Woody Allen is back.
Woody Allen
is back. After dabbling in movie mediocrity for a while, he went to England to
make the fine “Match Point,” and now he has written and directed a perfectly
crafted story in “Vicky Christina Barcelona.” If England was a way stop for
Allen, Barcelona is where he fell in love. Every filmed frame of the city is
enveloped in the golden light of someone who sees it with eyes that love each
detail of the city and its culture. His story isn’t just set in Barcelona; it
could only be there.
Next victory:
perfect casting. Javier Bardem springs from the fabric of Barcelona. After
spotting two American tourists at a gallery opening, he sees them again in a
café and approaches them with a proposal: “Fly with me to Oviedo for the
weekend.” What will they do? “See my favorite sculpture, drink wine, make love.
The night is warm and balmy and we’re alive; isn’t that enough?”
After giving
us that magical capsule of European attitude, Allen then turns his eye on the
Americans and gives us a telling and extraordinarily perceptive portrait of two
young college graduates and their response to Juan Antonio (Bardem). Vicky
(Rebecca Hall) plans to study for her Masters in Barcelona; she is engaged to
Doug (Chris Messina), a stick figure Wall Street networker, and is horrified by
the proposal. Christina (Scarlett Johanssen), a far freer spirit with a past
full of impulsive flings, is on board all the way. “We’re alive, isn’t that
enough?” is plenty for her.
Of Vicky,
Juan Antonio says, “She analyzes everything until all the charm is squeezed out
of it.” It’s the comically American and tortured Woody Allen way of
deconstructing options until they are bone dry. Christina, on the other hand is
impulsive and despairing of America’s materialistic culture. She’s alive, isn’t
she, and this is Barcelona – golden in its poets, artists, musicians, and
restaurants. She moves in with the painter.
Though we
know the film is building to the entrance of Juan Antonio’s ex-wife, Maria
Elena, nothing prepares us for the explosive arrival of Penelope Cruz who storms
on screen in a turmoil of emotion. Her mercurial Maria Elena shouts and screams
and accuses in a seamless mixture of Spanish and English that is hilarious. She
smokes and drinks and paints and lights the sky with trouble. She is simply
superb. Her bi-lingual conversational pyrotechnics relegate the American accents
to high definition provincialism.
Still credit
goes where it’s due: to every performer in this movie, to the technicians who
know how to show love through light, to Javier Bardem who in understating his
life truths, becomes bigger and gentler than life itself, to Cruz who has become
a dazzling presence, and to Woody Allen who made something grand of a slight
premise - two American girls abroad. He has recovered all his gifts in writing
this gossamer story for a wondrous cast in a perfect city. He’s back.
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