Summer Lovin'

A review of Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (“VCB”) is an appealing trifle of a movie. It’s like the ice cream cone you get at the end of a hot summer’s day that you don’t really need. But since it’s so much fun to try a new flavor and add some decadent toppings, you figure why not? No harm, no foul, and since when are ice cream cones about need anyway? This is VCB in a nutshell – it’s a very entertaining film that won’t change your life, but will certainly amuse and brighten your day. Seeing VCB is time well spent.

A bit of a disclaimer before I go any further: I am no Woody Allen expert. I have seen a number of his films (yes, including Annie Hall), but I am by no means a completist. So I cannot evaluate VCB as it may compare to the complete Woody Allen oeuvre.

That being established, VCB is a movie unabashedly preoccupied with love. Vicky (Rebecca Hall, most familiar to me from Starter for Ten) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson, Woody Allen’s latest go-to muse) are friends who have traveled together to spend July and August at the Barcelona home of Vicky’s parents’ friends, Judy and Mark Nash (Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn). Vicky is taking a vacation from her graduate studies in Catalan identity and her impending marriage to successful-but-boring Doug and Cristina has decided that she hates the twelve minute film to which she just devoted six months of her life, leaving her future as an actress in turmoil. They both fall for irresistibly sexy artist Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem, who seems to smolder from every pore), and coupling, uncoupling and recoupling ensues, as Vicky and Cristina simultaneously try to expand and reconcile their notions of love.

VCB skillfully sets the tone of the film from the opening moments via the Narrator (I feel the need to capitalize “Narrator” because he truly plays a pivotal role). At first, I found the narration jarring. But once I realized this wasn’t a Morgan Freeman g-d-like figure narrating, rather, the Narrator was almost commenting on the story as it was unfolding, I embraced him (especially for livening up the Scarlett Johansson-centric moments; we’ll get to that). The narration is a very specific stylistic choice, through both the words and the tone voiced, offering just the right degree of sardonic disdain.

The performances are, for the most part, laudable. Rebecca Hall as Vicky gives a wonderful, understated performance. In the wrong hands, Vicky could’ve been a tiresomely annoying character, and it is to Hall’s credit that I always looked forward to seeing her resurface in the tale. Of course, partial credit for that may also go to the wooden Scarlett Johansson, who could not have been more flat, uninspiring and, let’s be honest here, simply boring. Her Cristina is supposed to be a woman who enraptures Javier Bardem’s Juan Antonio, a passionate artist. I never bought it. (Maybe she was trying so hard to portray her character as a bad actress that it affected her whole performance? Or maybe she’s just bad.) Moving on, Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn were serviceable in their roles, but they mainly served as expository crutches and tools for the expression of plot contrivances.

The highest praise must be reserved for both Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz, who plays his ex-wife, Maria Elena. Bardem plays Juan Antonio with an effortlessness and sense of fun that elevates a character who could’ve been hopelessly two-dimensional in lesser hands. Similarly, Cruz inhabits Maria Elena fearlessly, transforming a potentially stereotypical shrew into a fully-realized fiery force of nature. The interplay between the two of them raises the film to another level entirely and is a pleasure to watch. In particular, Juan Antonio repeatedly exhorts Maria Elena to “Speak English!”, a highly amusing bit that you must see to fully appreciate.

VCB was fairly well-paced, dragging only when its focus lingered too long on Cristina (we get it, Woody, you’ve got a thing for Scarlett, but for the sake of your art, can you move on to maybe someone more interesting like… Penélope Cruz?). The climactic scene (for which Scarlett is, appropriately, absent) pushes the limits in terms of the tone of the film, but provides for a satisfying, if predictable, denouement. So if you’re looking for a diversion from the world as you know it, VCB is worth the price of admission, as well as the 97 minutes of your life. Just say sí.