Friends and Strangers

Kinda good, kinda bad.

I enjoyed 'Friends and Strangers' a bit at the beginning and a lot near the end, though the middle is lame - in my opinion, of course. The start holds intrigue and the whole chilled vibe is cool, though come the midway point it loses all steam. Thankfully, the concluding parts are its best.

It's the scenes at the villa(s) for the wedding that are the best, I genuinely enjoyed those moments. The rest is either forgettable or straight up uninteresting. It might've worked out better if they stuck with Emma Diaz's Alice, who seemed better in the acting department, rather than Fergus Wilson's Ray.

Long still shots of a scene waiting for the characters to enter it or exit it. Drivel conversations. Why do these producers make such crap? Don't waste your time with this gong show.

There's a lot to like in this offbeat, deadpan comedy that's part Rohmer and part Wes Anderson. Beautifully shot, and wonderful, notable performances by many of the actors, especially Emma Diaz. The character of Ray is at the center of the film, though, and the portrayal is too thin to carry it along. Clearly he's meant to be something of a cypher. But there's too little going on with the portrayal to merit the attention.

Eric Rohmer is one of those figures like Godard, Francis Bacon or Pinter who is not a good influence on younger artists. He's just too distinctive and the creative liberties he takes, which seem like revelations when you see them in his stuff, just end up looking like laziness in the work of the young pretenders. Really, that's what they are, coming not out the specific needs of the artists and their work, but copied dumbly from the master.

It might help if some of the many Rohmer wannabes could work out a little more clearly what their needs and wants actually are. Rohmer always seemed to know: his work is almost always about something. Hell, he even began his filmmaking career with a series of self-described 'moral tales.' The copyists seem to have missed this, only noticing the long takes, muted colour, walking around and the endless talking. Those things, on their own, it turns out, are not going to make your movie.

Here, about the most the writer seems to have to say is, 'Nowt so queer as folk.' We are asked just to enjoy the random foibles, interspersed with static shots of scenery. It would all be inadequate anyway, but a great deal of the dialogue is not as well observed as it means to be and the actor playing the lead is not quite up to it, though there's enough there that I hope he'll grow as a performer, not quit.

OK, there's a little hint of deeper significance in a mid-point exchange in which this protagonist's friend challenges him to face up to the recent trauma of his ex cheating on him. But the events around this mostly have little to do with this experience, and even less to say about the dangers of suppressing feelings, which the protagonist seems determined to do.

My own feeling is, I'm depressed by it all, really bummed. It's so pervasive in art house movies, this endless business of good bits with nothing to say. The thinking is so muddled and just so wrong. These writers all need to take a tip from Samuel Johnson: 'Young writers should go through their work and cross out all the good parts.'

Affluent social masterpiece showcasing the weird socialites of Sydney in niche areas. Great representation on focused landscape I've seen in a while. Heaps real life stuff, with a relatable random storyline.