Losing the Plot

Rating: 3/10 (30 November 2011)

There is little in this film that is watchable, unless one would entertain the idea of seeing a pseudo-nostalgic travelogue, pellmell concoction laid on as a haphazard tapestry of lifeless blasts from the past. It is not that those splendid greats are of no import nowadays; it is the author who makes them seem so.
The script should never have been approved, since it ought to have failed the crucial question of, Does it have legs? It has none, squatting flat on its belly, with no lift-off in sight. The writing is so bad it could have come from a teenager eager to emulate his living hero, the Great Woody. But that is the problem with heroes: as long as they are alive, they can fail. In this instance, badly indeed.
Anyone aspiring to be a film director should disqualify himself just by casting, or accepting the casting of, Wilson. The sudden flight of bullets is less deadly than this made-for-TV actor. However, in this instance and fluffily coiffed, he is not as deadly as the script, and obviously follows the guidance of his puppet master. He plays Woody capably enough, which makes the experience even more nauseating. If such alter ego business was revolting with Branagh in yesteryear, here we hit the bottom all right.
Yet it is not an unmitigated disaster, and there are some bright spots. Like the legs of Rachel McAdams; or, the bum of Rachel McAdams; or, the tits of Rachel McAdams, I would be delighted to say - but I cannot. As it happens, they are not much in sight. Still, McAdams shines through, and if we went for a targeted edit of shots showing her, there would suddenly be full five minutes of eminently watchable production. Instead, the author gives us another ninety, of no interest at all.
It would be too harsh to claim that He lost the plot, though; in this particular case, there simply was no plot to start with. Rest in peace, Mr Konigsberg!