Owen Wilson gives a winner of a performance playing a character that the director might have done twenty, thirty years ago

Rating: 7/10 (10 May 2012)

The protagonist in "Midnight in Paris" is the sort of character than the film's writer/director, Woody Allen, might have played thirty years ago. Alas, Mr. Allen is now in his seventies, so the role had to go to somebody with somewhat shorter branches. Nevertheless, the director made a sane choice in casting Owen Wilson, an underrated actor who specializes at playing nebbish simpletons.
Now the ads for "Midnight in Paris" are a first-class example of Hollywood's fiscal-minded schemes. You see Owen Wilson and Rachel McAdams strolling through Paris, smiling, arms around each other. If memory serves me correct, that only happens once in the film. The rest of the time, they are squabbling toward a non-reconciliation. The reason? One night, Mr. Wilson takes a drunken walk through the streets of Paris and is picked up by a mysterious yellow car. The car takes him, literally, back in time, allowing him to meet the great artists of the 1920s. Ernest Hemingway, Salvadore Dali, Pablo Picasso, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, just to name a few.
The transitions where Mr. Wilson goes back and forth through time are a little skimpy and rough toward the beginning of the picture. They don't exactly convey a sense of mystery or bewilderment; as far as I was concerned, the protagonist was being duped. However, as the movie progresses, this lackluster mode of transition almost becomes suitable, if only because the filmmaker is allowing it to become familiar. In the midst of these fantastic adventures, during which Mr. Wilson falls in love with a French costume designer (Marion Cotillard), Woody Allen explores a common feeling among contemporary artists: the wish to have been born during a perceived "golden age." The "golden age" being determined by one's personal sense of admiration for those before him.
Despite a somewhat uneven narrative and those pesky transitions, "Midnight in Paris" is still a modestly interesting experience. Most of the credit is due not to Mr. Allen's screenplay or direction (although both are just fine) but to Owen Wilson's flabbergasted, captivating performance. The actor gets inside his character's head and personality and blurts out complicated streams of dialogue without bloating into a hammy, nightstand performance. Miss McAdams, as his snotty fiancée, is also in fine form. Some very versatile talents also play the famous folk of the past, some only for very brief scenes. For instance, there is Adrien Brody playing Dali with a surprisingly good French accent. Marion Cotillard is also very good, but she's no stranger to praise from me.
Perhaps the movie has too many characters. Too many romantic interests, chiefly. First of all, there's Miss McAdams, whose character I'm fine with. Then there's Miss Cotillard, who I liked the most. Then, however, there are two others: a tour guide played by Carla Bruni and Lea Seydoux as a Parisian record salesgirl. In all fairness, it was not a bad idea to provide a contemporary-era love interest for the hero, but these last two characters could have been all too easily combined into one person. Being separate, neither seems to have much purpose or development.
The heroes of this film are Woody Allen and Owen Wilson. The latter does a stupendous job at playing the character, and the former sculpts the personality for him to play. The movie as a whole is also enjoyable in spite of its jumpy way of playing out its story. It also has a classic time-travel joke toward the end involving a gum-shoe and 1700s France. I'll let you check it out for yourself. About the only dreadful thing I could spot was an obnoxious music score, which unfortunately refused to stay in the background.