Somewhere: movie review
Sofia Coppola鈥檚 鈥�Somewhere鈥� opens with a long shot of a black Ferrari circling an empty desert speedway for what seems like an eternity. After about the fifth lap, I understood what Coppola was going for: real-time anomie. There鈥檚 lots of that in this film.
The driver of the car turns out to be Johnny Marco (Stephen Dorff), a mid-level movie star, recently divorced, who is shacking up at the Chateau Marmont, a funky Hollywood hotel known for sequestering fringey celebrities.
Having broken his arm, Johnny is nursing his impediment with a parade of willing women with whom he mostly dozes off in mid-act, even when being entertained by twin pole dancers. Their routine goes on for about as long as that Ferrari roundabout and is just about as sexy.
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When not nodding off, Johnny heads out for the occasional party or publicity junket or prosthetics fitting session for his next film. When his 11-year-old daughter, Cleo (an excellent Elle Fanning), shows up for a visit that turns into an extended stay, Johnny gradually bonds, as best as he can, with her. She seems a lot wiser than he. At least she knows how to cook.
I admired Coppola鈥檚 鈥�Lost in Translation,鈥� which was also about a celebrity, paired with a much younger woman, who is confined by stardom. I also admired 鈥�Marie Antoinette,鈥� which was equally about confinement, although from the regal end of the spectrum. In 鈥淪omewhere,鈥� Coppola is attempting to complete what is, in effect, a trilogy of high-end loneliness.
Unlike those other two films, though, 鈥淪omewhere鈥� reinforces clich茅s instead of dissolving them. For all its Antonioni-esque lassitude and dreary artiness, 鈥淪omewhere鈥� is pushing a clich茅d agenda: Celebrity is empty; Hollywood is empty; life is meaningless. Although Johnny is a star, you never get a sense of what made him one 鈥� or even if he鈥檚 any good as an actor. I guess we鈥檙e not supposed to care.
We鈥檙e also not supposed to care that he doesn鈥檛 seem to care about anything.
I鈥檓 grateful that, once Cleo enters the picture, Coppola didn鈥檛 try to turn 鈥淣owhere鈥� 鈥� I mean, 鈥淪omewhere鈥� 鈥� into an art-house variant of 鈥淭he Champ.鈥� Cleo鈥檚 tentative attempts to reach her father, some of which are canny and successful (she makes a mean eggs Benedict), are touching and comic.
But most of the time we鈥檙e stuck watching the chain-smoking Johnny acting dopey 鈥� I mean, existential. Because Coppola plays out many of her scenes in actual time, she encourages us to sit still and discern the elemental in all that ennui. It鈥檚 what Warhol, in his endless movies, also tried to do.
But sometimes empty is just empty. What Gertrude Stein said about Oakland can also apply to 鈥淪omewhere:鈥� 鈥淭here is no there there.鈥� Grade: C- (Rated R for sexual content, nudity, and language.)
