Favorable review from Tony Scott of NYTimes (raves for Streep); the rest of the praise is tempered and sounds like he played nice for his editors - this could easily be rewritten to sound like an unfavorable review.
Two for the Stove
By A. O. SCOTT Published: August 7, 2009
In an understated but nonetheless climactic scene in Nora Ephron’s “Julie & Julia,” Julia Child (Meryl Streep) and her editor, Judith Jones (Erin Dilly), struggle to come up with a title for the culinary doorstopper Julia has spent the past eight years composing. It’s not an especially suspenseful moment — pretty much anyone who has cooked an omelet knows what the book is called — but it gives Ms. Ephron and the audience a chance to savor the precise nature of Julia Child’s achievement.
The book is “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” — not “How To” or “Made Easy” or “For Dummies,” but “Mastering the Art.” In other words, cooking that omelet is part of a demanding, exalted discipline not to be entered into frivolously or casually. But at the same time: You can do it. It is a matter of technique, of know-how, of practice.
The impact of that first volume of “Mastering the Art,” and of Child’s subsequent television career (which is mostly tangential to the movie’s concerns), is hard to overstate. The book stands with a few other postwar touchstones — including Benjamin Spock’s “Baby and Child Care,” the Kinsey Report and Dr. Suess’s “Cat in the Hat” — as a publication that fundamentally altered the way a basic human activity was perceived and pursued.
Not that Ms. Ephron’s breezy, busy movie traffics in such sweeping historical ideas, except occasionally by implication. Nor does she infuse the happy, well-fed life of her Julia (the main source for which is a memoir Child wrote with her great nephew Alex Prud’homme) with too much grand drama. “Julie & Julia” proceeds with such ease and charm that its audacity — a no-nonsense, plucky self-confidence embodied by the indomitable Julia herself — is easy to miss.
Most strikingly, this is a Hollywood movie about women that is not about the desperate pursuit of men. Marriage is certainly the context both of Julia’s story and of Julie’s (about whom more in a moment), but it is not the point. The point, to invoke the name of a book whose author has an amusing cameo here (played by Frances Sternhagen), is the joy of cooking.
In the vernacular of many American kitchens, “Mastering the Art” is better known simply as “Julia,” and many a kitchen debate has been settled by an appeal to its authority. Should we separate the eggs? Turn the roast? What does Julia say? In 2002, more than half a century after Julia and her husband, Paul, arrived in France — a debarkation that provides the movie’s opening scene — a young woman named Julie Powell decided to answer that question in the most literal and systematic way imaginable. A would-be writer working at a thankless office job and living with her husband in Long Island City, Ms. Powell spent a year cooking every single recipe in “Mastering the Art” and writing a blog about the experience. The blog led to the memoir that provided Ms. Ephron’s movie with its title and the lesser half of its narrative.
Trimming some fat from Ms. Powell’s rambling book (and draining some of the juice as well), Ms. Ephron’s script emphasizes the parallels between the lives of her protagonists, who never meet. (They appear on screen together only when Julie watches Julia on television). Julie (Amy Adams) and Julia have loving, supportive husbands — the affable Chris Messina is Eric Powell; the impeccable Stanley Tucci is Paul Child — who only occasionally express impatience with their wives’ gastronomic obsessions. (Paul by arching an eyebrow, Eric by storming out of the apartment.)
Both women take up cooking out of a restless sense of drift — “I need something to dooooo,” Julia exclaims — and both pursue it in the service of a latent but powerful ambition. Publishing success is the happy ending to both tales, and Ms. Ephron, a literary and journalistic star before she was a filmmaker, is unequivocal in her celebration of the joys of such triumph.
Julie, in an early scene, is humiliated by a table full of college friends who flaunt their BlackBerrys, assistants, real estate deals and lucrative glossy-magazine gigs. But by means of failed aspics and triumphant sauces, Julie shows them all up. And Julia, similarly, overcomes the xenophobia and sexism of the French culinary establishment and the myopia of an American publisher and becomes — well, Julia Child.
As does Ms. Streep. By now, this actress has exhausted every superlative that exists and to suggest that she has outdone herself is only to say that she’s done it again. Her performance goes beyond physical imitation, though she has the rounded shoulders and the fluting voice down perfectly. Often when gifted actors impersonate real, familiar people, they overshadow the originals, so that, for example, you can’t think of Ray Charles without seeing Jamie Foxx, or Truman Capote without envisioning Philip Seymour Hoffman. But Ms. Streep’s incarnation of Julia Child has the opposite effect, making the real Julia, who died in 2004, more vivid, more alive, than ever.
In Mr. Tucci, Ms. Streep finds, as in “The Devil Wears Prada,” a perfect foil. Like the character he plays, he is gallant and self-assured, and able to assert a strong sense of his own presence even as he happily cedes the center of attention. Together, their mastery of the art is so perfect that even quiet, transitional scenes between them are delightful. (And when Jane Lynch shows up as Dorothy, Julia’s sister, the delight ascends to an almost indecent level of giddiness). If only Mr. Tucci and Ms. Streep were in every movie, I thought to myself at one point, as, in a state of rapture, I watched them sit still on a couch looking off into space.
