Whereas Sofia Coppola?s directorial breakthrough, Lost in Translation, featured two lonely souls rattling about in a Tokyo hotel, her latest film, Somewhere, features one lonely soul holed up in a Californian hotel, and isn?t half so good. It?s not bad. It?s not hateful. It?s not evil. You won?t want to hunt it down and bring it to trial. But a second film about ennui suffers from ennui itself. And I?m not sure I can buy into the ?emptiness of celebrity? shtick any more. I wouldn?t mind being an empty celebrity. At least, then, I could drive my emptiness around in a nice car and get someone else to park it for me. As it is, I?m driving my emptiness around in a 14-year-old Honda with only one wing mirror. Where is the joy in that?
And allow me to introduce a personal note, if I may, since it is my blog after all.
In my previous stays at Chateau Marmont, my modest requests to have a stripper pole installed in my room were peremptorily rebuffed, as they fobbed off some excuse on my about the room not being quite up to "code." And yet I gather that in this film the jaded blank of young stud star with an injured bird wing (Stephen Dorff) has one in his room from which a pair of dancers swing. Yes, celebrity has its privileges but I resent being denied in-room entertainment simply because I don't "rate" on some Hollywood scale.
And being the daughter of Francis Ford Coppola and a critics' darling also has its evident privileges, but honestly Sofia you couldn't come up with a more memorable title for your new movie than Somewhere? It's like you're not even trying, giving us a vague shrug intended to be somehow "evocative."
Put a little oomph behind it next time, why doncha?
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