Monday, March 16, 2009

In which I watch a Woody Allen film

Vicky Cristina Barcelona is the movie equivalent of a book-club novel: calculated to inspire heated discussion in the aftermath, but ultimately lightweight. And is it too much to ask that a movie be able to deal with provocative romantic issues using characters who are not insanely wealthy? I'd be more interested in seeing how someone copes with terminal dissatisfaction when she can't just gallivant off the France for a month to think things over.
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