The problem is that when they aren’t on screen in this movie, you can’t help but miss them. Ms. Adams is a lovely and subtle performer, but she is overmatched by her co-star and handicapped by the material. Julia Child could whip up a navarin of lamb for lunch, but Meryl Streep eats young actresses for breakfast. Remember Anne Hathaway in “The Devil Wears Prada”? Amanda Seyfried in “Mamma Mia”? Neither do I.
The deck is further stacked against Ms. Adams by the discrepancy between Ms. Powell’s achievement and Ms. Child’s, and by a corresponding imbalance in Ms. Ephron’s interest in the characters. The conceit of parallel lives is undone by the movie’s condescending treatment of Julie and also by its ardent embrace of the past at the expense of the present. From the very start, Paris in the late ’40s and early ’50s is — well, it’s postwar Paris, a dream world of fabulous clothes, architecture, sex, food, cigarettes and political intrigue. And New York in 2002 is made, a little unfairly, to seem drab and soulless by comparison. Queens, demographically the most cosmopolitan of the five boroughs and a something of foodie mecca, is treated with easy Manhattanite disdain, as a punch line and punching bag.
The unevenness of “Julie and Julia” is nobody’s fault, really. It arises from an inherent flaw in the film’s premise. Julie is an insecure, enterprising young woman who found a gimmick and scored a book contract. Julia is a figure of such imposing cultural stature that her pots and pans are displayed at the Smithsonian. The fact that Ms. Ephron, like Julie herself, is well aware of this gap does not prevent the film from falling into it. All the filmmaker’s artful whisking can’t quite achieve the light, fluffy emulsion she is trying for.
But an imperfect meal can still have a lot of flavor, and the pleasures offered by this movie should not be disdained. Julia Child knew what to do with a broken sauce or a half-fallen soufflé. Serve it anyway, with flair and without apology. What would Julia say? What she always said: Bon appétit!
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Originally posted by seanflynn: As does Ms. Streep. By now, this actress has exhausted every superlative that exists and to suggest that she has outdone herself is only to say that she’s done it again. Her performance goes beyond physical imitation, though she has the rounded shoulders and the fluting voice down perfectly. Often when gifted actors impersonate real, familiar people, they overshadow the originals, so that, for example, you can’t think of Ray Charles without seeing Jamie Foxx, or Truman Capote without envisioning Philip Seymour Hoffman. But Ms. Streep’s incarnation of Julia Child has the opposite effect, making the real Julia, who died in 2004, more vivid, more alive, than ever.
That quote and differenciation just jumped off the page when I read it - it's going to be the basis of the behind the scenes chat Sony uses in their campaign (they might be a bit shy about the negative comparison of Foxx and Hoffman in their print campaign.)
Originally posted by seanflynn: Favorable review from Tony Scott of NYTimes (raves for Streep); the rest of the praise is tempered and sounds like he played nice for his editors - this could easily be rewritten to sound like an unfavorable review.
Two for the Stove
By A. O. SCOTT Published: August 7, 2009
In an understated but nonetheless climactic scene in Nora Ephron’s “Julie & Julia,” Julia Child (Meryl Streep) and her editor, Judith Jones (Erin Dilly), struggle to come up with a title for the culinary doorstopper Julia has spent the past eight years composing. It’s not an especially suspenseful moment — pretty much anyone who has cooked an omelet knows what the book is called — but it gives Ms. Ephron and the audience a chance to savor the precise nature of Julia Child’s achievement.
The book is “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” — not “How To” or “Made Easy” or “For Dummies,” but “Mastering the Art.” In other words, cooking that omelet is part of a demanding, exalted discipline not to be entered into frivolously or casually. But at the same time: You can do it. It is a matter of technique, of know-how, of practice.
The impact of that first volume of “Mastering the Art,” and of Child’s subsequent television career (which is mostly tangential to the movie’s concerns), is hard to overstate. The book stands with a few other postwar touchstones — including Benjamin Spock’s “Baby and Child Care,” the Kinsey Report and Dr. Suess’s “Cat in the Hat” — as a publication that fundamentally altered the way a basic human activity was perceived and pursued.
Not that Ms. Ephron’s breezy, busy movie traffics in such sweeping historical ideas, except occasionally by implication. Nor does she infuse the happy, well-fed life of her Julia (the main source for which is a memoir Child wrote with her great nephew Alex Prud’homme) with too much grand drama. “Julie & Julia” proceeds with such ease and charm that its audacity — a no-nonsense, plucky self-confidence embodied by the indomitable Julia herself — is easy to miss.
Most strikingly, this is a Hollywood movie about women that is not about the desperate pursuit of men. Marriage is certainly the context both of Julia’s story and of Julie’s (about whom more in a moment), but it is not the point. The point, to invoke the name of a book whose author has an amusing cameo here (played by Frances Sternhagen), is the joy of cooking.
