| CLOSER |
 2004
- USA
Director: Mike Nichols - Reviewed by Closer 
When I think of Closer, the film adaptation of Patrick Marber’s
play of the same name, I think of the letter “O.”
O for outstanding? Original? Orgasmic? No. O for overacted, overly serious and highly overrated. It’s clear pretty much from the outset that all involved felt they were making A Big Important Drama and that dreams of Oscar danced in their heads, but the resulting work actually had a few moviegoers in the theater I was in snickering. The film, directed by Mike Nichols, is being heralded as a “love story” for grown-ups. Really? A love story? Maybe... if the “love story” was penned by Neil LaBute. As it stands, the story is so unromantic that it seems like it was penned by someone still working through issues about being seriously screwed over in a past relationship. Apparently, the stage version of Closer was rather funny. Not so much with the big-screen incarnation, which is rather dark, dreary and very, very slow. The events center on the romantic entanglements of four equally unlikable characters: writer Dan (Jude Law), his stripper girlfriend Alice (Natalie Portman), self-involved photographer Anna (Julia Roberts) and her oafish dermatologist beau, Larry (Clive Owen). The quartet engage in assorted indiscretions with each other, and the betrayal/revenge count slowly rises with each scene change. Dan hooks up with Alice, then has an affair with Anna, then Anna meets Larry, then Alice finds out about Anna and Dan, then Larry finds out... and so on and so on. Thing is, as complex and potentially fascinating as this repeated coupling and uncoupling sounds, it’s astoundingly boring. Pregnant pauses, longing glances and furrowed brows become so frequent that it’s almost comical. The intensity of the relationships also rings false. The only characters with an ounce of chemistry are Alice and Dan, and that’s only during their lighthearted first meeting. Beyond that, the characters’ attitudes towards themselves and each other seem hurtful, mean-spirited and wholly selfish. I didn’t see how or why any of them could realistically fall for anyone else, and the all-consuming passion they apparently felt for one another seemed manufactured, not organic. Then again, misery loves company, so maybe that’s the common ground between them. A large part of the problem for me is the casting. Natalie Portman looks about 14 throughout the film, which makes for some queasy scenes where she’s doing things like seducing the much older Clive Owen. Julia Roberts, like Demi Moore, is such a Huge Star that her celebrity is all you see. Despite her earnest, and obviously well-researched, attempt at portraying a photographer, I didn’t buy it. The men don’t fare much better, and both Jude Law and Clive Owen have horribly executed showcase scenes intended to land them award nominations. I half expected to see “For Your Consideration...” scroll past at the bottom of the scenes, while the actors contorted their faces in a (failed) bid to squeeze out tears amid some choice scenery-chewing. (That’s when the snickering started, btw.) And, call me a prude, but the degree of graphic dialogue left me feeling like I was the victim of shock tactics. It was almost as though someone decided to see just how many X-rated words they could get away with featuring in the film. (Note: evidently, quite a few.) I’ve been accused of having decidedly lower-brow tastes when it comes to movies and, as someone who loved Drop Dead Fred, maybe that holds an iota of truth. But there are plenty of artsy, high-brow, intellectual films I love to the core of my movie-going self. Closer just isn’t one of them. |
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