I have, quite successfully, managed to stay relatively ignorant of the plot and details concerning Woody Allen’s latest movie, “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”, except for the front-page matter of a steamy lesbian scene between actresses Scarlett Johansson and Penelope Cruz
It was a Herculean effort, but still my mind was polluted with temping images of Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson touching.
With a sad knowledge of the sex scene ahead of me, I glumly but enthusiastically sat down at the Chauvel Cinema for a very comfortable screening; imagine my delight when “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” surprised me with a thoughtful, amusing experience, one of Woody Allen’s best works of the past decade.
Yes it’s a Woody Allen film and the great director is in fine form, having shed the deliberate melancholy that marked some of his more recent, serious work, and avoiding the classic Allen setup of beautiful young actresses falling in love with him.
In fact, the film feels light and visually appealing, only for deep current of thoughtful contemplation to arise; Vicky and Cristina are two young American girls that come to Barcelona for a summer. Vicky is the sensible one, with practical ideas about love and stability, whereas Cristina doesn’t know what she wants, but she doesn’t want the unending torment of being in a dull marriage.
Where does this leave them? They both have a tryst with a romantic Spanish painter, played by Javier Bardem, who is upfront, wildly interesting and devilishly charismatic, forcing both American girls to question their ideas of what they want in a man.
Or is it a man they want? Bardem’s ex wife, Marie Elena, played by the fiery Penelope Cruz, showing off more curves that we could imagine, shows up, brandishing anger and resentment, jealous and tempetuous.
It’s here that “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” seems to shift gears, moving away from Bardem and his magical powers of seduction, and examining these three, rather stereotypical women, looking at what they want?
What do they want? They don’t know, they don’t find answers, and the film forces us to question our own ideas about love. Should it be romantic, or should there be some fire, some urgency?
Though the reviews have been positive, yet patronizing, for me, this was a glorious Woody Allen experience, a wonderful tourist ad for the beautiful city of Barcelona, a sharp criticism of the difference between Europeans and North Americans, and, finally, a nagging question of the audience’s understanding of love.
I say
I enjoyed the film so much that I’ll probably go see it again, and savour the sounds of the opening track, a smooth female voice singing “Barcelona”
See it for
If all Spanish men were as charming as Javier Bardem, we’d have to build a ten-foot brick wall around the country to keep our women from stampeding to the country. Thank God for the Atlantic Ocean.
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