Paul, a handsome and talented music student is employed as the page-turner at one of the world famous pianist Kennington's concerts in San Francisco. Not only is Paul diligent but also ... See full summary »
Paul, a handsome and talented music student is employed as the page-turner at one of the world famous pianist Kennington's concerts in San Francisco. Not only is Paul diligent but also extremely attractive, a fact noticed by Kennington and his agent Mansourian, two men at the top of their chosen careers. Kennington and Paul meet again in Barcelona, where the boy is on holiday with his mother, Pamela, who is trying to get over her husband leaving her. Paul and Kennington fall in love but this has very different implications for both men. Kennington rushes back home escaping from commitment. Pamela, meanwhile, begins to recover her self-confidence but Paul is no longer a child. Back in the United States Paul learns that his musical career is not going to progress as desired; he simply is not talented enough. Paul and Pamela will learn through their living experience how to build a deeper relationship. Written by
Sujit R. Varma
If the story had been pared down to an examination of the central two characters, rather than lavished with grotesque, utterly implausible and terribly acted caricatures, then this film might have had some potential for being saved from itself. As it stands it has little.
There is no great skill to being catty and negative, but seeing as Food of Love is, by its shoddiness and carelessness an open invitation to cattiness and negativity...
Where to begin? Here are some criticisms: Amateurish, peculiarly dull, predictable, plodding, fraudulent, first-draft dialogue unshorn of the clichés by which any self respecting writer would be haunted, insensitive, prosaic, pedestrian and irritating. Acres of text could be written, if I had a little more energy, about the individual flaws (How about the accent of the piano teacher -- teetering on the brink of being new york Jewish in her first scene, definitely wispy and elderly Scots at the beginning of her second before being revealed, we assume when we learn her name, to be Russian, is used to deliver the sort of lines a piano teacher really *would* never say, reminding her student, for instance: "it's called the Well-tempered clavier not the ill-tempered clavier." The fact that such a dreadfully banal witticism was found funny enough, or perhaps enlightening enough to be included speaks volumes. Clearly no one with any serious interest in or knowledge of music could be bothered to turn up on the day that scene was filmed to ensure that they didn't put the first prelude from the 48 -- something a beginner might play, in the fingers of someone who is supposed to be a music student), with perhaps a few lines to note the strengths.
The idea that a young sensitive gay pianist might be happy in the sexual or romantic clutches of leering, ugly, bald, rich, smug men who seem all to be in their fifties is to stretch the idea of a young man's rebellion far past its natural limit.
No, I can't go on. I'm too furious that I paid money for it, on the recommendation of The Times, of all things, and must go and lie down; but before I do I will say this. Is this really what passes for an American art-house film? God help us all.
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