A Good Year
Marion Cotillard is beautiful. Marion Cotillard photographed by Ridley Scott is delectable. In “A Good Year,” Scott’s breezy ode to sensory pleasure, he introduces Cotillard as she rides a bicycle in a loose, knee-length skirt on a sunny day, a rapturous image of the French countryside’s allure. The joke is that our hero, Max Skinner (Russell Crowe), is so busy on his BlackBerry or BlueTooth or whatever the hell it is that he runs her off the road without even noticing. Clearly a little more time in Provence is in order.
You know where “A Good Year” is going; Scott does nothing to disguise it. Max, a wealthy asshole, will be slightly more wealthy and slightly less of an asshole by the movie’s end. He’s an aggressive, slippery bond trader who inherits his late uncle’s Provençal estate, complete with a vineyard with colorful French employees who make undrinkable wine (and possibly some really, really good wine, too). He can’t wait to unload the place. We see in flashbacks, with Albert Finney as Uncle Henry and Freddie Highmore as young Max, that Max wasn’t always so soulless and that he once had the patience for simple pleasures. Unfortunately, the only lesson of his uncle’s that he seems to remember was imparted on the tennis court. Henry tells a defeated Max that you learn more from losing than from winning. And what do you learn? “Winning feels better.”
A few minor-key complications end up keeping Max in France longer than expected, the most interesting ones female. In addition to Fanny Chenal (Cotillard), there’s Christie Roberts (Abbie Cornish), a young American woman who shows up claiming to be Henry’s daughter. Christie, a self-described “wine brat” raised in the Napa Valley, would clearly be a better steward for the estate. What Cotillard is to long-limbed, raven-haired French elegance, Cornish is to blond, all-American good looks (even though she’s Australian). They both ought to thank Scott because it’s quite possible they’ll never look better on film. And, thank God, neither has the Hollywood hard body; both are fleshy in all the right places.
This is what “A Good Year” boils down to: If you like staring at gorgeous women, bold architecture and the sun-dappled countryside, you’ll have a good time. It also wouldn’t hurt to be a foodie and a wino. Remarkably, Scott manages to engage your nose, mouth and fingers as much as your eyes and ears. He sets the tone early, when Max arrives and chomps into a fresh tomato, leaving seeds all over his white shirt; he looks like a total dick (and he is), but at least he knows a good tomato when he sees one. You’ve got to start somewhere.
Scott does a good job getting his actors in the same relaxed key; there are precious few theatrics. Crowe is a quick-witted, charming boor. Cotillard (whom you may recognize from “Big Fish” or “A Very Long Engagement”) is a romantically burned, self-styled harridan, but she hints at how she might just be ready to plunge again. She’s such a natural, confident performer that she can mesmerize while doing very little. Archie Panjabi and Tom Hollander, as Max’s London confidants, also register strongly — again with little discernible effort. I had heard of Cornish but had no idea that’s who I was watching until the closing credits — a savvy move on Scott’s part, because I wasn’t listening for telltale hiccups in her American accent. But I’m not sure I’d hear any even if I saw the movie again, which there’s absolutely no reason to do. “A Good Year” is a throwaway, a beautifully directed diversion by a filmmaker whose visual gifts alone should inspire deep appreciation, even in an otherwise forgettable movie (and he’s made several of those).
(By the way, and I rarely discuss the box-office fortunes or the marketing of movies, but “A Good Year” was a big flat flop, and to me it’s pretty clear why. It’s little more than “Under the Tuscan Sun” with a dude, in other words a chick flick from a male perspective; where’s the audience for that? Plus, the poster of a sun-kissed and blissed-out Crowe is a major turnoff. Audiences respect Crowe, but they don’t love him, and they certainly don’t want to see him having the time of his life.)