I do hope that this is the last time Woody Allen will cast Scarlett
Johansson in anything, because in Vicky Cristina Barcelona,
she’s approaching pure trollop. As Cristina, an anything-goes sexpot
who entertains artistic pretensions, Johansson could be Brigitte Bardot
dubbed with a flat American accent. If you entertain the idea that she
might be parodying herself, it’s almost an interesting performance.
Vicky Cristina Barcelona is about two American types: uptight
Vicky (pretty brunette Rebecca Hall), who’s engaged to be married, and
loosey-goosey Cristina (pretty blond Scarlett Johansson), who has
precious few goals in life. On a very American sojourn in
Barcelona—neither speaks Spanish or Catalan, despite the fact
that Vicky is pursuing a master’s degree in Catalan culture—the
drinky girls encounter Juan Antonio (pretty Latin lover Javier Bardem).
Juan Antonio proposes a threesome. Cristina assents, Vicky demurs, and
somebody’s ulcer (what?) ensures that neither gets what she bargained
for. Then comes a wild, lumbering stereotype in the form of
Penélope Cruz. It seems Juan Antonio has a volatile ex-wife
named Maria Elena. The two Spaniards get into crazy Spanish arguments
whenever Maria Elena isn’t threatening to commit crazy Spanish
suicide.
Thanks to the actors (Cruz especially), who make the most of their
outrageous duties, Vicky Cristina Barcelona is amusing. Mostly,
though, it feels like a lost opportunity. Allen assembled four
fantastic actors and gave them a junk farce dressed with throwaway
dialogue. Talented cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe took the city
of Barcelona and drowned its colors in a
monotonous rusty orange
sunlight. Vicky Cristina Barcelona is everything it tries,
halfheartedly, to criticize about the character of Vicky: It’s
determined to be ordinary and likeable no matter what the emotional
cost.
