Friends with Money (Holofcener, 2006)

Time for a review...

Friends with Money (Nicole Holofcener, 2006)

Nicole Holofcener obviously has some issues with depressed white rich American women- perhaps because she's one herself- because it seems to be all she can take it on herself to write about. I don't think it's possible to deny that Friends with Money is rather biased towards it's female characters- the men here are, in order of the negativity that the film gives them, angry, disgusting, effeminate and frivolous. I suppose it's redundant to say this, though, since, rather unusually for a Hollywood film, Friends with Money is both and directed by a woman, and the number of female auteurs in the world is distressingly little. But something about Friends with Money is a bit nasty, a bit self-centred- oh, please, moan yet again about your upper-crust depression! The main thing I find wrong with this film is that it seems to equate money to happiness- you could make a ranking scale of wealthiness of the four friends here, and then make a graph comparing it to happiness, and the results would be conclusive: dollars=contentment. Joan Cusack is the one with the big bucks here, and I suppose it says something about Holofcener's preoccupation with showing us these women's problems that she hardly has a storyline. Meanwhile, the film is virtually obsessed with Jennifer Aniston, who, surprise surprise, is the poor one of the group.

Friends with Money clearly thinks it's most valuable asset is Miss Aniston- from it's coy, built-up introduction of the actress amongst the standard introductory montage of all four lead characters (by contrast, the first thing we see of Cusack, Frances McDormand and Holofcener-stalwart Catherine Keener are their faces) to dressing her up in a French maid's outfit, Holofcener seems to want to flaunt it's most bankable star in every way it can, and it is perhaps a shame that Aniston never really repays the adoration poured upon her by her director. Barely a smile passes by Aniston's lips here, no chances to display the comic wit she has previously displayed, and she is even lacking the rather galling expression she introduced to good effect in 2002's The Good Girl.

If we were to go up the chain of wealthiness (and we shall), we would next find the worn display of Catherine Keener, who works as a screenwriter with her husband (Jason Isaacs) and is selfishly having a second story put on her spacious bungalow, not realising she is blocking the neighbour's view. Forgive me, Cathy, but when did a view become so important? Perhaps Holofcener's greatest crime here is giving Keener, who has starred in all of her films (she headlined the last one, the astute if uneven Lovely & Amazing), such a disparate part. In fact, Holofcener does this to pretty much every actor, unsurprising when you note that the film clocks in at a paltry 85 minutes, never fleshing out the various plots she introduces, and never giving much closure- so, is McDormand's husband (Simon McBurney) actually gay? Why is McDormand so angry? And what, exactly, was the purpose of Cusack and her husband (Greg Germann)?

I had much the same problem with Friends with Money that I did with Lovely & Amazing- each seemed to end permaturely, cutting everything off quite suddenly and leaving both characters and audience hanging in mid-air. However, while Lovely & Amazing, with it's more confined plot strands and fewer characters, made this sudden end quite effective- it was an effective snapshot of a family's unsatisfied lives- Friends with Money never even answers it's most basic questions, most notably this: how did Olivia (Aniston) ever become friends with these other women, all richer and older than she? Olivia seems so at odds with her friends, so different in status and goals, that it never really becomes apparent why they have her as a friend.

But thankfully, Friends with Money isn't completely worthless. There's some good stuff here, particularly in performance: from the understated performance of an underused Joan Cusack, some solid supporting work from Jason Isaacs and Simon McBurney, and, in particular, the sympathetic rage and tiredness of Frances McDormand. McDormand's character Jane is, for no apparent reason, a bitter and angry woman, yelling at people who park in 'her' space and who cut in front of her at an Old Navy counter. All this pointless behaviour could easily have made Jane highly dislikable, and indeed, there's little in the script to combat this- but McDormand's vulnerability and exasperation make Jane's angry comprehensible, even relatable. Oh, and I don't mean to be too critical of Holofcener- there are some good observations here, including Keener's shock at being shown what her extension is doing, and the awkward relationship between Olivia and the boorish Mike (Scott Caan), who 'helps' her with her cleaning jobs and then demands a cut of the pay, and avoids looking at her during sex.

