Reviewed by Doug Cooper
Stars Paul Giamatti, David Strathairn, Dina Korzun, Katheryn Winnick, Lauren Ambrose,.Emily Watson, Boris Kievsky,
Oksana Lada, Natalia Zvereva, Rebecca Brooksher
Written by Sophie Barthes
Certification UK 12A | US PG-13
Runtime 101 minutes
Directed by Sophie Barthes
Paul Giamatti must have loved doing this one. He gets to play himself, perform some radically different interpretations of Uncle Vanya, and also be a hero. As a broadway star rehearsing the famed Chekhov classic he is having trouble locating the root of his role, the soul of the character if you will. Why so? Perhaps he is out of sorts, depressed, melancholic and unable to communicate his troubles to his sympathetic wife (Watson). If so, what to do? Well why not get a new soul! That'll give the play a lift won't it?
New York, being the crazy place it is, offers just such a facility. So Paul visits this company that offers to extract his soul. The process is duly undergone and he's a new man - happy and untroubled. But when he sees that his soul is the shape and size of a chickpea he is less than thrilled. Further complications ensue. Some Russian black marketers are illegally trading these prize possessions, and Korzun, playing a mule who transports them between countries, picks up Paul's soul for a soap opera actress who wants to better her acting skills. Paul's not happy about this at all - how can his great talent be put to use in a soap performer? He realises he wants his proper soul back - at any cost. Giamatti's terrific as the poor schlub way out of his depth. His existential problems are persuasively rendered. In one scene he plays Vanya for laughs and it's a joy to watch. Watson is excellent as his uncomprehending wife, her naturalistic playing perfect for the absurdity of the situation, while Strathairn deftly portrays the overconfident head of the soul storage company, reluctant to admit to any mistakes.
This clever tale has a lot going for it, and writer-director Barthes is certainly a name to watch. Though the outlandishness of its ideas bear a distant resemblance ro the rich imagination of Charlie Kaufman, Barthes retains a strong individualistic voice. But she needs to bring more energy to the proceedings. At times the pace is too languorous, the pauses too long. There are certainly moments when a more zestful approach would have been welcome. But this is but a small quibble for a unique and likeable effort, confidently developed and agreeably delivered.
_______________________________________
SECOND OPINION | Mike Martin *** Let's Imagine the great Paul Giamatti’s performance as Miles in Sideways, transposed onto Being John Malkovich with a dose of Synecdoche, New York, and you have this indie offering. Yet, for all of its good points – and there are many – it never quite catches fire, being neither as witty as Malkovich nor as warm as Synecdoche. The idea is a cracker. Giamatti plays himself, in rehearsals for a stage version of Uncle Vanya but laden down with his trademark angst, over-thinking each line and mannerism. His agent recommends a new service, ‘soul storage’, a way of getting over his worries and stresses by having his soul extracted. He duly goes along to meet eccentric Dr Flintstein (Strathairn), who says the treatment will ‘lighten’ him up. Giamatti has the treatment, discovers that his soul looks like a chickpea, but gives his new soul-free-life a go. It’s a disaster – how can an actor act with no soul? So he ‘rents’ a soul for a fortnight until this, too, proves a terrible mistake.
Fed up with feeling lighter, Giamatti tries to get his soul back, only to discover it has been sold on the black market to a talentless Russian soap star, who really wanted Al Pacino or Robert Redford but had to sette for Giamatti’s as his was the only one in the catalogue. He travels to Russia with the ‘soul mule’, Nina (Dina Korzun), to try and get his soul back. The premise here is great, but only sporadically does it mature into full-blown humour or pathos. Giamatti’s acting while without his soul is hilariously, wonderfully bad, and his insights into the life of the Russian factory worker whose soul his rents is moving, but in between there are too many longeurs. Giamatti is a fine actor – no-one does suffering better, and he is certainly more companionable than Malkovich for 100 minutes, yet he needs more humour in the script to soften his misery. Watson – star of Synecdoche, New York – as his long-suffering wife would not be forgiven for giving up on him as he moans about his lot, and he spends far too much of the film in a coat staring out at rivers.
The film’s trump card is the performance of Dina Korzun as the Russian soul mule – she blossoms from a dead-eyed blank to a warm, sympathetic ally of Giamatti as his desperation for his soul increases. She’s terrific, and Strathairn too is a gloriously bonkers doctor, gleefully admitting he has no idea what he is doing. Yet somehow it never adds up to the masterpiece it could have been. Two telling screen credits give the game away – a quote from Descartes at the beginning, and in the closing credits lurks ‘script clearance – IndieClear’. This is indie all right – just a bit too Sundance.