NOTTING HILL (1999) w/ Julia Roberts, Hugh Grant Director: Roger Mitchell
The Thumbs for Sale! review by Roger Gerbig
In passing, I've heard "Notting Hill"--the new Julia Roberts-Hugh Grant luxury SUV-type vehicle currently parked at your local multiplex--shows a lot of "Romantic Comedy 101" influence. After leaving the theatre with these Thumbs! twitching more rapidly than Mr. Grant's mug at the precipice of a nervous breakdown, I have to disagree. I felt more like I'd just sat through a workshop for "Romantic Comedy 404 - Advanced Studies in the Common Boy/Girl Dilemma."
Which my ever-twitchy Thumbs! remind me is a good thing each time I grope for the space bar.
Roberts is Anna Scott, world-wide superstar actress and platinum club member of the jet set. Grant plays William Thacker, a slightly impoverished bookstore owner and member of the "my best friend owns a fast Peugeot wagon" set. While winning the lottery might be the most appropriate life-changing event for Thacker, instead he is fated with the experience of literally running into Scott and dousing them both--enter the miracle of movie magic here--with what appears to be about a gallon or so of orange juice. As their juice stains dry into what appears to be mustard (British special effects technicians might possibly have something to learn from "The Phantom Menace"), she graciously accepts his offer to duck into his apartment to change clothes.
And as they say in certain sports circles, "They're off and running!" But fortunately, never too quickly. While the same writing/producing team that gave us "Four Weddings and a Funeral" is clearly happy with mining familiar territory ("Wedding's" director Mike Newell apparently isn't, as he recently went down with that ship called "Pushing Tin".), they've managed to make a film that unfolds with a leisurely pace and treats its characters with remarkable decency.
Early on, there's a birthday party involving Thacker's friends, family, and that certain movie star. As each character airs his or her particular quirks (no shortage here), I was amazed at the deft hand shown by the production team at large. Which is to say, you shouldn't, as it's that well done. All too often today sparkling, witty dialogue and blatant over-reaction are mistaken as hallmarks of truly inspired writing. Here, they aren't, even though Thacker's little sister (Emma Chambers) goes ballistic in proclaiming her absolute love for actress Scott's work and persona, and the last brownie at dessert is auctioned off to the person who tells the most pathetic story about him or herself. In lesser hands, this scene could have been a disaster.
Since we've now clearly gotten the message that our little lovebirds are probably going to be heading back to the nest at some point, it must be time for a musical interlude, which for better or worse happens. True, these misty-eyed excursions into Bob Seger-land often send me on a search-and-destroy mission to the kitchen in order to locate appropriate utensils for my ritual gagging ceremony. But here, things are kept low-key enough (no Bob on the soundtrack either!) to perhaps subliminally remind us that during real-life moments like this, we're probably humming some little soundtrack to ourselves to help preserve the moment.
I survived, and the eggbeater remained safely stowed in my backpack.
Not that there aren't a few quality moments of cliche (especially toward the end), but they're more than mitigated by an abundance of inventive and sometimes touching moments. This is, after all, a film that successfully manages to pull off two Beavis & Butthead jokes without the slightest twinge from the audience.
As for performances, I'm proud to say that for the first time I feel compelled to break out the old "winning performance" moniker to describe Julia Roberts in this film. Seemingly at all the right moments, she shows an astounding vulnerability without resorting to the old quivering lip trick. While she may never win the awards bestowed on her character, I will say that all too often she's been asked to carry films that are entirely too insubstantial for any actor to salvage. That she's managed to take such heapings of negative criticism and still avoid becoming an alumna of the Betty Ford clinic certainly counts for something.
Hugh Grant, of course, really is the ultimate poster boy for your average silver-screen nice guy. He's in perfect form here, having apparently either sought hypnotherapy for his notorious tics, or undergone a spiritual reevaluation of his art. Together he and Roberts generate more than enough of that mythical chemistry to make this flick work.
To sum it all up, I think it's fair to say since I only spent two out of roughly 120 minutes biting my critic's lip on account "questionable" moments, I think "Notting Hill's" a pretty solid value. Now, if I could just sell my thumbs! for an eighteenth of what Julia Roberts makes per picture...
Visit Thumbs For Sale! Online: www.thumbsforsale.com ©1999 Roger Gerbig
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