Word: coppola
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...didn't know it then, The Da Vinci Code experience would turn out to be Cannes 2006 in miniature: great hopes for films that mostly underachieved. The big-name items - Pedro Almodóvar's Volver, Alejandro González Iñárritu's Babel and Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette - all had their adherents, but many others who expressed disappointment or derision. This was a festival with no consensus masterpiece. A few smaller movies got high praise, perhaps because they scaled modest peaks, while the more ambitious works, depending on the individual response, either soared or crashed. Start...
...Around 1 a.m. Mitchell asked the crowd to join in on the final number, and we did. Mary swayed; I swayed. Next to me, there was Sofia Coppola, swaying with a friend and singing along to "We All Get It in the End." It was a lovely, communal moment, for we were moved by a spirit both erotic and innocent. Just like the 60s, you might say, only with less hype...
...Coppola's approach is piquant, and it could be fun in a five-minute Saturday Night Live sketch, but it does not sustain a two-hour treatment. After a few scenes, audiences are likely to say, "We get the point." The result is a shallow film about shallow people - a cinematic pastry that leaves a sour taste. As the French would say, ce bonbon...
...production is certainly a sumptuous confection. Given access to the grounds and interiors of Versailles, Coppola captures the splendor of aristocratic excess, aided artfully by the work of production designer KK Barrett and costume designer Milena Canonero. The quiet riot of pastels and ruffles hint at Marie's isolation from the shouts of revolution in the Paris streets. Dunst is a living porcelain doll, dimpled and sweet. Her Marie may be ignorant of the great roiling world outside, but her job was not to be spokeswoman for the masses. It was to provide a male heir for the throne...
...Coppola's artistic mission was to parallel Marie and her retinue with today's modern youth, cocooned in their own search for pleasure. Straddling the centuries, Coppola puts her idle rich in period dress and accompanies their fatuous frolics with raucous rock music. The spirit here is less the divine decadence of Paris, France, than the spoiled shallowness of Paris Hilton. Obsessed with their games, gossip and petty erotic intrigues, these Valley children of privilege are oblivious to the needs and sufferings of oppressed humanity. Coppola, herself a princess of movie royalty, may be painting a corrosive portrait...