Cosmopolis (15.)
Directed by David Cronenberg.
Starring Robert Pattinson, Jay Baruchel, Juliette Binoche, Samantha Morton, Paul Giamatti and Matthieu Amalric. 109 mins.
Cronenberg's latest is an adaptation of a late Don DeLillo novel, which is a fair indication of where it goes wrong rigth there – any DeLillo after Underworld is best avoided in my view. Book and film takes an absurdly rich young trader, Eric Packer, (Pattinson) and sends him on a reality bending dream ride through a day spent in his stretch limo in Manhattan. With his fortune, his marriage and his life all under threat it is a day in which everything seems to be coming apart.
The film though is filled with overlaps and neat alignments: it’s a film about alienation that cannot connect with an audience; it features an actor who seems to be perennially frustrated by and uncomprehending of his stardom playing a man who no longer understands his success; it suggests capitalism has now become an abstraction; a technical, meaningless pursuit entirely divorced from reality and has no purpose - which would make a pretty decent critique of the creative careers of Cronenberg in the last decade, and DeLillo post Underworld and of this film.
Due to limited screening opportunities I was obliged to see this with an audience of real people. Bloomsbury art house real people rather than, say, Odeon real people but still real enough and even they seemed to give up on Cronenberg's anti-drama within about two minutes. It was a hasty alienation which they expressed through whispers, sniggers, theatrical yawns and twitter checks. Unforgiveably behaviour – real people shouldn't be allowed in cinemas: if they must watch film they should be forced to see them reflected in the puddles in the mud of their sty – but understandable. The first fifteen minutes is excruciatingly awful, packed with lines of dialogue that sound like Bono lyrics, “Why do they call it an airport?” usually delivered as if the actors themselves don’t fully understand the words they are saying.
Initially Pattinson looks like he’s going to flounder spectacularly but every actor has moments that are wince inducing awful and among a cast packed with prestigious and heavyweight names he actually comes through it better than most. Like his performance the film never quite comes good but is never entirely dull. Its vision of a world run by ferociously intelligent, information drenched people who know everything and haven’t the faintest idea what is going on is darkly humorous and there are moments that excite and provoke like classic Cronenberg did. There are big, provocative ideas packed into Cosmopolis though it is a struggle to try and dig them out amongst the grotesque surfeit of dialogue.
Review of Maps to the Stars
A dangerous Method
Antiviral
Shivers
Directed by David Cronenberg.
Starring Robert Pattinson, Jay Baruchel, Juliette Binoche, Samantha Morton, Paul Giamatti and Matthieu Amalric. 109 mins.
Cronenberg's latest is an adaptation of a late Don DeLillo novel, which is a fair indication of where it goes wrong rigth there – any DeLillo after Underworld is best avoided in my view. Book and film takes an absurdly rich young trader, Eric Packer, (Pattinson) and sends him on a reality bending dream ride through a day spent in his stretch limo in Manhattan. With his fortune, his marriage and his life all under threat it is a day in which everything seems to be coming apart.
The film though is filled with overlaps and neat alignments: it’s a film about alienation that cannot connect with an audience; it features an actor who seems to be perennially frustrated by and uncomprehending of his stardom playing a man who no longer understands his success; it suggests capitalism has now become an abstraction; a technical, meaningless pursuit entirely divorced from reality and has no purpose - which would make a pretty decent critique of the creative careers of Cronenberg in the last decade, and DeLillo post Underworld and of this film.
Due to limited screening opportunities I was obliged to see this with an audience of real people. Bloomsbury art house real people rather than, say, Odeon real people but still real enough and even they seemed to give up on Cronenberg's anti-drama within about two minutes. It was a hasty alienation which they expressed through whispers, sniggers, theatrical yawns and twitter checks. Unforgiveably behaviour – real people shouldn't be allowed in cinemas: if they must watch film they should be forced to see them reflected in the puddles in the mud of their sty – but understandable. The first fifteen minutes is excruciatingly awful, packed with lines of dialogue that sound like Bono lyrics, “Why do they call it an airport?” usually delivered as if the actors themselves don’t fully understand the words they are saying.
Initially Pattinson looks like he’s going to flounder spectacularly but every actor has moments that are wince inducing awful and among a cast packed with prestigious and heavyweight names he actually comes through it better than most. Like his performance the film never quite comes good but is never entirely dull. Its vision of a world run by ferociously intelligent, information drenched people who know everything and haven’t the faintest idea what is going on is darkly humorous and there are moments that excite and provoke like classic Cronenberg did. There are big, provocative ideas packed into Cosmopolis though it is a struggle to try and dig them out amongst the grotesque surfeit of dialogue.
Review of Maps to the Stars
A dangerous Method
Antiviral
Shivers
