This movie wasn't trying to re-invent the wheel. It took the 20-something female empowerment genre and placed it some thirty years from now. Think Bridget Jonse's diary with A LOT of Viagra jokes. While Keaton is an admirable Miss Jones, the script gives her only a stereotype to play. Nicholson's character, meanwhile, has been promoted to "co-starring" status as an afterthought.
Keaton seems to have a perpetual expression of amused befuddlement, which I can't deny is somewhat endearing. However, the wry approach wears thin on the viewer after a solid 2 hours plus. Emotional outbursts are wrought in spurts with equally dubious motivation. I believe that this was a failing of the script - despite sections of snappy dialogue, the cliches rolled on in. Of course she's a writer. Of course she's famous and supposedly good at it. Of course this affair happens to be the TNT to her writers block AND the autobiographical basis of her best work ever. I am sorry to say that where Diane Keaton was standing, I was distracted by the writer / director's personal transplantation and wishful thinking. It was, safe to say, awkward.
Nicholson was right for the part in that its sole salvation was in a meta-theatrical play off his own celebrity. The script left his character stagnant in its own "Heff"-nic glory, his only radical development being in a slapdash flashback. Diane is heaped with laurels but Jack is the perrenial dartboard. If it were any other actor, this would be no more of a duo film than Keanu Reeves makes it a triple header.
This should have been breezy fare, but the aforementioned length demands a weightiness that the concept can't carry. The middle-aged dating crisis has been ignored by Hollywood, but for something less vapid you might want to wait awhile. Like until Bridget Jones gets menopause.
Keaton seems to have a perpetual expression of amused befuddlement, which I can't deny is somewhat endearing. However, the wry approach wears thin on the viewer after a solid 2 hours plus. Emotional outbursts are wrought in spurts with equally dubious motivation. I believe that this was a failing of the script - despite sections of snappy dialogue, the cliches rolled on in. Of course she's a writer. Of course she's famous and supposedly good at it. Of course this affair happens to be the TNT to her writers block AND the autobiographical basis of her best work ever. I am sorry to say that where Diane Keaton was standing, I was distracted by the writer / director's personal transplantation and wishful thinking. It was, safe to say, awkward.
Nicholson was right for the part in that its sole salvation was in a meta-theatrical play off his own celebrity. The script left his character stagnant in its own "Heff"-nic glory, his only radical development being in a slapdash flashback. Diane is heaped with laurels but Jack is the perrenial dartboard. If it were any other actor, this would be no more of a duo film than Keanu Reeves makes it a triple header.
This should have been breezy fare, but the aforementioned length demands a weightiness that the concept can't carry. The middle-aged dating crisis has been ignored by Hollywood, but for something less vapid you might want to wait awhile. Like until Bridget Jones gets menopause.
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