Film: Match Point (Woody Allen)
I just don’t get films anymore.
‘London’ as a setting doesn’t help. Look, here’s our famous art gallery, here’s our famous theatre, here’s a famous black cab. It’s raining now, gosh, that famous English weather. And now it’s Christmas, so here’s 3 foot of snow. Minor details maybe, but I’m a creature of habit - my environment is important to me and this one made me immediately uncomfortable.
Do the upper classes really function in this way? ‘We’ve just met you, now look sharp and catch these wads of cash!’ The invitation to the opera, several hours after meeting, was at least explained away as “a bit weird”, but is a shared passion for classical music really all it takes to ingratiate oneself in such a way? If so, I’m in the wrong job. I’ve heard of Mozart.
I didn’t connect with any of the characters, I actually disliked them all. It started to smack of Closer in that sense very early on, but I did try to remain objective. Even so, I find it difficult to like people who display no purpose to their existence. For this reason my favourite characters were probably the chauffeur and the housekeeper. But even then I was annoyed at the housekeeper’s forwardness in her baby congratulations.
Scarlett Johansson, who I hear such great things about, has now failed to inspire me in two consecutive films. (Lost in Translation is not reviewed as I actively chose to fall asleep before the end). I have also, in a disgustingly un-pc fashion, found her to be a little bit chubby. I fully believe that curves in Hollywood are a wonderful thing which should be much more present. Nonetheless, in both films she displayed slightly lumpy, slightly wobbly bits which weren’t particularly aesthetically pleasing. Sorry.
Nice to see Ewan Bremner in another film. Shame that his thick Scottish accent dictates that he must play a thick Scottish detective. And partnered with a Northern Irish colleague – some kind of City of London outreach project, maybe? James Nesbitt, you’re a shit detective. And if I was your wife, and you woke me up at 3am with eureka style shrieks, I’d batter you to death with your yellow pages.
The ‘big ending’ brought some relief in that Something Actually Happened. If I’d inadvertently sat through another film where Londonites visited tourist attractions and had bad relationships exclusively, I would have been forced to ask for my money back. The old lady twist was vaguely interesting, but unsurprisingly - ‘I never let anyone in…unless you talk to me about peanut butter’ - I didn’t care for her much either. When Chris reloaded the gun post pensioner murder the man in front of me, who’d helpfully provided a lively plot dissection to his wife throughout, exclaimed “who’s he going to kill now?!”. (Well, duh!). It was at this point I concluded that I was perhaps not Allen’s target audience.
In what is surely a travesty of modern film appreciation, I haven’t seen any of Woody’s previous efforts. That fact alone I’m sure deems me unworthy to comment. However, from what I’ve heard, I was expecting more. Fans of the film tell us that “Allen's decision to be pretty lazy with the detective work was made so as to concentrate on the theme of luck” but the lack of autopsy was, in my humble opinion, a step too far. I am happy to suspend my disbelief as and when required. But I do expect some kind of pay off in return.
And sex in that famous English weather, in a corn field? Give me strength.
‘London’ as a setting doesn’t help. Look, here’s our famous art gallery, here’s our famous theatre, here’s a famous black cab. It’s raining now, gosh, that famous English weather. And now it’s Christmas, so here’s 3 foot of snow. Minor details maybe, but I’m a creature of habit - my environment is important to me and this one made me immediately uncomfortable.
Do the upper classes really function in this way? ‘We’ve just met you, now look sharp and catch these wads of cash!’ The invitation to the opera, several hours after meeting, was at least explained away as “a bit weird”, but is a shared passion for classical music really all it takes to ingratiate oneself in such a way? If so, I’m in the wrong job. I’ve heard of Mozart.
I didn’t connect with any of the characters, I actually disliked them all. It started to smack of Closer in that sense very early on, but I did try to remain objective. Even so, I find it difficult to like people who display no purpose to their existence. For this reason my favourite characters were probably the chauffeur and the housekeeper. But even then I was annoyed at the housekeeper’s forwardness in her baby congratulations.
Scarlett Johansson, who I hear such great things about, has now failed to inspire me in two consecutive films. (Lost in Translation is not reviewed as I actively chose to fall asleep before the end). I have also, in a disgustingly un-pc fashion, found her to be a little bit chubby. I fully believe that curves in Hollywood are a wonderful thing which should be much more present. Nonetheless, in both films she displayed slightly lumpy, slightly wobbly bits which weren’t particularly aesthetically pleasing. Sorry.
Nice to see Ewan Bremner in another film. Shame that his thick Scottish accent dictates that he must play a thick Scottish detective. And partnered with a Northern Irish colleague – some kind of City of London outreach project, maybe? James Nesbitt, you’re a shit detective. And if I was your wife, and you woke me up at 3am with eureka style shrieks, I’d batter you to death with your yellow pages.
The ‘big ending’ brought some relief in that Something Actually Happened. If I’d inadvertently sat through another film where Londonites visited tourist attractions and had bad relationships exclusively, I would have been forced to ask for my money back. The old lady twist was vaguely interesting, but unsurprisingly - ‘I never let anyone in…unless you talk to me about peanut butter’ - I didn’t care for her much either. When Chris reloaded the gun post pensioner murder the man in front of me, who’d helpfully provided a lively plot dissection to his wife throughout, exclaimed “who’s he going to kill now?!”. (Well, duh!). It was at this point I concluded that I was perhaps not Allen’s target audience.
In what is surely a travesty of modern film appreciation, I haven’t seen any of Woody’s previous efforts. That fact alone I’m sure deems me unworthy to comment. However, from what I’ve heard, I was expecting more. Fans of the film tell us that “Allen's decision to be pretty lazy with the detective work was made so as to concentrate on the theme of luck” but the lack of autopsy was, in my humble opinion, a step too far. I am happy to suspend my disbelief as and when required. But I do expect some kind of pay off in return.
And sex in that famous English weather, in a corn field? Give me strength.
posted by Shhh at 8:51 PM
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