Well, you can pretty much guess what my motivation in seeing MND was. After all, Rupert Everett -- with his shirt on or off -- far eclipses David Duchovny's butt as a reason to see a movie. He's the only actor around who, quite literally, takes my breath away. And for the scenes of MND that he was in, my review is, best damn movie of the year. Beautiful scenery -- and the backgrounds and props were pretty nice, too.
Then there are all those other Rupert-less scenes. Some are pleasant; some are tedious. The setting is beautiful but looks stagy, which would be forgivable on a theater stage but seems chintzy in a film. The acting is uneven -- some of the actors take to Shakespeare with verve, like Everett, Kevin Kline, and even Stanley Tucci as "the Puck." But others are glaringly unsuited to the task -- David Straithairn is eloquent and dignified speaking John Sayles' dialogue, but he's a fish out of water with stilted Shakespeare. Sophie Marceau has enough trouble with English, let alone Elizabethan English. And Calista Flockhart -- well, I hate to admit it, but she wasn't as terrible as I'd expected. But she had the annoying habit of delivering every third word with foot-stomping, petulant emphasis.
I'm still not sure how I feel about MND. Stretches of it seemed to last as long as, well, an entire midsummer night, and dopey, sappy, obvious gags and sentiment make it eye-rollingly corny at times. But then some charming scene would come along and raise my esteem of the film. I suppose it's pleasant enough entertainment, and certainly gorgeous to look at. The problem, I think, is that it just doesn't have as much passion, energy, and Rupert Everett as it should. But then again, neither do I.
Back to homepage
Reviews A to F
Reviews G to L
Reviews M to R
Reviews S to Z
Search