I suppose I should preface this by admitting that I was
already a total jittery wreck, full of decongestant and coffee, when I arrived
at the screening of Woody Allen’s latest film. I would’ve either skipped that
last coffee, or maybe sucked down a Bloody Mary beforehand had I known more
about the nature of Blue Jasmine. But, as per my usual pre-screening habit, I made sure not
to read anything about it in advance so that I could be pleasantly
surprised.
(It has nothing to do with being lazy and unprepared.
Really.)
So, the plot… Cate Blanchett plays a woman named Jasmine,
and she’s really unhappy. (Get it? Blue Jasmine?) She’s a pampered Park Avenue
wife who’s trying to regain her footing after her unscrupulous husband (Alec
Baldwin) gets taken down by the feds, leaving her homeless and penniless. With nowhere else to turn, she moves in
with her estranged, blue-collar sister Ginger (Sally Hawkins) in San Francisco,
and thus begins her steady decline into madness.
She's much like I image Annie Hall would’ve turned out, if she’d gone on to become a shallow, soulless socialite. She’s perpetually nervous and jumpy, she talks to herself in
public, and is quite fond of booze and pills. Despite feeling like I needed to breathe into a paper bag just watching her, I was willing to see where this anxiety-ridden little ride
was heading at first. But I started to disconnect when I was expected to believe
that a socially agile, modern woman -- who’d spearheaded multiple Manhattan charity
events -- would have no idea how to operate a computer. As in, could barely
turn one on. As in, she couldn’t even shop for Louis Vuitton bags on the Nieman
Marcus website if her life depended on it.
And it’s the only thing keeping her from launching an interior design career,
and therefore getting her life back on track. M-kay.
What saves this movie from being totally "meh" for me is Cate Blanchett’s
beautifully executed portrayal of this woman’s tragic and sloppy
decline. Impeccably dressed, but
sporting perpetual mascara smudges and a Stoli buzz, she give us insight into the perspective of
those wealthy women who enjoy their husbands’ ill-gotten riches, but turn a
conveniently blind eye to the piracy behind the acquisition of the treasure – a
la, Ruth Madoff.
Yes, this is definitely the Cate Blanchett show. But while none of the supporting
characters were particularly interesting (Alec Baldwin as a morally corrupt husband? Ho-hum. What a stretch.), it was a treat to see an aging
Andrew Dice Clay and Louis C.K. take on rather non-comedic roles.
Being that I’m a big Woody Allen fan, I have certain
expectations of his projects, and was pretty bummed when I realized this movie
was not going to be chock full of his usual witty dialogue and playful neuroses. That, in itself, is not a crime. I guess he was going for a
little social commentary and a character study, which I could appreciate, but overall,
it really never hits its stride.
Bummer, indeed.
Bummer, indeed.
Now, where's that Xanax?
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