But, ultimately, Friends with Money can't help seeming a tad redundant- we've seen most of this stuff before, even from Holofcener herself, and, despite the quality cast that's been gathered and the solid production work on display- costume is particularly adept, with the richest women dressing themselves down while dressing Aniston up- it all feels rather empty and light-headed. These friends may have money, and that might make them happier, but I doubt it'll have the same effect on their audience. Grade: C+

Miami Vice, The Break-Up, Just My Luck and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

[Miami Vice (Michael Mann, 2006): Okay, Michael- can I call you Mikey? No? Okay- I'll level with you. You wanna shove your grainy camera up against Jamie Foxx's forehead? Fine. You wanna try and make me believe that Colin Farrell and Gong Li are so stupid they'd do everything but do it on the dance floor when they're supposed to be keeping themselves secret? Fine. You wanna reserve your blood for the delightful offings of the particularly bad people, because everyone knows the worst people die most violently? Fine. Michael, if you wanna do all that, that's fine with me- just don't expect me to give a damn! You see, Michael, I watched your latest film Miami Vice the other night, and I... well, I don't like being mean, so let's just say it didn't sit well with me. It was kind of, well, boring. I know you were going for the cool, calm and collected thing, Mikey- sorry, Michael- but goddamn, there was no need to set your camera to 'freeze'. I didn't even know it had that setting. Oh, and you know, I thought you'd chosen your actors quite well- Colin Farrell is a charmer, usually, and Jamie Foxx, well, he's a flippin' Oscar winner; and wow, you've got Chinese superstar Gong Li, man, and that Naomie Harris, well, she's one for the future, you don't miss anything, Michael! But damn, Michael, you could have written the damn thing better. I mean, I spent half the movie trying to figure out what the hell was going on and the other half not giving a f**k. Yeah, those black humvees are wonderfully shiny, I kn- yes, I do quite like the sight of Gong Li's behind, Mich- yes, Michael, Paraguay is pretty! But Michael, I'm not just after eye-candy, man. I want something to chew on. I want something I can understand, something I can get excited about, something that gives me an intellectual buzz. You don't have that here, Michael. You can write an occasional cracking line of dialogue, sure. And you can set-up a gorgeous, fluid shot. But no, Michael, I didn't care if she woke up, and I didn't care if he was heartbroken. And, quite frankly, I don't care if you never work again, because I'm really rather bored of this cops-and-robbers shit. Especially when it's as boring as this. Grade: C-]

[The Break-Up (Peyton Reed, 2006): I wasn't really expecting too much from The Break-Up, as promisingly bubbly as its director, Reed, had proved from Down to Love (and cheerleader comedy Bring It On, which I've not seen), and as large a soft spot for Jennifer Aniston as I ashamedly admit to carrying over from Friends. The Break-Up has the rather novel premise of skipping the part that most romantic comedies chew on- the love bit- and instead chronicling a rather messy and bitter separation. Of course, separation would be easy enough if they lived separately- they'd never have to see each other- but that'd make a rather dull movie, so our broken coupling here, Gary (Vince Vaughn) and Brooke (Aniston), are wedged into a plot that has both valiantly hanging onto their jointly-bought and refurbished condo, laying claim to different areas and generally trying to piss the other one off. It's rather hard to forgive the unfunny stereotyping of Brooke's "gay" brother (John Michael Higgins) and her colleague (Justin Long), but thankfully the focus on them proves brief and The Break-Up provides a sizeable amount to chew on- as long as you don't take the film's promoters at their word. I doubt that, if The Break-Up had been marketed as anything other than a romantic comedy then it would have made next-to-no money, but ultimately, The Break-Up is anything but a comedy- this is a bitter, tart and astute drama, always tinged a little too liberally with Hollywood convention but also pleasingly realistic, especially in its open-ended final scene. I give Vaughn and Aniston major points for starring in something so respectively daring- sure, in the world of film as a whole, The Break-Up is hardly a revelation, but in the dollar-centric world of romantic Hollywood, choosing something that will undoubtably piss a large amount of their viewership off is quite commendable. Our two leads are, happily, quite good in their parts, Aniston particularly tearing herself apart in one raw dramatic confrontation- and if you want some comedy to sate your appetite, Jason Bateman (a favourite of mine from Arrested Development) is wonderfully sardonic in a small part as the couple's friend and realtor, while Judy Davis steals her scenes as Brooke's pale-faced, bitchy boss. The Break-Up is a film that gives you more than you expect, although, really, if you read the synopsis, it's hardly going to full of laughs. It's like a small-scale, less black and more raw version of that infamous break-up story The War of the Roses (surely the inspiration), and compared to that it's both easier to watch and harder to deal with. Grade: B-]

