FILM - MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

FILM - MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

Aight so yo. I seen a few Woody Allen flicks before and they're usually pretty cool. The whole breaking the fourth wall talking to the camera shit in Annie Hall, specifically this one  (click click click) kinda builds this rapport with the audience that you don't get in a lot of other movies- It's like a neurotic charm that hilarious as well as intriguing. Midnight In Paris doesn't have characters talking to the audience through the camera and shit, but it contains the same sort of disdain for pretentious shit-chatters and its always fun to see people who love to talk get told to shut up - in more words and in a clever way (fight the power). 

Movin on, a struggling Hollywood hired hand goes to Paris with his wife (who's a bitch!) for a break, and to attempt to finish his work-in-progress novel. The Wife has her parents there too (who are also dicks). Then there's this dude called Paul  who takes the role of the shit-talker mentioned earlier. There's this opposition between struggling human intellectual Gill (Owen Wilson) and Book and lecture memoriser Paul (Dick), and the film does a decent job of steering you towards supporting the character of Gill and wanting him to do well and shit. 

So Gill's this dude that, like many of us, thinks he was born in the wrong era. The past seems like a much better place, in terms of nearly everything. Crazy parties, bitches, art, and a sense that people gave shits about stuff. His destination of choice would be Paris in the 1920's (Mine would the year 2000 anywhere near Scarlett Johansson when she looked like this, so i could become best friends with her, protect her from the rigours of teenage life, and systematically weasel my way to her heart. At this point I would dig in my claws and not let go for hell nor fire. I think i just made that phrase up). 

One night Gill goes for a walk, a clock strikes midnight, and a olden time car magically transports him back to the 1920's where he meets the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald (and his drunk bitch wife Zelda), an intense Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, and Salvador Dali (played by Adrian Brody) who likes rhinoceros' and saying his name in a funny way. These late night/early morning rendezvous help Gill overcome the artistic challenges of being a writer (like knowing what to write about and how to sound and shit) and they help him out with some more personal stuff and shit. These cameo-like appearances are pretty fun to watch. The whole notion of looking back on things with Rose-tinted glasses, and letting the present slip away (My man) is explored, and it comes to a pretty tidy conclusion as Gill experiences a kind of eureka moment in the 1890's. Without ruining the ending (they all die), the film finishes leaving you kinda satisfied, even though there's a bit that's kinda corny but kinda alright about walking in the rain and shit. 

For me, the whole meeting great literary figures and artistic genius' is kinda cool, and sometimes pretty funny. The emphasis on humanity and feeling over the straight up check-out-how-many-books-i-have-read knowledge makes me feel good about being a shit student, and the film shows Paris looking pretty pretty too. The only downside is the lack of a Scarlett Johansson. But thats alright.

3 ROCK BOTTOMS OUTTA 5!