Culture Wars: "Coffee and Cigarettes" Leave a Bad Taste
For anyone who's ever relished a smoke with a brazen cup of joe, this movie seems like a great premise.
Think:
College, Waffle House, 2am, the clinking of plates and silverware, orders shouted over the din, activity, people-watching, the smell of hot grease, robust conversation, the rebellion and idealism of youth.
Or better yet:
Spring Saturday morning, bleary eyes, first cup of Columbian, television, stepping onto the creaky patio of your first apartment, compulsory Marlboro.
Hell! Even:
Coffee shop veranda, newspaper, book, pack of smokes, people walking past would suffice.
All of this apparently escaped the attention of Jim Jarmucsh. His embarrassing effort to capture the love affair connoisseurs have with the caffeine/nicotine speedball comes off as amateurish at best.
What he offers is a series of skits which are supposed to be arty, iconoclastic, gritty and off-beat, but instead smack of first-year film school, stilted acting, disjointed musical score, and painful self-congratulation.
We're supposed to praise his efforts because he's managed to film the entire thing in black and white and grab some interesting cameos. Oh, and we're supposed to be dazzled by the ubiquitous linoleum checkerboard and the odd locales as well.
No. Huh-uh.
From the very first skit we're doomed. The repartee between Roberto Begnigni and Steven Wright is not only not funny, it's not even interesting or quirky.
And the second skit with Joie and Cinque Lee is plodding, silly, and dull. Fans of Steve Buscemi perk up when he pops into frame in a waiter's uniform. Maybe the skit will grow legs when he says the pair remind him of magpies. Might there be some witty smack-down coming on? Wait for it... Wait for it... Nope. Nothing. Buscemi gets away unscathed and launches into some rant about Elvis's evil twin which (shockingly!) goes nowhere.
The rest blurs into a mundane haze, the only bright spot is Cate Blanchett's portrayal of her fictional punk cousin, Shelly. Again, the viewer is hopeful (though certainly less so after roughly an hour of substandard material). But this skit falls flat as well through bad writing and crap editing. The final "punchline" is stale and very unfunny.
By the time we reached Jack White's Tesla coil, I had to turn it off.
No more. No way. No how.
In short:
Bad writing. Bad acting. Winkingly esoteric music. Obviously staged locations. And, if you can imagine this, bad smoking.
I'm a busy person, and I live in a location that has one indie theater. And with the inherent gamble on indie films, it's always good to get a second opinion before investing. I bought this movie on the advice of Roger Ebert. Advice I have decided to shun henceforth.
"Coffee and Cigarettes." Glad I quit.
[Edited to include hyperlink -- WordGirl]
Think:
College, Waffle House, 2am, the clinking of plates and silverware, orders shouted over the din, activity, people-watching, the smell of hot grease, robust conversation, the rebellion and idealism of youth.
Or better yet:
Spring Saturday morning, bleary eyes, first cup of Columbian, television, stepping onto the creaky patio of your first apartment, compulsory Marlboro.
Hell! Even:
Coffee shop veranda, newspaper, book, pack of smokes, people walking past would suffice.
All of this apparently escaped the attention of Jim Jarmucsh. His embarrassing effort to capture the love affair connoisseurs have with the caffeine/nicotine speedball comes off as amateurish at best.
What he offers is a series of skits which are supposed to be arty, iconoclastic, gritty and off-beat, but instead smack of first-year film school, stilted acting, disjointed musical score, and painful self-congratulation.
We're supposed to praise his efforts because he's managed to film the entire thing in black and white and grab some interesting cameos. Oh, and we're supposed to be dazzled by the ubiquitous linoleum checkerboard and the odd locales as well.
No. Huh-uh.
From the very first skit we're doomed. The repartee between Roberto Begnigni and Steven Wright is not only not funny, it's not even interesting or quirky.
And the second skit with Joie and Cinque Lee is plodding, silly, and dull. Fans of Steve Buscemi perk up when he pops into frame in a waiter's uniform. Maybe the skit will grow legs when he says the pair remind him of magpies. Might there be some witty smack-down coming on? Wait for it... Wait for it... Nope. Nothing. Buscemi gets away unscathed and launches into some rant about Elvis's evil twin which (shockingly!) goes nowhere.
The rest blurs into a mundane haze, the only bright spot is Cate Blanchett's portrayal of her fictional punk cousin, Shelly. Again, the viewer is hopeful (though certainly less so after roughly an hour of substandard material). But this skit falls flat as well through bad writing and crap editing. The final "punchline" is stale and very unfunny.
By the time we reached Jack White's Tesla coil, I had to turn it off.
No more. No way. No how.
In short:
Bad writing. Bad acting. Winkingly esoteric music. Obviously staged locations. And, if you can imagine this, bad smoking.
I'm a busy person, and I live in a location that has one indie theater. And with the inherent gamble on indie films, it's always good to get a second opinion before investing. I bought this movie on the advice of Roger Ebert. Advice I have decided to shun henceforth.
"Coffee and Cigarettes." Glad I quit.
[Edited to include hyperlink -- WordGirl]
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