I was more hot and bothered at Vicky Cristina Barcelona than I have been at a movie in years, and it had nothing to do with the five-second overhyped kiss between Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson.
I'd laugh too if I weren't so stunned. Yes, a Woody Allen film provoked this feeling in me. Yes, the same Woody Allen I usually cannot stand. I can't put into words exactly why Vicky Cristina Barcelona made me feel this way. The music? The cinematography? The very European look at love? Javier Bardem looking normal again after the Coen brothers made him into a serial killer?
I try not to dwell on celebrity gossip in my reviews. I will say this, though: Unlike many real-life lovers onscreen, Cruz and Bardem have tremendous chemistry.
“Woody Allen” and “sexy” are two of the least likely words one might pair together, yet “sexy” is the way to describe Allen’s latest movie, the Spain-set travelogue comedic romance Vicky Cristina Barcelona. A movie where painter Javier Bardem (free of his No Country for Old Men hair) proposes a weekend of wine, sightseeing and love-making to American tourists Rebecca Hall (the sensible Vicky) and Scarlett Johansson (the adventurous Cristina), whom he’s just met; where Bardem’s Juan Antonio still has a tempestuous relationship with his artist ex Maria Elena (dynamic Penelope Cruz); where Spanish guitar can cause tears and lust - yes, all this would cue a sultry vibe. Vicky Cristina is so much more, though; Allen explores love, longing and passion in ways both neurotic and erotic, anchored by Hall’s awakening as both an actress and as a rules-abiding engaged student whose thoughts on romance become tossed about. Only banal, unnecessary narration by an offscreen Christopher Evan Welch (we can see that the women enjoy Miro’s work, thanks) takes away from the film’s fresh appeal. As winter approaches and the economy worsens, take a trip to sun-drenched Barcelona with Vicky and Cristina: It’s a cinematic turn-on.
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