After viewing the trailer for Paris Can Wait, I thought it looked like a fun, comedic, road movie that might offer some sophistication to an otherwise banal genre of movie themes. What could be better than cruising the French countryside in a classic Peugeot convertible with a beautiful woman?
Paris Can Wait disappointed on absolutely every possible level.
The dialog is incredibly weak and painful to hear, consisting of trite conversation with simplistic questions one would never ask another person if you actually were interested in them or even respected them.
The endless rambling of the French gentleman, who really comes off as nothing more than a cheesy philanderer intent on bedding the wife of his boss by drowning her in an endless sea of food, distraction, and banal complements. Any woman with an ounce of self-respect would have shut him down immediately and jumped on the train to Paris. He’s an aging, self-important, predatory creep with far too little charisma to make one suffer his presence.
Alec Baldwin literally phones in one of his worst performances to date, and he does have a long list to beat. It’s like he showed up drunk and hung over to the shoots, just slurred his lines in one take, grabbed the paycheck, and then flew off.
Eleanor Coppola, who wrote and directed this abysmal movie, saved her worst work for the ending, which was absolutely insulting to watch. In the scene, Diane Lane receives a cliché box of chocolates from our sleazy, French Lothario, along with a personal note that he will continue to dog her all the way to California, and her response is to bite a chocolate and wink at the camera. When they sat around wondering how they should end the movie, you know that the last two words from them were, “fuck it.”
It’s a perfectly horrible ending to a perfectly horrible movie.