Oscar Wilde is the second hardest working man in Hollywood. The hardest working man is, of course, Bill Shakespeare, and Jane Austen is taking a lot of meetings, too. Their classic tales are endlessly mined for inspiration. Apparently, all you need to do is change the time period and voila, a fresh new story is conveniently generated.
Well, not quite. These endless remakes and re-imaginings are as unnecessary as the many superfluous entries into the action or romance genre, only with fewer redeeming explosions and less sex. “A Good Woman” is such a redundancy, wasting the time of Scarlett Johannson, Helen Hunt and, of course, me.
Based on Wilde’s play “Lady Windemere’s Fan,” “A Good Woman” moves the action to the Amalfi Coast in the 1930s just for the heck of it. The result is a stilted, predictable melodrama that improves upon the play only in the presence of really cute women’s hats and the enviable location.
The major problem with this scenario is not that the new version ruins Wilde’s play, but that it is faithful to it. Because frankly, that play is contrived and fusty and memorable only for the incredibly quotable one-liners. As usual, most are delivered by a well-dressed bachelor that is a substitute for Wilde himself; he’s a bit like Woody Allen in that way. Or perhaps it’s the other way around.
As amusing as these pithy nuggets may once have been, I can’t really listen to them any more. Wilde’s lines have been ruined by their constant use on countless artsy gift items, from coffee cups to umbrellas to mouse pads. The museum gift shop has ruined Oscar Wilde and it would take more than Scarlett Johanssen’s pneumatic cleavage to resurrect him. “A Good Woman,” while technically not bad in any specific way, doesn’t even come close.
“A Good Woman” is currently available to rent.
Pierce Brosnan’s “The Matador” reminds me of my recent favorite “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.” Although it never achieves the giddy pace of that movie, “The Matador” is unusual and worth renting for Brosnan’s amusing performance, as a mustachioed refutation of his debonair 007 persona. As a rather silly hit man suffering from burnout, he forms an oddly touching and believable relationship with steadily-appealing, straight man Greg Kinnear.
This well-written film has just enough of the surreal touches made popular by the various dreams of “American Beauty.” As Brosnan gets closer to a mental breakdown, he suffers visions that add a daffy touch to this darkly comedic adventure. Brosnan and Kinnear both play men that are pathetic, but for entirely different reasons, and their friendship works for the film. “The Matador” shares the last-ditch-effort appeal of “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang,” but while that film had a kind of sad elegance, the visual tone of this one is literally burned out. One movie seemed to take place in a perpetual evening, while the other has the quality of walking into a room after standing in bright sunlight.
“The Matador” is also a wonder of efficiency; Peter Jackson (“The Lord of the Rings” and the bigger offender “King Kong”) should check it out. A nifty little tale is told in about an hour and a half. This means it’s possible that you could watch the whole thing without your infant daughter (or her father) beginning to complain. Surely I am not the only one for whom this is a valuable quality.
The most valuable quality, however, is the tone, which is at once mordant and moving. This balance is achieved by the cast, who portray characters flawed and vulnerable enough to keep this mocking movie from going too far. A comedy that is too cartoonish prevents you from caring about the characters. “The Matador,” however full of casual violence and amusingly amoral situations, ultimately strikes a note of redemption that rings true.
“The Matador” is currently available to rent.
Contact Asia Frey at afrey@lagniappemobile.com.
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