"These people don't have any antibiotics!"

Rating: 9/10 (19 June 2017)

Gil (Owen Wilson) is a reluctant Hollywood screenwriter and a hopeless romantic who yearns for the Paris of The Twenties, who wants to live in a small loft and eat baguettes and write a great novel. He's tagged-along to Paris with his fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her conservative, wealthy parents (Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy) on the father's business trip in order to embrace the city. Inez wants to shop and spend time with her former professor Paul (Michael Sheen), a bombastic know-it-all who constantly spews factoids to the point he argues with a tour guide (Carla Bruni). Gil can't stand the pseudo-intellectualism and extravagance, and so one night, drunk from a wine-tasting, he wanders the streets to walk alone. While sitting on a lone staircase amid the chiming of the church-bells at midnight, an old-timely Peugeot from the 20's rolls up and a gaggle of drunk Parisians entice him to come with them to a party.
Of course, Gil can only visit this world at midnight, and so he finds himself working diligently during the daylight hours on his novel to present it to his new Roaring Twenties compatriots when he gets magically whisked away at midnight by old-timely conveyance. Gil also must compete with his burgeoning affection for a mysterious muse he meets at Gertrude's home, the lovely Adriana (Marion Cotillard). The weird comedy of errors situation is weak but essential -- Midnight in Paris frames itself on romantic notions, and what would a romance be without romance, NE c/est pas? So what comes about is a moral tug-of-war, wanting to live and love this seemingly perfect enchantress -- one who gained the love of both Picasso and Hemingway -- or dealing with his catty and poorly named fiancée, Inez? To Gil's credit, he's not an unfeeling cad, so it's at least a battle, but at times it feels like using the Gallic shrug to dispel the infidelity. Tis Paris, Mon-Amie! Affairs come gratis with the befoul burgeoning.
While Rachel McAdams is a wonderful replacement for Scarlett Johanssen, and Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy are brilliant as the grousing tea-baggier haves, it's really in the Twenties where the film is extravagantly magical. Before I gush madly about the clownishly wondrous stereotypical twenties characters, I must spend at least a moment expressing my love for Michael Sheen. His elitist Paul is something to behold the trailers can't even capture how wonderfully arrogant and aggravating he truly is in the part. And his American accent's pretty f*King boss too. I'm not as well versed on the non-American actors as I should be, so I'm probably leaving out properly being stunned as I should be, but virtually everyone who represents one of the famed figures plucked from history are cast and characterised perfectly. Alison Pill's drunken sauciness, Tom Hiddleston's properly coif-ed devotion, Marcial Di Fonzo Bo's explosive passion as Picasso -- they're all maddeningly perfect. They drive the narrative, but still manage to generate these hilarious moments with Gil. Kathy Bates is terrific as Gertrude Stein, Adrian Brody is the best I've ever seen him in an actor that I think is stunningly talented as the fiery Dali, and Corey Stoll is phenomenally brooding and yet exuberant as Hemingway.
Owen Wilson must have been saving all of that energy from all his other slackest roles to bring it here. Since every Woody Allen lead essentially plays Woody Allen, Wilson does an admirable job. He reigns in the snobbish, instead infusing Gil with a childlike energy. Even when he complains, it's less grousing and more like a small kid bemoaning a 7:30 bedtime. It's the infectious and charming Owen Wilson, and so you're willing to ride with Gil through his magical time- travel adventures. The only failure in the film are the love interests. They have nothing to do, no fire of their own, save some mediocre attempts at plot driving. It's hard to root for Gil to choose anyone: even his ultimate choice. Woody Allen's love stories have always been cynical and pragmatic, but when you're writing a capital-R romance, you can't get away with that s*it.
Paris becomes the ultimate star of Midnight in Paris, with a strangely appealing almost short film montage opening the film, and then several scenes that are so achingly poetic it's like watching the Pageant of the Masters. Since Woody Allen does his famous medium shot dialogue tracking shots, when set amid the succulent beauty of a Parisian landmark, it just enhances everything that much more. Since leaving London, Allen's scored himself an Oscar nomination -- and I wouldn't be shocked to see a few more from this darling little sleeper. Perhaps his eastward drift is going to be a boon.
Logically, he'll either go Scandinavian or perhaps Italian. Eventually he'll settle into Asia, which seems to be where he's most comfortable these days. So while you're drinking in the explosive swords and cymbalists of this summer, give yourself a chance to appreciate this quiet little gem. It's a nice return to form for both Allen and Owen Wilson, and you'll probably be as pleasantly surprised as I was.