Melancholy romantic drama about two American women on holiday. They soon meet an artist who invites them to vacation with him for the weekend. After a trio of films in London, Allen continues his European fascination with this story set in Spain. Despite the beautiful location shooting, this is essentially your standard issue Woody Allen tale of neurotic New Yorkers moaning and groaning about relationships. His ideas about love are oddly misanthropic. Vicky and Christina as tourists act like spoiled, rich American brats taken in by the first charismatic lothario that seduces them. Divorced painter Juan Antonio Gonzalo’s mantra? “Only unfulfilled love can be romantic”. That is to say, only the excitement of the chase is passionate, specifically the process of falling in love. He’s at the center of a Casanova fantasy that believes any woman’s depression can be undone by a good roll in the hay. Yet, these women don’t even seem to know what they want and that’s the point.
The performances are indeed expressive. As always, the dialogue is natural and it flows. Scarlett Johansson, in her 3rd effort with Woody, is capable as the shallow, free-spirited Christina. Also memorable is Rebecca Hall as the supposedly conventional Vicky. Given her conspicuous absence on the movie posters, she surprisingly has the single largest role. Although both of their principles (or lack of them) feel genuine, it doesn’t make them any less emotionally weak. They’re pretty delusional. For all the recognition lavished on Penelope Cruz, she makes her first appearance well into the second half of the picture. For once, she’s allowed to speak Spanish in an American production, and she’s all the better for it. To her credit, she doesn’t fit your typical Woody Allen character, but she does come across as a bit of a madwoman.
You may be captivated by the chronicle’s scenic charms, particularly if attending an outdoor Spanish guitar concert at night is your idea of heaven. I admit the celebration of Spanish culture is intoxicating. Curiously, this became Woody’s biggest hit since Hannah and her Sisters, slightly out-earning the far superior Match Point. In the face of glaring flaws, Vicky Cristina Barcelona remains an interesting, albeit pessimistic critique on love.
Gut-wrenching documentary about Dr. Andrew Bagby, a resident in family practice in Latrobe, Pennsylvania who is shot to death by Shirley Turner, his unstable girlfriend. Soon after his murder, it is discovered that she is pregnant with his unborn child. This document would then serve as a memorial honoring the father little Zachary never knew. At first this record suggests a home movie made to commentate a loved one, something very intimate to be shared only with close relatives. Haphazard and awkwardly constructed, the amateurish style actually contributes to its immediacy. Many relatives, friends, and associates attest to their love and admiration for Andrew and support for his parents, David and Kathleen. There is hope within this loving and dedicated group. Although it includes numerous testimonials, it becomes much more than a tribute. The memoir soon shifts focus from Andrew to his parents as they seek to gain custody of grandson Zachary, from the woman they suspected of killing their son. As we are further drawn into the Bagby’s world, we sympathize with their terrible plight and share in their cause. The intestinal fortitude shown by Bagby’s parents is unbelievable. They display a strength of character I doubt few people could muster in the midst of such despair. It’s admirable. My heart goes out to them and I was touched by the devotion they had for their grandson.
Biography loosely based on Ip Man, grandmaster of the martial art Wing Chun and early mentor to actor Bruce Lee. Hong Kong action star Donnie Yen plays the legendary martial artist. He presents him as a humble man who lives in an unobtrusive manner. His understated performance adds significantly to this character driven film. Yen’s subtle interpretation is diametrically opposed to the story’s oversimplification of his life, however. The narrative can be rather fawning at times. The script glorifies him as an invincible saint. Any viewer will be able to predict how the showdowns will end even before they begin. Nevertheless, the fight sequences are highlighted by choreography that is nothing less than extraordinary. They are a definite high point. In one particularly stunning scene, Ip Man chooses to battle ten men in retaliation for the death of his friend. It’s an exhilarating display worth the price of admission. If you’re looking for a penetrating historical biography, look elsewhere, but if you desire an entertaining story with astonishing action, you won’t be disappointed.
Bizarre account of the “most violent prisoner in Britain” Michael Peterson who was re-named Charles Bronson, after the American film star, by his fight promoter. Strikingly photographed crime drama is highly stylized. Bronson frequently narrates the action from a vaudevillian stage, facing an audience. His bloody bare knuckle brawls with prison guards are a frequent, brutally savage occurrence. In contrast, the soundtrack is highlighted by classical music and Giorgio Moroder-ish electro pop. The odd mix clearly takes it’s s stylistic cues from A Clockwork Orange. Actor Tom Hardy is memorable as the title character, but as a biography, it’s incredibly shallow. Snapshots of a life are presented without any exposition. It’s hard to understand this miscreant since the script never delves too deeply into his bloodthirsty personality. We get 92 minutes of rage with an art house bent. Call it an audacious free-for-all, that just doesn‘t go the distance.
Fast Film Reviews 