Pablum for Narcissists

Rating: 1/10 (2 April 2012)

This is Woody Allen at his most shallow and pretentious. As in all his movies, the central character is Woody Allen himself, his anxieties, his narcissism and his affectations. Whether he plays the main character himself or, as in this case, it is played by someone else, it's still the whiny, insecure, pathetic little pseudo-intellectual that by all indications is who he really is. All other characters in his movies are either clones of the Woody character or projections of his neuroses. What's most evident here is Woody's tin ear for comedy. Jokes fall flat, and worse, ruin any semblance of a mood or serious emotion among the characters. Woody is, and probably will always be, a frightened, insecure twelve year old boy with average intelligence who is desperate to appear smarter than he is. For some people that's funny; for me, it's just embarrassing.
Here we have Gil, (Owen Wilson) another Woody clone visiting Paris with his dumb-blond wife, her parents, plus a pedantic professor and his equally pretentious and absurd wife. They are the epitome of East Coast liberals: insufferably arrogant and intellectually competitive. Gil has an added affliction besides his annoying nervous tics: he's obsessed by the Paris literary/art scene of the 1920s. In fact, he worships the celebrities of that era the same way the the clueless slobs in "The King of Comedy" worship their TV idols. Gil is a groupie. He has little feeling for art or writing but needs to somehow bask in the reflected glory that knowing their names will add to his resume.
Raymond Chandler once wrote in reference to the people who go to Hollywood parties in hopes of rubbing elbows with celebrities: "They are fearful of becoming the nobodies they never ceased to be." That is Gil. One night (who knows how?) he is transported back to the 1920s where he is able to actually meet some of his heroes and heroines. This could be a sort of magical moment, a romantic fantasy realized on the screen. But in order for such a thing to work the audience must be convinced of the reality of the transformation from one time to another. Unfortunately Allen wrecks the suspension of disbelief at every opportunity with the intervention of the nervous and supercilious Gil who can't seem to keep his mouth shut. The artists too, such as Ernest Hemingway, Salvador Dali, Pablo PIcasso and Man Ray are merely cartoon stereotypes, often spouting quotes from their own work, or commenting on art in that phony-baloney way people in Woody Allen movies are wont to do. These artistic celebs welcome Gil into their midst, but you know right away the real artists these stereotypes are based on wouldn't have had anything to do with such an obvious loser.
I could say more. Did I mention that there seems to be some kind of weird colorization in some of the Parisian cityscapes? What's that all about? But I hope I've said enough to warn you off this pile of sentimentality and drivel. Did I mention it's not funny?