Starring Penelope Cruz, Rebecca Hall, Scarlett Johansson, and Javier Bardem
Y
An ungodly, unending nightmare duel between two actors who can’t act, each one landing mimsying luvvie flop-punches at each other inside a battledome constructed of one man’s middle-aged sexual inadequacy. Larry David SHOULD KNOW BETTER whilst combatant #2, a glob of stubbled plastic called Henry Cavill, is the new Superman, a role which will suit him well as it involves standing and smiling, standing and smiling, standing and smiling. It’s all he does here. All he does. He’s effectively the romantic lead. And he stands. And he smiles. And that’s all. ‘Whatever Works’. But it doesn’t work, and that’s the rub; if the whole thing is some hyper-conceptual meta-comedy that laughs at the audience rather than have them laugh at it then fine, seal it away deep, deep overground in Woody’s private DVD penthouse with the old movies and the porn and the demented, sphincter-grappling Hungarian hell-porn but for God’s sake keep it to himself. If it does attempt to be a real comedy, for people and everything, then it’s failed and you shouldn’t watch it. Whatever Works that is, not Vicky Christina Barcelona, which is actually reviewed here, several months ago, largely because Michael Jai White punched out time itself. This thing here, the words you’re reading, is a retroactive review, from last week, the past. Vicky Christina Barcelona is great, meaning any unified theory of Allen is already thrown hopelessly out of the bathwater, or something. Who is he? What does he want? Does he have any form of human interaction anymore? Why is he allowed to make films? Stay tuned for next week!
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