Robert Redford and Debra Winger are New York lawyers investigating the case of an artist’s work that may or may not have been destroyed in a fire. Terence Stamp is the shifty art dealer mixed up in a fraudulent insurance scheme. And Daryl Hannah is the artist’s daughter who wants the painting her dad dedicated to her – if indeed it even survived.
There’s something remarkable about the way the film sprawls all over the place and yet still works. Redford and Winger have real chemistry and build up a lot of good-natured warmth as their relationship develops. Both are hugely appealing. The former never seems to age. The latter has a lovely voice and an irresistible smile. Maybe they should have made more films together.
Daryl Hannah is a little troubling. She’s meant to be an edgy performance artist, but she’s so sleepy and noncommittal that she seems barely present. You’d expect some dynamism or passion in someone who’s trying to push boundaries. But when you see her “performing” her “art”, it’s a ludicrous and unintentionally amusing affair involving light projections, photos of herself, objects bursting into flame and tape recordings of her voice. A clunky mess. Laurie Anderson she is not. The film would have worked better if this character was just a regular person wanting what was rightfully hers rather than an “enigma”. Or maybe they just had the wrong actor for the part.
Another oddity is the chirpy music, which sometimes seems misjudged for certain scenes. But because the mood and tone keep changing as we race from one genre to another, it’s possibly just struggling to keep up. At the very least, you can see that the soundtrack had to be varied.
But these are minor flaws. I really liked the fact that it’s so unusual. Plus, the climax is genuinely exciting and the comedy never eclipses the drama. Quirky, rewarding and somehow fascinating.
No comments:
Post a Comment