If the story had been pared down to an examination of the central two characters, rather than lavished with grotesque, utterly implausible and terribly acted caricatures, then this film might have had some potential for being saved from itself. As it stands it has little.
There is no great skill to being catty and negative, but seeing as Food of Love is, by its shoddiness and carelessness an open invitation to cattiness and negativity...
Where to begin? Here are some criticisms: Amateurish, peculiarly dull, predictable, plodding, fraudulent, first-draft dialogue unshorn of the clichés by which any self respecting writer would be haunted, insensitive, prosaic, pedestrian and irritating. Acres of text could be written, if I had a little more energy, about the individual flaws (How about the accent of the piano teacher -- teetering on the brink of being new york Jewish in her first scene, definitely wispy and elderly Scots at the beginning of her second before being revealed, we assume when we learn her name, to be Russian, is used to deliver the sort of lines a piano teacher really *would* never say, reminding her student, for instance: "it's called the Well-tempered clavier not the ill-tempered clavier." The fact that such a dreadfully banal witticism was found funny enough, or perhaps enlightening enough to be included speaks volumes. Clearly no one with any serious interest in or knowledge of music could be bothered to turn up on the day that scene was filmed to ensure that they didn't put the first prelude from the 48 -- something a beginner might play, in the fingers of someone who is supposed to be a music student), with perhaps a few lines to note the strengths.
The idea that a young sensitive gay pianist might be happy in the sexual or romantic clutches of leering, ugly, bald, rich, smug men who seem all to be in their fifties is to stretch the idea of a young man's rebellion far past its natural limit.
No, I can't go on. I'm too furious that I paid money for it, on the recommendation of The Times, of all things, and must go and lie down; but before I do I will say this. Is this really what passes for an American art-house film? God help us all.
There is no great skill to being catty and negative, but seeing as Food of Love is, by its shoddiness and carelessness an open invitation to cattiness and negativity...
Where to begin? Here are some criticisms: Amateurish, peculiarly dull, predictable, plodding, fraudulent, first-draft dialogue unshorn of the clichés by which any self respecting writer would be haunted, insensitive, prosaic, pedestrian and irritating. Acres of text could be written, if I had a little more energy, about the individual flaws (How about the accent of the piano teacher -- teetering on the brink of being new york Jewish in her first scene, definitely wispy and elderly Scots at the beginning of her second before being revealed, we assume when we learn her name, to be Russian, is used to deliver the sort of lines a piano teacher really *would* never say, reminding her student, for instance: "it's called the Well-tempered clavier not the ill-tempered clavier." The fact that such a dreadfully banal witticism was found funny enough, or perhaps enlightening enough to be included speaks volumes. Clearly no one with any serious interest in or knowledge of music could be bothered to turn up on the day that scene was filmed to ensure that they didn't put the first prelude from the 48 -- something a beginner might play, in the fingers of someone who is supposed to be a music student), with perhaps a few lines to note the strengths.
The idea that a young sensitive gay pianist might be happy in the sexual or romantic clutches of leering, ugly, bald, rich, smug men who seem all to be in their fifties is to stretch the idea of a young man's rebellion far past its natural limit.
No, I can't go on. I'm too furious that I paid money for it, on the recommendation of The Times, of all things, and must go and lie down; but before I do I will say this. Is this really what passes for an American art-house film? God help us all.
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