Having witnessed the greatness (the true and amazing GREATNESS) of Sophia Coppola's directorial debut (Lost in Translation), I felt near giddiness when finally sitting down to watch her sophomore project. And I state for the record that this film is truly beautiful to look at, with some of the finest costuming and set design I have ever seen. Indeed, Sophia seems to have more than made up for the understated tones and look of her first film and gone in completely the opposite direction in as far as Art Direction is concerned. But here the grandeur and wonder stops.
In EVERY OTHER way, this film not only fails but seems to revel in failure like a fat in-bred hillbilly on the Jerry Springer Show. Casting is atrocious, the acting worse and the direction is abysmal (rick music in the last days of the French Monarchy? Really?). Miss Dunst, who is usually a talented and charming actress is in so far above her head that she can no longer see daylight (in fact, it seems to this reviewer that her performance hit rock bottom and started digging for China). Indeed, her French accent was that of a girl raised in New Jersey (the rumor that she found the French accent too taxing seems to be correct) as she plows bravely through (if foolishly) through dialog clearly written for an actress of greater depth. It could be said that she does not so much recite her lines and stumbles blindly through them.
Jason Schwartzman is equally ill-cast of the future King Louis XVI. Again, no French accent (appearently it was either beyond the two leads or they simply felt that playing French aristocracy with east coast accent was more patriotic). And again, no acting to be found on the screen what so ever.
In fact, I am hard pressed to find even one high note in the entire cast. Molly Shannon? Are you kidding? At times, it was hard to differentiate her scenes in this travesty of art from any number of foolish (but wholly more entertaining) vignettes on Saturday Night Live. And yet, with only half the cast speaking with French accents (the film DOES take place in France, after all), the other half speaking in British accents for no apparent reason (I kid you not) and the two leads speaking accents that did not actually exist at this time and place, Miss Shannon is spared being the worst thing in this flaming bus wreck of a film.
Add in the modern day rock music (yes, rock music) and an ill-earned sense of epic story telling and one can easily imagine other films playing in the same multi-plex as Marie Antoinette bursting into flames just from being in the general area of this bomb.
In Hollywood, the saying goes, you are only as good as your last picture. For the sake of the many talented people who worked hard on this picture, I pray to God Above that they find meaningful work on a truly wonderful project and soon because, lest that occur, they may end up smelling like this rancid piece of french pastry for the rest of their lives.
In closing, I feel justified in saying that this film may be the feel-good movie of the year... if the year is 1945 and you are living through the fire-bombing of Dresden. Otherwise, steer clear at all costs. Who knows; the I.Q. points you save could be your own.
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