Cinema: Minuit à Paris (Midnight in Paris)

I was introduced to the quirky genius of Woody Allen in high school, on a date at the Drive-In with my friend Donald Smith, in a blue VW Beetle affectionately called "Mildred". It was the 1970's, and on the playbill was a triple feature; "Sleeper", "Bananas", and "Everything You Wanted to Know about Sex, but Were Afraid to Ask". It was quite an introduction! Donald's taste in cinema was far more sophisticated than mine, and I can still hear his laughter as we experienced this marathon of absurdity. I was hooked, the unbearable angst and rapier wit of a skinny Jewish geek from Brooklyn hit the mark so many times over the years. I have often felt that we have been privy to the innermost essence of the man, his soul laid bare on the silver screen for all to see. From his romantic side in "Play it Again, Sam", to his relationship issues in "Manhattan", and "Annie Hall", to his hatred for and desire to murder ex-wife (Mia Farrow) in "Crimes and Misdemeanors", we have experienced his personal journey to the place he has finally arrived, contentment with the here and now. Unfortunately, this new found state of being is unkind to his art - with the exception of "Scoop", where Allen confronts his own mortality, his last several films have fallen flat, missing the neurosis that gave his work a cutting edge. Having fallen head over heels in love with Paris, having lived here for the last 4 years, having loved Woody Allen, and having read about all the excitement as he filmed here, casting France's First Lady Carla Bruni in a cameo role, I decided Midnight in Paris was a must see. Sadly, I was wrong. Perhaps 10 years ago I would have wept at the sight of all the familiar places, shot so perfectly for the opening sequence. The Place du Concorde, Montmarte, Le Tour d'Eiffel, the Opera Garnier, he hits all the spots I know and love. Had I become jaded? What francophile hasn't dreamt of rolling with Hemingway and Picasso, Gertrude Stein, Josephine Baker, Man Ray and Cole Porter, all in Paris in the 1920's, all partying like rockstars together in between hours of intellectual discourse! Our hero, played by Owen Wilson has, and serendipitously has the chance as he walks the streets of Paris at night. A successful Hollywood screenwriter engaged to be married working on the next great American novel, he fancies himself as a writer in Paris, romanticizing a time long past. As the clock strikes midnight during his promenade through the city, he is transported by an antique Peugot occupied by Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald and the name dropping begins. We hear Cole Porter singing at the piano, Madame Baker sings and dances sensuously. There is nothing I hate more than predictibility in a movie, and it became annoyingly so as we went to Le Polidor to meet Hemingway, Le Moulin Rouge to meet - you guessed it- Toulouse Latrec, (yawn) and Maxims to include Degas and Matisse. What was worse is the acting, which felt stilted and unnatural. Rachel McAdams seems to be reading her lines, Wilson is just not up to snuff, and the part of Hemingway (played by Cory Stoll) was embarrassingly overacted. Ironically Madame Bruni came off as quite natural - this being her first role as an actress, and having taken quite a bit of criticism from the French press. Marion Cotillard proved herself formidable in the role of "Adriana", a mistress of Pablo Picasso, delivering the finest performance in the film, and Adrien Brody makes us laugh as Dali. The ending, being every bit as predictable as the rest of the film is a bit of a letdown, and I am sorry to say perhaps Mr. Allen's best days are behind him. On a scale of 1-10, my Overall Enjoyability Rating for Midnight in Paris is a 4