FILM REVIEW: THE TRIP TO ITALY

Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan in The Trip to Italy.

To life 

By John Esther

With gourmet Italian cuisine, humorous banter, lush scenery, marvelous hotels, hilarious impersonations of such folks as Al Pacino, Marlon Brando, Truman Capote, Gore Vidal and characters in The Dark Knight Rises, plus discussions about Lord Byron and Percy Shelley, Roman Holiday, Godard's Contempt and a host of other issues a trip through Italy can offer, what is there not to like about The Trip to Italy? Very little. 

On another hand, our dynamic duo are stuck with one excruciating CD to listen to in their rented Mini: Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill, which they play too frequently, and seem to enjoy on occasion. And our protagonists discussion about Frankenstein is rather irksome to those who know the story of its origins, author, intent, censorship, distribution, reception and history. 

The follow up to writer-director Michael Winterbottom's 2010 film, The Trip, the sequel reunites Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan once again to travel in style, work their improvisational brilliance, and remind us that maybe the true test of any relationship is traveling together -- all the while making the viewer hungry. Only this time the film is set in Italy not England. 

A smart, funny film about friendship, film, culture, literature, history, art, and coming to terms with what it means to mature, manifestly speaking, in show business (pretty much everything The Expendables 3 is not), watching The Trip to Italy is probably the most fun I have had at the movies so far this year.

SUNDANCE 2014: OBVIOUS CHILD

Donna (Jenny Slate) in Obvious Child.

Laugh now in the lake of fire

By Don Simpson

A bookstore clerk by day and comedian by night, Donna’s (Jenny Slate) life is sent into a tailspin when her boyfriend admits to sleeping with one of her close friends; but at least that event provides Donna with some fresh material for her bluntly autobiographical stand-up routine.

Donna turns to alcohol to drown her sorrows, totally giving up on life. When the righteously indie bookstore that employs her loses its lease, Donna’s life seems all the more hopeless. Even her gig as a comedian could be at risk if she does not learn how to curb her emotionally driven binge drinking.

On one fatefully drunken night, the snarky Jewess makes cute with a WASPy guy, Max (Jake Lacy). Sensing that his values will dissuade Max from wanting to date a vocally rebellious Jewish woman, Donna perceives this night as a fun, one-night stand. Unfortunately for Donna, the repercussions of their night together haunt her until Valentine’s Day.

Obvious Child is a well-paced comedy packed with a steady stream of hilarious jokes, yet the film also carries a strong and unwavering opinion on its subject matter. While the subject of this film may chase some potential audiences away, Obvious Child does such an admirable job of presenting its case that it could actually change some minds if audiences would just give it a fighting chance.

The strongest tension within director Gillian Robespierre's  Obvious Child is its relentless rebellion against American cinema’s representation of this subject matter. We anxiously await the all too standard redemption trope, for Donna to listen to the old white men who attempt to legislate away her inherent rights to her own body. Few filmmakers are bold and brazen enough to discuss this subject with such openness. Everything is laid out on the table in such a way that Donna’s one and only choice seems like an obvious one. There is absolutely no valid excuse for her mistake and Donna knows that, but there is also no reason for her to punish herself or anyone else involved. Ill-equipped and immature, Donna is by no means emotionally prepared to make any other decision. Our society, thanks in no small part to Hollywood’s representation of this subject, seems to think Donna is in the minority, but this is actually an all too common scenario. Donna makes the same life-changing mistake that so many others have made, including her mother.