Woody Allen just
might be the most overrated filmmaker drawing breath today. And like most
people, when I use the word “overrated,” what I’m really saying is that I am
unable to see the appeal behind something everyone else seems to
unconditionally adore (as long as I’m confessing, I feel the same way about The
Beatles). So all you villagers who are readying your pitchforks and torches, I
remind you that this is strictly my opinion. With any luck I can back it up in
such a way that will keep the stabbing and burning of me to a minimum.
Speaking of luck,
it’s the underlying theme of Allen’s latest, Match Point, which stars Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Chris Wilton, a
tennis instructor and former pro who “would rather be lucky than good.”
Voiceovers convey how heavily he relies on fate, which looks to be a smart
policy. Tom Hewett (Matthew Goode), his new tennis
student, just so happens to have a pretty sister called Chloe (Emily Mortimer, Lovely and Amazing), and she happens to
have an eye for Chris as well as fabulously wealthy parents (the great Brian Cox
and Penelope Wilton, Shaun’s mom in Shaun
of the Dead). It isn’t long before Chris is enjoying a cushy life thanks to
the agenda-riddled benevolence of his new family, but then chance shows its
cruel side. It goes by the name of Nola (Scarlett
Johansson).
Nola is Tom’s
fiancรฉe, but that doesn’t prevent Chris from commingling his pillow lips with
hers. The bond between Nola and Chris is bolstered by the fact that they are
both lower-caste crashers of the exclusive Hewett
party: He’s a scrappy Irish kid, she’s a struggling
American actress. Snooty friction drives Nola away from the Hewett
fold and frees her up to get thoroughly entangled with Chris, and then… I don’t
want to divulge too much about the ridiculous plot twist. Suffice it to say
that Chris’s troubles take a not-unexpected turn, and he is forced to make an American Tragedy-esque
choice between his comfortable yet mundane existence and complicated lust.
If you’ve seen an
independent film in the last decade or so you’ve probably noticed Rhys Meyers
prowling the perimeter of stardom: He’s been in movies like Todd Haynes’ glam-tasticVelvet
Goldmine, Mira Nair’s frightfully dull Vanity
Fair, and Ang Lee’s underrated Civil War flick Ride with the Devil (underrated=no one
likes it but me). For some time now I’ve allowed Rhys Meyers’ astonishing
beauty to distract me from the fact that his acting is lacking (I am deeply
shallow), but if you’re going to play the lead role in a major motion picture,
come-hither eyes and a luscious mouth just aren’t enough. His
performance as the amoral Chris is tedious and wooden, a fatal blow as he’s in
nearly every scene.
To be fair, no one
in Match Point‘s decent cast is used
effectively, including Johansson as the increasingly screechy mistress,
Mortimer as the obsequious yet demanding wife, and Cox as the out-of-touch dad.
James Nesbitt (Millions) and EwenBremner (Spud from Trainspotting)
pop up at the end of the film as a law enforcement duo and actually liven things up a bit, but by then Match Point is beyond redemption.
Match Point is the prolific Allen’s 36th
feature film in nearly 40 years of filmmaking, and I have to admit I was
looking forward to it. I’ve enjoyed the less-Woody-ish
entries in his oeuvre (Sweet and Lowdown,
maybe Bullets Over
Broadway), as well as, of course, Annie
Hall, arguably his definitive film. But Annie
Hall is nearly 30 years old at this point: Allen’s output lately has been subpar (Curse of the
Jade Scorpion?), and Match Point is no exception. The directing is serviceable, but the clumsy script is
overflowing with clichรฉs. The fact that he makes no moral judgments on his
reprehensible characters may be construed as gutsy, but it seems like more of a
copout.
All I’m saying is
that Woody Allen should be held to the same standards that we lord over other
filmmakers. Match Point has gotten
rave reviews, with most critics heralding it as Allen’s best work in 300 years,
but it’s reasonable to assume that if another director had served up this film,
the referees would cry foul. In the past Allen has delivered some interesting
insight into the behavior of his fellow man, but the message behind the
ill-conceived Match Point seems to be
that we are all selfish, deluded, or stupid. This is news? More importantly,
this is art?
Match Point (R), directed by Woody
Allen, is playing at Henrietta 18, Little Theatres, and Pittsford Cinema.
This article appears in Jan 25-31, 2006.
