Sorry for the top-posting, but what in the name of John Wayne's ass does
this have to do with American Idol?
Nothing, that's what.
I hate dweebs like this...
Elton
"Vanguard8765" <vanguard8765@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote in message
news:29ce9a37.0405010246.62e216e6@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> New York Observer
> And so it is with some relief when a movie comes along like Laws of
> Attraction, a slick, lushly appointed romantic comedy which will not
> appeal to tattooed freaks, violence-craving kids, prison inmates or
> critics desperately trying to prove how young and hip they are, but
> which does provide an element of the one word that has disappeared
> from the world of movies. Remember the word "entertainment"? It went
> the way of Vincente Minnelli. So is Laws of Attraction a great comedy?
> Get real. What was the last great comedy you saw, or the last great
> anything? No, in essence, Laws of Attraction is about only two things:
> (1) how pretty Julianne Moore is, and (2) how pretty Pierce Brosnan
> is. O.K., it's not Billy Wilder. But compared to all of the films I've
> suffered through lately about killing and war and dope fiends and
> pedophiles and suicide, I'll take pretty. Pretty is good.
>
> The two stars are battling New York divorce lawyers who fall in love
> hating each other. We just saw the same plot with George Clooney and
> Catherine Zeta-Jones in the godawful Coen Brothers fiasco Intolerable
> Cruelty, but so what? Everything is a copy of something else these
> days; inspired originality is as hard to come by as one of Mr.
> Brosnan's 007 Maseratis at a half-price sale. And even with its
> plodding tempo and dull padding, Laws of Attraction is a better,
> edgier movie. The adversarial Moore-Brosnan duo is rich, beautiful and
> successful, but they never go anywhere. They do not date, or end up on
> Page Six. They don't seem to have any friends or lovers or get any
> bang for their bucks. What is wrong with this picture? She is Audrey
> Miller, a crack attorney who is not beyond framing the husbands of her
> female clients to get them better settlements. Now she's up to her
> Palm Pilot fighting off the toughest opponent she's ever faced in a
> courtroom. He is Daniel Rafferty, new in town, smart, ruthless, a GQ
> cover who has never lost a case. From their opening arguments on, it's
> open war in the divorce-court trenches, using every strategy from
> apology to insult as they thrust and parry their way through New York,
> drinking lethal Mexican cocktails, landing in bed in a moment of horny
> weakness with him showing up in court dangling her panties. Two pit
> bulls whose battles in one divorce trial after another become fodder
> for the tabloid-news channels. Ridiculous, of course, but it's the
> same stuff they print every day in the New York Post. Things boil over
> with the latest boldface divorce war between two instant celebs, a
> fried-brains-a-flaky designer named Serena (Parker Posey) and her
> rock-star husband, Thorne (Michael Sheen), the lead singer for a group
> called the Needles. Each of them is fighting over a castle in Ireland,
> so it's off to the land of leprechauns to depose the household staff.
> Among the fiddles, clog dances and shamrocks, the movie takes a
> detour, and the two very charming stars get a chance to display how
> much charm they really have, getting married in a drunken Guinness
> stout stupor. Back in Manhattan, when he wins the divorce case because
> of a piece of evidence he finds accidentally in her garbage bin, it's
> time for them to hit the judge's chambers for their own divorce. By
> this time, the movie has collapsed along with every attempt at
> artificial respiration-but they're so pretty to look at, and this
> movie isn't over yet. If you haven't dozed off, there are more
> surprises on the way.
>
> The eternally debonair Brosnan, who is more underrated than he should
> be, mixes some of his celebrated sardonic James Bond wit with the
> sensitivity he showed in the marvelous film Evelyn. The delectable Ms.
> Moore is clearly having a rest from her usual tense and demanding
> assignments. Famous for roles that are usually one step away from
> depression, danger and death, they both look like they are having a
> swell time playing a sexy, relaxed, contemporary and self-confident
> rivalry in the Tracy and Hepburn mold. And there is a crisp, appealing
> and hilarious contribution by Frances Fisher, who plays Ms. Moore's
> rich, vain mother. This ageless logarithm with the face lifts and the
> Eve Arden wisecracks is, in real life, almost the same age as Julianne
> Moore. When Mr. Brosnan meets her for the first time, he asks, "Are
> you really 56?" She purrs girlishly, "Parts of me are." She's got all
> the best lines-or maybe it's just that they're the only lines in the
> picture that don't sound like they've been rewritten a dozen times.
> Depending on which credits you read, several screenwriters have been
> listed. Sometimes two and sometimes three-Aline Brosh McKenna, Karey
> Kilpatrick and Robert Harling-are credited, which is never a good
> sign. The dialogue is so muddled it's hard to know who wrote what, but
> Mr. Harling (Steel Magnolias, The First Wives Club) has such a talent
> for clever zingers you can almost place bets on which lines are his.
> The movie's weak stab at making some kind of statement on the divorce
> issue doesn't ring true at all, and although the British director,
> Peter Howitt, proved with the Gwyneth Paltrow film Sliding Doors that
> he can juggle styles and tempos without confusing excess, he doesn't
> seem entirely comfortable with American comedy. Thank you, Jesus, for
> the two stars. It's their movie all the way, and Mr. Howitt has the
> wisdom to just get out of the way and let them go at each other like
> chinchillas in heat.
>
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