my chick-flicky weekend

I saw three non-chick-flicky chick-flicks Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday, the girls and I managed to squeeze in Vicky Cristina Barcelona between an orgy of dinner at Penang, wine, cheese, and chocolate at Tangerine (aka the suicide lounge), and duck salad and more chocolate at Buddakan around midnight. Self-indulgence, anyone?

Vicky Cristina Barcelona is well-made and quirky, though not terribly lovable. I would have to say that it turned out better than I expected, since I typically expect nothing from 'girly' films. Although I sometimes have issues with 'realistic' movies, I liked the soft colors and tempo of this one. The performances were extremely good, especially Penelope Cruz, who lit the movie on fire and stole every scene as the neurotic genius bent on self-destruction. I've never actually seen her in a movie before, so her stellar performance was quite shocking. I do like Scarlett Johansson, though not in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Her character, neither Vicky nor Barcelona, is too stereotypical as the whimsical, unstable, dabbler of modest talent. Even though Penelope Cruz was amazing, I have a special place in my heart for Vicky, who could have been me if I were only 5'9", skinny, white, and a student of Catalan history. Vicky is abrupt and slightly awkward, yet strangely vulnerable. Of all the characters, she was the most realistic and the only person who seemed to suffer the consequences for her mistakes.

The plot itself was rather loose and rambling, but charming until the last ten minutes when everything ended very abruptly and unsatisfactorily in true Vicky style. On the whole, I can't really categorize this film as happy or sad. I do want to visit Barcelona now, if just to marvel at Gaudi (I love his work, although I'm a fan of anything Art Nouveau and Mucha especially). I'll pass on the torrid affairs and flings. For a Woody Allen film, this one was actually quite sharp in comparison to some of his other inspirations. I was also introduced to Javier Bardem for the first time and enjoyed his quiet intensity immensely. He and Penelope Cruz make a lovely pair. It was a pleasant movie with a self-indulgent air, but by no means a masterpiece.

On Sunday, we kicked off with Indian for lunch and had dinner at Amada, which was superb. I'm completely ignorant when it comes to wine, but I tasted heaven on my tongue that evening with the combination of a glass of rioja and fig and prosciutto salad...let's not forget the lamb chops stuffed with goat cheese and fried bananas with maple syrup ice cream for dessert. Sometimes food does trump all else, especially when it's tapas.

We followed our extraordinary gastronomical experience with Pedro Almodovar's Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and Judd Apatow's Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I have fond memories of Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, which I saw five years ago at the Brattle Theater in Harvard Square. The Brattle is such a wonderfully small independent theater with an awesome atmosphere and supportive audiences, which made the movie one of my favorites of all time. It was also the first non-mainstream movie I had ever seen, so it was personal and groundbreaking on so many levels.

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is my favorite Almodovar movie. All of his films are extremely innovative, but I just don't identify with transsexuals and impregnating comatose women. Call me conservative. This early 1988 flick, although weird and crazy in its own way, is fundamentally about women and hysteria, which I can relate to. The first half is very slow and even slightly dull, then picks up steam and character in a hurry. To my surprise, I did not like this film nearly as much the second time around. So much of it hinges on suspense and unpredictability that I was not enthralled at all (and I was in a food coma).

The story is woven well enough, with a loose yet compact structure. The women are clearly the centerpiece and do a masterful job of it. One clever twist is that the man whom the story revolves around is barely given any screen time. It's all about women in their element, combining neuroses and hysteria with incredible strength and sense. Conclusion: A woman is a mass of walking contradictions. Another treat is seeing a young Antonio Banderas before he donned a cape and dancing shoes. It is a fun movie to watch, full of surprises and laughs.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall was not my cup of tea. In my view, Apatow isn't a genius and his students also aren't geniuses. Moreover, I don't like the ensemble cast that drifts through each of his films, especially Jonah Hill and Bill Hader to a lesser degree (I'm going to get mobbed tomorrow). Even Paul Rudd, whom I usually love, grates on my nerves as the chill stoner type. This movie didn't make it into my top 500 because I just had trouble relating. Jason Segel as the perpetually weepy nice guy who constantly gets shafted is all right, but not terribly lovable in my eyes. Kristen Bell wasn't spectacular, but maybe that's because I was expecting so much from her stint on Veronica Mars.

The plot was fine and even slightly original, but there was an insouciance and flatness about the movie that I couldn't get over. However, the scenery was very nice, especially Jason Segel's wardrobe. Mmmmm...I'm a sucker for baby blue button-down shirts and khakis or a casual suit with flip flops. I liked the ending, but everything leading up to it was pretty much just blah. Maybe I just don't appreciate comedies. Or just Apatow movies.