It’s a thoroughly entertaining film, and at times smart. Alexander Payne knows how to ratchet up pathos unlike any other contemporary writer-director. And unlike About Schmidt, in which the condescension to its characters curdled, here Payne finds the inner humanism of his pathetic protagonists. I rather liked the loving satire of wine culture and of middle California, and thought it managed a delicate balance between class observation and class satire.
But why the critical rhapsody? Like Steve Vineburg’s championing this as a modern masterpiece. Or Manohla Dargis’s claim that "Like the film itself, the performance is deeply controlled, played with restraint and with microscopic attention to detail."
I understand that a nostalgia for New American Cinema of the 70s subtends some of these judgments. But frankly, I’m so tired of the tableau composition and editing that serves as the marker for cinematic seriousness these days, that I was terminally bored with the filmmaking even as I enjoyed the story. What’s worse, Sideways continually breached one of the fundamental rules of cinematography: if you pan too fast — or else not fast enough — what you get is a headache-inducing lack of focus throughout the camera movement. Maybe filmmakers now think for the small screen, since so many viewers watch on TV or video, but if that’s the case here’s it’s a sad commentary not only on Payne but also on critics who apparently watch movies like videos.
But, beyond all this cinephile talk, what of the narrative? Paul Giamatti (playing Miles) is indeed a charismatic actor who’s able to pull of the trick the film wants to pull. But Miles’ identity quest (as well as his sidekick Jack’s) is blatantly premised on the two-dimensional props that are the female characters. Perhaps nothing new, but galling nonetheless in its asymmetry. For yet again we have the ideology of the schlumpy man who can win the heart of the pretty blonde woman by being himself. Well, what if Maya had been the schlumpy one instead? What if the narrative could have followed the slightly overweight waitress without making her the butt of a dual joke? The misogyny is not as on the surface as in About Schmidt but it’s palpable nonetheless.
UPDATE: Via a link to this post, I’m pleased to discover that my friend Derek has launched a blog of his own. His discussion of the film points out the paradox of a buddy narrative, premised on mutual learning, where none of the characters really learn anything.
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