[Just My Luck (Donald Petrie, 2006): I suppose that, really, I should just dismiss Just My Luck out of hand- 'oh, it's just a throwaway teen romantic slapstick comedy, don't be so harsh'- but the whole thing bothered me so much that I couldn't. I will easily admit to loving Lindsay Lohan- she's a smart, warm screen presence with excellent comic timing and still proves highly promising, as her performance in the late Robert Altman's A Prairie Home Companion this year shows us- but even she couldn't salvage anything out of this, and perhaps the film's biggest crime is that it actually manages to make Lohan an annoying presence. Fie the film that does this. But I didn't just have a problem with Lohan, I had a problem with the film's entire universe. In what world is luck's existance as a force so assured, so easily manipulated, as such that our central coupling- played by Lohan and wet-blanket Chris Pine- learn how to manage its transferance between them? And in what world are McFly, no less, so talented that they deserve a film which is basically built around them? I suppose it's my own fault, really, for caving into my curiousity about how a film starring Lindsay Lohan could possibly be so worthless, but if there's anything Just My Luck did manage, its demonstrating that. Grade: F]

[Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (Gore Verbinski, 2006): Pity the poor American dollar. So small, so thin, so harmless, and yet he is tossed around so thoughtlessly, abandoned in snowy streets, screwed up in pockets, handed over to cinema attendants in return for such a worthless slog as this. I'm sure you've heard, and many times, that this sequel to 2003's surprise smash-hit Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl is only the third film to pass to $1 billion worldwide mark. I'm sure you've also heard that it's not really very good. Well, both of those things are true, and although I'm sure that many people would debate the second one- hell, it must have made all that money somehow- I really, really, can't. I enjoyed the first film, long and slow as it was, but the only need for a second one seems money, and, unfortunately, Dead Man's Chest is as hollow and dead as, well, the dead man's chest. I'm sure you've also heard that 2007 brings a third film, At World's End, and Dead Man's Chest is nothing but a piece of connective tissue, a long haul between two films that no-one really cares about- for these people, it's all about the destination, and, unfortunately, Dead Man's Chest is the journey. Pity poor Johnny Depp, for while his infamous Captain Jack Sparrow in Black Pearl was a delightful, unpredictable mad-cap confection, nothing in Dead Man's Chest challenges him- there are no surprises here, no lunatic, unweildly lines, and while Depp occasionally raises a chuckle- "an undead monkey!"- with his offbeat delivery, the spark has been quashed. This, of course, leaves the rest of the cast more open to scrunity, and it seems that Keira Knightley needs to get out fast, Orlando Bloom can't sell a joke to save his life, Jonathan Pryce needs to retire, and Jack Davenport should just sue for thankless employment. Maybe Dead Man's Chest wouldn't be such an insufferable slog if it wasn't so long, but, connective tissue or not, Verbinski somehow spins this confused tale out for two and half hours- when did it become okay to make films so needlessly long, I ask? Nothing in Dead Man's Chest ever merits even an hour, let alone two and a half of them, and I wonder why, exactly, such a joyless piece of work would have been successful had it not been preceded by what was, at the time, an original and surprising popcorn blockbuster. I doubt it, somehow. Grade: D+]