John Turturro's terribly uneven film ranges from the fairly imaginative to the downright horrible. Much of the film reminded me way too much of the worst traits of certain Coen brothers movies: too grotesque, too jokey, too enamored of its own charm. There are moments that come close to saving it, but overall this film is a big disappointment.
Set in no particular time period (present-day cars mingle with 1960s pompadours), this quasi-musical tells the completely dispensable story of a big oafish lout (James Gandolfini, so physically disgusting for so much of the movie that I actually got tired of simply looking at him) who cheats on his wife (Susan Sarandon) with a crass harlot (Kate Winslet, bringing the movie a burst of energy) and then feels bad for it. Big deal. This exact same story could be told by anyone about anyone in any number of ways, so why should we care about this particular man and his particular story? Well, Turturro doesn't answer that question, which is the movie's biggest flaw.
The film veers all over the place in tone. For its first two-thirds, it doesn't take itself seriously at all -- every musical number is a pastiche. Then it lurches into tragedy for its final half hour and ends on a downer note completely at odds with anything else that preceded it. Turturro gathers a large and talented cast, and then wastes most of it. The film sticks too closely with Gandolfini, who isn't interesting enough to hold our interest, and completely ignores all of the marginal characters that bring pizazz to the story. Actors like Bobby Cannavale, Christopher Walken and Mary-Louise Parker simply drop out of the movie without making the slightest impression, while we're stuck following around boring schmuck Gandolfini while he mopes and moans.
I guess Turturro deserves some kudos at least for creativity, but little else about this movie deserves your time or energy.
Grade: D+
Set in no particular time period (present-day cars mingle with 1960s pompadours), this quasi-musical tells the completely dispensable story of a big oafish lout (James Gandolfini, so physically disgusting for so much of the movie that I actually got tired of simply looking at him) who cheats on his wife (Susan Sarandon) with a crass harlot (Kate Winslet, bringing the movie a burst of energy) and then feels bad for it. Big deal. This exact same story could be told by anyone about anyone in any number of ways, so why should we care about this particular man and his particular story? Well, Turturro doesn't answer that question, which is the movie's biggest flaw.
The film veers all over the place in tone. For its first two-thirds, it doesn't take itself seriously at all -- every musical number is a pastiche. Then it lurches into tragedy for its final half hour and ends on a downer note completely at odds with anything else that preceded it. Turturro gathers a large and talented cast, and then wastes most of it. The film sticks too closely with Gandolfini, who isn't interesting enough to hold our interest, and completely ignores all of the marginal characters that bring pizazz to the story. Actors like Bobby Cannavale, Christopher Walken and Mary-Louise Parker simply drop out of the movie without making the slightest impression, while we're stuck following around boring schmuck Gandolfini while he mopes and moans.
I guess Turturro deserves some kudos at least for creativity, but little else about this movie deserves your time or energy.
Grade: D+