The Grouchy Editor

Poor Kirk Anderson.  Pasty-faced, flabby, and bespectacled, all Kirk wanted from life was to be able to wear his Mormon underwear, please his mother, and be left in peace.  And what did he get?  An obsessed southern beauty, that’s what; a former nude model so convinced that she and Kirk were “soul mates” that she hired a pilot, flew to England, (allegedly) kidnapped Kirk, tied him to a bed, and made wild passionate love to him.

Somebody called that rape, and before you could say “Fleet Street,” Scotland Yard got involved, and then the British press, and the next thing poor Kirk knew, his bizarre relationship with this, um, unusual woman, Joyce McKinney, was front-page news.  Thirty-four years later, the strange, sordid saga of Joyce and Kirk is back in the news, courtesy of filmmaker Errol Morris’s new documentary, Tabloid.

Morris tracked down McKinney (not hard to do; the woman seems to love the spotlight), but not Anderson (he declined to be interviewed), placed his camera in front of her, and let her talk.  And boy, does she ever.

The problem with Tabloid is that we live in the age of Casey Anthony and O.J. Simpson.  Inevitably, a 1977 sex scandal that rocked England pales in comparison to the more lurid, sensational cases of recent years.  Morris’s interviews with McKinney and members of the British press seem quaint and insignificant, more like an episode of 20/20 than a feature-length film.

McKinney herself seems garden-variety eccentric, and not all that intriguing.  We all know people like her, even if they don’t share her colorful past.     Grade:  B-

Director:  Errol Morris   Featuring:  Joyce McKinney, Peter Tory, Kent Gavin, Mark Lipson, Jackson Shaw, Troy Williams, Jin Han Hong, Julie Bilson Ahlberg   Release: 2011

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Glancing around the sparsely attended theater where I saw Crazy, Stupid, Love, this is what I observed:  several white-haired couples, aging Baby Boomers killing time on a weekday afternoon; a few young couples, possibly Obama Democrats, probably drawn by the movie’s youthful stars; and one fat guy in his twenties, seated alone and with a gigantic box of popcorn in hand.  This mixed bag of the American populace made me think of the outside world, and of all the unhappy clashes of Tea Parties and gay-rights advocates and Fox News and … never mind, we were there to watch a movie. 

But as the film progressed, telling its story of sad-sack Steve Carell’s divorce from high-school sweetheart Julianne Moore and Carell’s conversion to swinging singlehood by playboy Ryan Gosling, I couldn’t help wondering what my fellow audience members might be thinking.  What did the white-haired couples think of 17-year-old Jessica (Analeigh Tipton), who delights a 13-year-old boy by giving him a racy memento – naked pictures of herself?  What did the fat guy with the popcorn think of Gosling’s character, who is presented as one cool lady killer, but whom the script insists must be transformed into a “nice guy” by the time the end credits roll?

It had to be a lot easier to write romantic comedies in the past.  Think what you will about Hollywood sexism and racism in the old days, at least the rules were easy to follow.  Not anymore.  What are we supposed to make of Emma Stone’s character, a “good girl” who decides to have a one-night-stand with Gosling – is she a slut or a liberated woman?  Is Carell a sensitive male, or a lily-livered pansy?  Is Gosling an admirable hunk – or a chauvinist pig in Yves Saint Laurent?  And are drunk scenes still funny?

This movie is a mess, because like me, it can’t seem to decide what to make of its characters.  I don’t like to jump on other critics, but when Entertainment Weekly’s Owen Gleiberman says that Crazy, Stupid, Love is “the perfect combination of sexy, cute, wise, hilarious, and true,” I have to wonder what he’s been smoking.

By “true,” is Gleiberman referring to the contrived coincidences, such as when Carell’s horny date turns out to be his son’s teacher?  Or when Gosling’s latest conquest turns out to be Carell’s daughter?  Did Carell’s cliched Big Speech at the end of the movie strike Gleiberman as authentic?

Maybe he was referring to the simple truth that none of us can agree on what is wise, hilarious, and true anymore.  I guess I should have asked the fat guy with the popcorn what he thought.        Grade:  C

Directors:  Glenn Ficarra, John Requa   Cast:  Steve Carell, Ryan Gosling, Julianne Moore, Emma Stone, Analeigh Tipton, Jonah Bobo, Marisa Tomei, John Carroll Lynch, Kevin Bacon   Release:  2011

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There’s just one word to describe Woody Allen’s latest movie:  pleasant.  OK, let me add a second word:  slight.

Midnight in Paris is like an episode of Bewitched for intellectuals.  Instead of Samantha conjuring Benjamin Franklin, it’s “Hey, look, it’s Ernest Hemingway!  What amusing things might he say?”  And, “Over there – it’s Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald!  What were they really like?”

Allen’s silly plot, straight out of 1940s Tinsel Town, has downtrodden groom-to-be Owen Wilson – a blonder, younger stand-in for Allen himself – stuck in the City of Light with his bitchy, materialistic fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her WASPish, overbearing parents.  To Gil (Wilson), his future in-laws are “fascists.”  To the parents, Gil is “communist.”  Also touring France is Michael Sheen as a boorish rival for Inez’s affections, a role honed to perfection by Ralph Bellamy in Hollywood’s golden age.

All of these antagonists conspire to make Gil’s sojourn in Paris a miserable one.  So imagine his delight when, abracadabra, at the stroke of midnight he is magically transported to 1920s Paree – and the company of the Fitzgeralds and other legendary artists including Picasso, Gertrude Stein, and the gruff Hemingway.

Allen is using a gimmick here, but it isn’t all that strong, which is probably why it was used repeatedly in sitcoms like Bewitched.  The one virtue you might expect from this literary leap-of-faith – witty dialogue between Gil and his heroes – is sadly lacking.  Hemingway wants to fight?  That’s the best Woody can come up with?

Instead, we have Gil battling his cartoonish in-laws.  You wouldn’t think it would take magic to make a guy head for the hills to escape these people.

I did like the girl (Lea Seydoux, a charmer) that Gil winds up with.  There should have been more of her, and less of Adriana (Marion Cotillard), the flapper who gets away.  There is also some gorgeous photography of Paris.  And Allen is always amusing when his characters are making fun of the types of people who, well, go to Woody Allen movies.  Midnight in Paris is making a lot of money (for an Allen film).  I suppose that’s because of the gimmick I just slammed.  Serves me right for making light of Bewitched.               Grade:  B-

Director:  Woody Allen   Cast:  Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Kurt Fuller, Mimi Kennedy, Michael Sheen, Corey Stoll, Alison Pill, Tom Hiddleston, Kathy Bates, Marion Cotillard, Lea Seydoux   Release:  2011

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