Only a complete Woody Allen apologist would like this film. His self-indulgent need to have an actor represent him, as in this movie and Celebrity, is increasingly annoying and distasteful.
When Allen is at the top of his game, which he seems to be less and less these days, the comedy is funny and smart while the drama is real and unforced. This movie feels contrived all the way through; all of the actors are wooden and nothing feels even remotely spontaneous. Melinda's character in both venues, especially her "tragic persona," is incredibly hackneyed... Monologues about terrible events are delivered with a quaking hand and a cigarette, telling us in no uncertain terms that she's unhappy instead of allowing that unhappiness to reveal itself slowly or truthfully. When she tells the black piano player that she did violence to her ex-lover, his response is so ho-hum, like everything he says and does, that one has to laugh at the sheer absurdity of their relationship. His responses, like all of his revelatory and romantic speeches, sound more like prescriptions from her gynecologist than anything you'd expect from her lover. And Will Ferrell's performance nearly drove my foot through the TV.
On top of all that, the characters whine and bellow so much about nothing that you wish before too long that Ebola or something just as nasty will provide relief.
Just like The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, the comic potential of this film is great but lousy acting and witless, contrived dialog sink the picture. You know the dialog is bad when anything written by James Cameron or George Lucas surpasses it.
When Allen is at the top of his game, which he seems to be less and less these days, the comedy is funny and smart while the drama is real and unforced. This movie feels contrived all the way through; all of the actors are wooden and nothing feels even remotely spontaneous. Melinda's character in both venues, especially her "tragic persona," is incredibly hackneyed... Monologues about terrible events are delivered with a quaking hand and a cigarette, telling us in no uncertain terms that she's unhappy instead of allowing that unhappiness to reveal itself slowly or truthfully. When she tells the black piano player that she did violence to her ex-lover, his response is so ho-hum, like everything he says and does, that one has to laugh at the sheer absurdity of their relationship. His responses, like all of his revelatory and romantic speeches, sound more like prescriptions from her gynecologist than anything you'd expect from her lover. And Will Ferrell's performance nearly drove my foot through the TV.
On top of all that, the characters whine and bellow so much about nothing that you wish before too long that Ebola or something just as nasty will provide relief.
Just like The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, the comic potential of this film is great but lousy acting and witless, contrived dialog sink the picture. You know the dialog is bad when anything written by James Cameron or George Lucas surpasses it.