carped

This is convoluted, although trying to be simple road-movie; conceited, although trying to be simple-minded; unrealistic, although trying to impart a sense of satire. The protagonist couple is so fuzzy cuddly to the point of being disgusting. And who are these people? Are we supposed to believe that the guy, the husband, is a seller of complex insurance investment products? Where have the writers seen such scruffy laid-back mushy finance types? The rest of the characters are just crass caricatures of wacky hippie family, callous self-centered parents, frantically pro-creative but fiercely child-hating folks, or fiercely child-loving but confused and almost deranged couple (in Montreal). Is it supposed to be satire? If it is, it is blanket misfire across the board. It never touches on the surface of reality. Is it supposed to be romantic coming-of-age young family story? It fails here as well, since it never goes anywhere in this sense . There are feeble attempts to make some jokes, but all of them simply fall flat. And that stilted dialog just goes on and on. I forced myself to see this to the end, hoping there there would be some redeeming features. No, it ends with some deus-ex-machina open finale, that made me regret I spent my 100 minutes on this mess.

The critics have missed on this one. Don't believe the negative reviews. It's the funniest one from Woody since maybe Deconstructing Harry. Everything works. From the very original script, combining Allen's bleak view of life with effervescent farcical plot line, to uniformly fine performances from Larry David, Evan Rachel Wood, Patricia Clarkson, and the rest of the cast. Comedic sparks fly non-stop. Not just light chuckles here and there at Woody's witticisms, but loud all-out laughter. The scenes with Ed Begley's and Patricia Clarkson's transformations of 'classic text-book right-wing material' are especially hilarious. And in the end I came out from the theater, thinking that in a paradoxical way it was one of the most life-affirming pictures from the master.

It's one of the most thinly written movies I've seen recently. OK, we get it from the very start that Phoenix's character is depressed and tries to commit suicide. Then for the whole duration of the movie he's trying to act normal, trying to choose between one hot brunette, that's he doesn't love (but doesn't mind banging), and one hot blonde, he's mad about. We never know what are the reasons for his condition, and we don't know anything interesting about him or his two lovers. For the film that tries to be serious psychological drama it's pretty shallow and underwritten. And allusions to Dostoevsky that are dropped by the film-makers and picked up here on the Board are just an attempt to bring some weight and cultural baggage to otherwise vaporous script.