While "Food of Love" may not become the classic gay coming-of-age movie that many have felt about "Beautiful Thing," the interest in Pon's adaptation of Leavitt's novel "The Page Turner" is its complex and ambivilant main character, an altogether different sort of person than one will find in similar films.
While some have criticized Bishop's approach to the role, I think he gets Paul's character just right, expressing a kid who has grown up almost entirely within himself. Bishop refuses to give a false surface to a character who has no idea how to fit in. You really have the sense of watching a real person in discomfort and indecision, only vaguely understanding his own motivations.
As for Stevenson, anyone who thinks she's over the top has obviously never met a mother like that. They exist, and not only do they not know when they are crossing the line, they have no conception that such a line exists. Paul's periodic explosions imply a lifetime of having to push mom back, but probably with little luck.
The major criticism is that it seems that the writers' notions about classical musicians and their world seems to come from old movies and TV shows rather than reality. (SPOILER AHEAD) Mme. Novotna, for example, becomes a charicature when she utters her hilariously incomprehensible pronouncement to Paul that he will never have a career after he has played, what is, in effect, a young children's piece. (Two months before he was her star virtuoso.) At another moment, Paul is seen flapping his arms helplessly as he "plays" Beethoven. And then, all of the music folks are portrayed as being impossibly snobbish and pretentious with affected accents. This telegraphs to the audience that they are "artistic-types," I suppose.
Disregarding that, it's still a good story well told and beautifully photographed.
While some have criticized Bishop's approach to the role, I think he gets Paul's character just right, expressing a kid who has grown up almost entirely within himself. Bishop refuses to give a false surface to a character who has no idea how to fit in. You really have the sense of watching a real person in discomfort and indecision, only vaguely understanding his own motivations.
As for Stevenson, anyone who thinks she's over the top has obviously never met a mother like that. They exist, and not only do they not know when they are crossing the line, they have no conception that such a line exists. Paul's periodic explosions imply a lifetime of having to push mom back, but probably with little luck.
The major criticism is that it seems that the writers' notions about classical musicians and their world seems to come from old movies and TV shows rather than reality. (SPOILER AHEAD) Mme. Novotna, for example, becomes a charicature when she utters her hilariously incomprehensible pronouncement to Paul that he will never have a career after he has played, what is, in effect, a young children's piece. (Two months before he was her star virtuoso.) At another moment, Paul is seen flapping his arms helplessly as he "plays" Beethoven. And then, all of the music folks are portrayed as being impossibly snobbish and pretentious with affected accents. This telegraphs to the audience that they are "artistic-types," I suppose.
Disregarding that, it's still a good story well told and beautifully photographed.