based, I went in to the cinema desperately wanting to like it, but expecting to be disappointed. Largely, I was pleasantly surprised that the novel did transfer well to the screen.

Some of the credit for this belongs to director Anand Tucker, who has created some powerful images of the hustle and bustle of the LA that Martin describes in the novel, and contrasts it well with the characters who lead shallow lives, trying to be something meaningful amongst all the chaos.

Credit also goes to the actors who show that longing that drives the situation: Claire Daines as Mirabelle clearly WANTS to be social, artistic, loved; Jason Schwartzman as Jeremy WANTS to be sensitive, witty, lovable; Martin as Ray Porter clearly WANTS to be suave and considerate. Without having many jokes in the script, audiences can still appreciate the humour by seeing these pathetic struggles. When I saw it there was plenty of laughter at all the right moments.

I will, however, hasten to add that there are parts of the book that never would have translated well to the Hollywood screen, and the praise that some give the movie for serving its purpose will contain the same reasons that others wish to knock it. The book's strength is that one can feel for the characters because they are portrayed as superficial people and their lives and conversations are so shallow in comparison to the narrative that sets them up. The reasons why it works so well as a book could well be the very things that cause it to not work on the screen. Then there's the matter of a book that's so rooted in "LA sux" sentiment being made into a Hollywood movie. So maybe the musical overkill reeked of "excuse me, we're trying to tell you something". Maybe the spots of narration felt out of place and indicated that Martin is not yet over his desire to spend his life as the 'star' of his projects (him getting top billing for the movie was also a bit much, in my opinion).

Ultimately, maybe the audience members who were longing for a film with more 'depth' and 'substance' were in actuality sharing the characters' longings for the same in their own lives. Maybe the 'criticisms' are in fact backhanded compliments that the film is largely doing just what it's meant to do.

Edward Hopper was the great painter of urban loneliness. Shopgirl had two perfectly composed and lit shots that could pass for Hopper paintings -- the one where we first see Mirabelle behind the glove counter at Saks, and the one where she solves the problem of how exactly to cross the intimacy threshold with Ray for the first time. Both involve the display of exquisite merchandise to customers who have excellent taste but don't quite appreciate the full value of what's being offered.

The relationship between Ray and Mirabelle is, of course, a transaction. Ray is what used to be called a sugar daddy. He knows it, and within the limits of that role he is apparently a generous and considerate keeper. We aren't given Ray's back story, but it is not hard to guess that a symbolic logician who made a fortune in computers might have been socially challenged, to put it mildly, as a young man, and suffered a good deal of rejection from women. He can now buy what he couldn't then woo, but experience has taught him never to relinquish control and never to let himself be vulnerable. A few hundred million dollars have cleaned up his exterior nicely and given him power over his surroundings, but the inner nerd is still there.

Mirabelle certainly appreciates the value of what Ray can do for her. Consider the shot in Vermont where she gazes at her dried out, prematurely worn mother and decides she'll meet Ray in New York after all. But Mirabelle refuses to admit to herself that she is only being kept. We are meant to think the better of her for her self deception. The sluttish, annoying and frankly mercenary but cheerfully self aware Lisa is there to draw an unfavorable contrast with Mirabelle. Paradoxically, it is Mirabelle's self-deceived integrity, and her refusal to use the crude manipulations Lisa suggests, that make her a more exquisite ornament for Ray -- gourmet arm candy for a man with the finest taste. Both women are punished for self deception, but Lisa suffers only comic humiliation while Mirabelle sets herself up for real pain.

Jeremy has the makings of a Ray in him, but we are meant to believe that he has -- implausibly -- attained emotional enlightenment, if not the capacity for articulate speech or sustained rational thought. He has earned Mirabelle, we are told, because he has remade himself to be worthy of her. Love may not conquer all in this bittersweet anti-romance, but it still does better than break even.

"Shopgirl" is an off-kilter modern romance. It plays on several conventions of movies, from the old-fashioned "The Shop Around the Corner" to the fairy tale "Pretty Woman," but takes surprising turns away from those stereotypes.

The look and sound of the film are half of its appeal, from Peter Suschitzky's dreamy cinematography, to the production and art design that has each character in their own color scheme, to the enthralling score by Barrington Pheloung, though the atmospherics almost overwhelm the three characters who frequently seem like pieces in a set design as the camera slowly glides back to reveal an entire mise en scene.

Claire Danes is radiant and holds our eye and sympathy throughout the film, as we see life mostly from her first naive than wiser perspective, though she is portrayed as just about the last sweet young woman in the country, as all the other women seem pretty cold-blooded. While she has an underlying problem common to such in TV and movies these days, it is handled surprisingly visually and tenderly.

Over fourteen months, she encounters a bumbling young suitor, the adorably scruffy Jason Schwartzman, who even as his character matures retains endearing enthusiasm and quirks, and a sugar daddy in a somewhat mysterious Steve Martin, who is more believable than "Sex and the City"s similar "Mr Big." Ironically, the few physical comedy scenes are with Schwartzman, not Martin-- and that's a very funny scene about a condom, as this film in its quiet way is pretty frank about sex.

An occasional voice-over narration is obtrusive and unnecessary, even as Martin's adaptation of his novella claims the need for an omniscient observer, but the camera and the characters' body language visually communicate the same information. The sudden insertion of a parallel scene where two main characters suddenly explain themselves to listeners who we didn't know previously existed in their lives is a bit too convenient and doesn't really fit.

But the film is on the whole winning, as each character very gradually learns about who they are and who they can be, about the meaning of life, love, success and human connections, and about the clear-eyed choices they can make to attain these, to change or not. While the bulk of the film is set in Los Angeles, it feels like a picaresque journey of discovery as they go from one scene to another.

The song selections are marvelous, particularly Mark Kozelek's varied twists on different genres to reflect the different characters. It's a cute joke to have Schwartzman's "Jeremy" as a roadie when he has been on the road with Phantom Planet.

The costume design by Nancy Steiner is lovely; clearly the shopgirl was using all the discounts available to her at Saks even before a paternalistic benefactor picks up the tab.

I hope for Steve Martin's sake (and book sales) that the novella on which this desultory movie is based is better than the movie itself.

Claire Danes, who I wanted desperately to like, gives a catatonic performance as a lonely young woman looking for love, or at least human contact, in L.A. A love triangle of sorts develops between her, a wacky spaced-out nice guy (Jason Schwartzman) and an older, very well off divorcée (Steve Martin), who's nearly as catatonic as Danes. Absolutely nothing of significance or originality happens as this story builds toward a conclusion you can predict before the opening credits have even finished rolling. The characters played by Danes and Martin are such drips that you can't muster up one iota of interest in what happens to either of them or their love affair. The film moves at a woeful pace, and everything's set to a funereal, repetitive string score. The only life in the film comes from Schwartzman, who has far too small a role. In fact, why not just make a movie about him next time?

Grade: C-