My lord, we just went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Woody's neurosis gets on my nerves sometimes, amusing as he can be. What saved the movie, with delightful counterpoints of waspish coolness brought to the film by Rebecca Hall and Patricia Clarkson, were, without question, Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz. I hear Spanish spoken and I'm there, but articulated by these two and I am transported to a world of hope and possibility. My god, to be reincarnated as Penelope Cruz! She is fire without the brimstone, passion without the fear, unadulterated abandon. Of course, the Catalans are probably peeved that Woody cast Bardem, from the Canarias, as a Barcelona denizen, with all dialogue in Castellano. Así es la vida.
I truly dislike going to movie theaters, with the incessant yakking, concession crunching, dumbfounded lack of humor that permeates the room. And I thought the film lacked a little no se que, trying too hard at Truffaut or something. But Bardem and Cruz, standing in the street, wailing at each other full bore, was worth the pain. Que viva España!

(vickycristinabarcelona)