The Shape of Things

'The Shape Of Things' gave me the impression of being an unconventional romantic comedy. It starts that way and pretty much stays that way in the first half hour. But, in a very subtle way, director LaBute, as though peeling the story, gradually reveals its darkness. The movie gets darker and darker by the minute and the ending is unsettling as Evelyn's revelation is exposed like an unexpected punch in the stomach. This also makes one question the 'little sacrifices' they make to satisfy their partners and the extent one is willing to go. LaBute has based the film on his play and it seems to have translated well on screen. With fine cinematography, tight editing, soulful score and solid writing, 'The Shape of Things' is certainly well made but what would it have been without its outstanding performances. Rachel Weisz is marvelous as Evelyn the artist. It can be described as a tour du force performance. Being more specific would risk revealing spoilers. Paul Rudd brilliantly suits the role of Adam (the names Adam and Eve(lyn) are an obvious reference that may define their relationship, depending on the viewer's perspective). Frederick Weller is great as Rudd's caddish friend and Gretchen Mol is very good. 'The Shape of Things' is certainly not your average rom-com. In fact, it isn't a rom com at all.

This film was absolutely not what I expected it to be. In the first half an hour, I even got a little bored, because it seemed like the story was going nowhere. Fortunately, I got my happy ending - no, not at all a film with a happy ending, just an ending that makes the film precious! It really makes you stare at the black screen, with the cast moving in front, and think about what you've seen over and over again. Of course, the brilliant play of Rachel Weisz cannot be left unmentioned, but I think that the others did a great job as well. "The Shape of things" is a film with actually just four actors and one great idea, and trust me, it is worth seeing. I am just wondering how would I feel the second time I watch it!

Neil Labute's shocker is nothing short of breathtaking with amazing performance by Rachel Weisz who is becoming the best actress we have around. The story is intense and the performance is great all around, and it will floor you once you finish seeing it. The biggest praise goes to Rachel Weisz, who single handily makes this movie as great as it is, and she carries this film on her shoulders all the way. Her performance is a tight rope of nerves and guts, and she does it all with style.

If you are looking for an intelligent movie with a great and fearless performance by one of the best actresses of our generation, this is it. If you can't take reality, then go hide under a rock.

While a well done film, it's not enjoyable. There are enough mean people in the world without voluntarily subjecting yourself to another one that is the heart of this film. Rachel Weisz plays convincingly in this film as a heartless art student who subjects Paul Ruud to her talents as a sculptor of humans. The best thing about this film is Paul Ruud's subtle transformation from geek to chic. By the end of the film, you've realized how convincing his change was. However, just because a movie is well made and well acted does not mean it is worth watching. When I left this movie, I felt as if I had spent two hours in the company of evil and meanness. If you like a think piece that leaves you feeling negative, then this is the perfect movie. But if you're looking to spend your hard earned money on a movie that leaves you feeling better for having spent it, choose another flick.

Years ago, when I was young and naive about movies, I read a harshly critical review of "The French Connection." The critic's main objection was that the movie deliberately rubbed the viewer's nerves raw in scene after scene, and then when that wasn't enough, applied something like cinematic rubbing alcohol to the abrasions to goad still more extreme reactions. The critic felt bruised and manipulated when the movie was over.

This movie doesn't rub nerves raw and then apply rubbing alcohol; it drills holes straight into the viewer's skull and pours in battery acid. The trouble with this approach is that the viewer is lobotomized almost instantly, unless the viewer is old enough and crusty enough to have seen the kinds of tricks that Hollywood uses to goad us into strong reactions. There's a scene where the anti-protagonist tells the people attending the unveiling of her latest art project that she knows some people will have strongly negative reactions to her work. "Diversity is good," she says in one of the only lines in the movie where her delivery registers just slightly above the robotic, "just don't be apathetic."

That's what the makers of this movie believe in. Love it or hate it, just please please pretty please don't yawn during the movie.

Well, I yawned.

This movie is the cinematic equivalent of every novel Ayn Rand ever wrote, in the sense that its "story" is really a manifesto, and it shows. Sure, if you're young and still intellectually a blank slate, but hungry for ideas, it can provide the starting point for vigorous debates. I suppose. For those of us who don't view the people around us as bugs in a collection, however (probably because we've already had our turns at being treated as a bug in a collection), this movie is just more pseudo-intellectual bile-venting all dressed up as serious, grown-up thinking. Consider such profound observations as, "Cute guys always develop a potty-mouth sooner or later; they think it makes them more adorable." Does this sound like Hegel to you? Or just a cheap cliché?

I wasn't outraged or shocked or horrified or invigorated or captivated or astonished or anything else by this movie, any more than I am by some modern art exhibit that consists of an empty room with flashing lights, or the feces of an artist in a tin, or a severed penis in a jar. No: Just bored. I've seen it before. Five or six years down the road, someone else will come up with essentially the same idea, but they'll have to twist the knife just a bit harder to try to get a reaction from an ever-more jaded audience.

Maybe this time the artist will kill her ersatz boyfriend. In the movie after that, she can cook and eat him. And in the one after that, she'll announce that the hors d'ouevres that her guests are nibbling are none other than the hapless Addam. Each will feature the same huge banner that reads, "Moralists have no place in an art gallery" (remember to make the letters EXTRA BIG like a Wal-Mart banner) and the same pale, Botoxesque, expressionless, emotionless "artiste" that the movie is lauding and skewering at the same time.

Yawn.