Just heard where this got a slew of Oscar nominations. I thought it was an alright film but nowhere near as stunning as others have thought. I think it was in Vanity Fair where a writer contended that the film was obviously a rich girl film made by a rich girl (Sofia Coppolla) where life is depressing when you’re affluent and have no dreams – except for binge-drinking in a hotel while rolling around in your panties – and others are simply co-stars in your carefully calculated pity party – with those silly Japs as the requisite Cosmo Kramers. Mr Cranky writes it to the point:
Who is Charlotte? What has she done with her life? Do we care? She begins asking these questions while tossing her dirty undies all over the furniture in her $300/night hotel room, begging us, the audience, to please care about the internal machinations of the poor little rich girl. You know, I’d have cared a hell of a lot more if she were staying in some rat-infested flophouse. Jesus, get some psychotherapy like everyone else, bitch.
And that’s why I think the film is ultimately unsatisfying… I know, I know – that some will say that it’s a ‘mood piece’ or it’s a ‘meditation on yackety-yack’ but that just means to mean ‘it’s boring as hell and ultimately unsatisfying’. I think my lower-middle-class/work-equals-worth upbringing has a hard time pitying the idle. That’s why I like the style of Pulp Fiction but, in the end, can’t waste emotions on such obviously self-destructive lunatics.