Self-indulgent, self-important, annoying, silly, irritating, etc. are just some of the critical words I have seen used to describe this film. Sure, it probably is all of those things. As I watched this film, a lot of those adjectives ran through my head too. When Jessica Biehl (London) lashes out at Chris Evan's character Syd's "psuedo-intelectual bullshit," many viewers probably associated that phrase with the whole film.
But so what? One doesn't have to be a cocaine-snorting rich kid in New York to see that the existential angst the two main characters (Syd and his friend Bateman) feel is shared at one time or another by just about everyone, regardless of class or context. The old question about whether life imitates art or the other way around applies. The fact that the characters may be self-absorbed or narcissistic or silly doesn't take away the fact that the questions asked in the course of their exchanges do take place between all kinds of people. Don't we all ask these questions about God and existence? Don't we all wonder why He often doesn't seem to listen to prayers? Don't many of us still cling to idea of Him for fear of death and fear of deciding that all that is anywhere or anytime is what we live day to day so that we might as well just find the nearest tall bridge as soon as possible? Are only non-beautiful down-to-earth characters allowed to act out on screen the pain we all feel at least sometimes?
London expressed the failure and pain we all feel at times in a real, if not original or eloquent way. Maybe I have just had a really bad run for the last six months in my life (which I have). London felt pretty good to me, nonetheless. Frankly, as the movie went on, I was drawn in and I screamed inside right there along with Syd and Bateman. It was like the Howard Biehl character in Network screaming out the window, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore" played out over an hour and a half with two guys doing the shouting in a bathroom in between snorting lines of cocaine. In sum, at least for me, this film worked just fine.
But so what? One doesn't have to be a cocaine-snorting rich kid in New York to see that the existential angst the two main characters (Syd and his friend Bateman) feel is shared at one time or another by just about everyone, regardless of class or context. The old question about whether life imitates art or the other way around applies. The fact that the characters may be self-absorbed or narcissistic or silly doesn't take away the fact that the questions asked in the course of their exchanges do take place between all kinds of people. Don't we all ask these questions about God and existence? Don't we all wonder why He often doesn't seem to listen to prayers? Don't many of us still cling to idea of Him for fear of death and fear of deciding that all that is anywhere or anytime is what we live day to day so that we might as well just find the nearest tall bridge as soon as possible? Are only non-beautiful down-to-earth characters allowed to act out on screen the pain we all feel at least sometimes?
London expressed the failure and pain we all feel at times in a real, if not original or eloquent way. Maybe I have just had a really bad run for the last six months in my life (which I have). London felt pretty good to me, nonetheless. Frankly, as the movie went on, I was drawn in and I screamed inside right there along with Syd and Bateman. It was like the Howard Biehl character in Network screaming out the window, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore" played out over an hour and a half with two guys doing the shouting in a bathroom in between snorting lines of cocaine. In sum, at least for me, this film worked just fine.