In the vernacular of many American kitchens, “Mastering the Art” is better known simply as “Julia,” and many a kitchen debate has been settled by an appeal to its authority. Should we separate the eggs? Turn the roast? What does Julia say? In 2002, more than half a century after Julia and her husband, Paul, arrived in France — a debarkation that provides the movie’s opening scene — a young woman named Julie Powell decided to answer that question in the most literal and systematic way imaginable. A would-be writer working at a thankless office job and living with her husband in Long Island City, Ms. Powell spent a year cooking every single recipe in “Mastering the Art” and writing a blog about the experience. The blog led to the memoir that provided Ms. Ephron’s movie with its title and the lesser half of its narrative.
Trimming some fat from Ms. Powell’s rambling book (and draining some of the juice as well), Ms. Ephron’s script emphasizes the parallels between the lives of her protagonists, who never meet. (They appear on screen together only when Julie watches Julia on television). Julie (Amy Adams) and Julia have loving, supportive husbands — the affable Chris Messina is Eric Powell; the impeccable Stanley Tucci is Paul Child — who only occasionally express impatience with their wives’ gastronomic obsessions. (Paul by arching an eyebrow, Eric by storming out of the apartment.)
Both women take up cooking out of a restless sense of drift — “I need something to dooooo,” Julia exclaims — and both pursue it in the service of a latent but powerful ambition. Publishing success is the happy ending to both tales, and Ms. Ephron, a literary and journalistic star before she was a filmmaker, is unequivocal in her celebration of the joys of such triumph.
Julie, in an early scene, is humiliated by a table full of college friends who flaunt their BlackBerrys, assistants, real estate deals and lucrative glossy-magazine gigs. But by means of failed aspics and triumphant sauces, Julie shows them all up. And Julia, similarly, overcomes the xenophobia and sexism of the French culinary establishment and the myopia of an American publisher and becomes — well, Julia Child.
As does Ms. Streep. By now, this actress has exhausted every superlative that exists and to suggest that she has outdone herself is only to say that she’s done it again. Her performance goes beyond physical imitation, though she has the rounded shoulders and the fluting voice down perfectly. Often when gifted actors impersonate real, familiar people, they overshadow the originals, so that, for example, you can’t think of Ray Charles without seeing Jamie Foxx, or Truman Capote without envisioning Philip Seymour Hoffman. But Ms. Streep’s incarnation of Julia Child has the opposite effect, making the real Julia, who died in 2004, more vivid, more alive, than ever.
In Mr. Tucci, Ms. Streep finds, as in “The Devil Wears Prada,” a perfect foil. Like the character he plays, he is gallant and self-assured, and able to assert a strong sense of his own presence even as he happily cedes the center of attention. Together, their mastery of the art is so perfect that even quiet, transitional scenes between them are delightful. (And when Jane Lynch shows up as Dorothy, Julia’s sister, the delight ascends to an almost indecent level of giddiness). If only Mr. Tucci and Ms. Streep were in every movie, I thought to myself at one point, as, in a state of rapture, I watched them sit still on a couch looking off into space.
The problem is that when they aren’t on screen in this movie, you can’t help but miss them. Ms. Adams is a lovely and subtle performer, but she is overmatched by her co-star and handicapped by the material. Julia Child could whip up a navarin of lamb for lunch, but Meryl Streep eats young actresses for breakfast. Remember Anne Hathaway in “The Devil Wears Prada”? Amanda Seyfried in “Mamma Mia”? Neither do I.
The deck is further stacked against Ms. Adams by the discrepancy between Ms. Powell’s achievement and Ms. Child’s, and by a corresponding imbalance in Ms. Ephron’s interest in the characters. The conceit of parallel lives is undone by the movie’s condescending treatment of Julie and also by its ardent embrace of the past at the expense of the present. From the very start, Paris in the late ’40s and early ’50s is — well, it’s postwar Paris, a dream world of fabulous clothes, architecture, sex, food, cigarettes and political intrigue. And New York in 2002 is made, a little unfairly, to seem drab and soulless by comparison. Queens, demographically the most cosmopolitan of the five boroughs and a something of foodie mecca, is treated with easy Manhattanite disdain, as a punch line and punching bag.
The unevenness of “Julie and Julia” is nobody’s fault, really. It arises from an inherent flaw in the film’s premise. Julie is an insecure, enterprising young woman who found a gimmick and scored a book contract. Julia is a figure of such imposing cultural stature that her pots and pans are displayed at the Smithsonian. The fact that Ms. Ephron, like Julie herself, is well aware of this gap does not prevent the film from falling into it. All the filmmaker’s artful whisking can’t quite achieve the light, fluffy emulsion she is trying for.
But an imperfect meal can still have a lot of flavor, and the pleasures offered by this movie should not be disdained. Julia Child knew what to do with a broken sauce or a half-fallen soufflé. Serve it anyway, with flair and without apology. What would Julia say? What she always said: Bon appétit!
I don't get that this review was influenced by editors. It says the same thing that almost all of the reviews have said- that Meryl Streep is flawless and full of life, that she and Stanley Tucci are perfect together, and that the "Julie" part of the movie doesn't hold up as well as the "Julia" part. And that overall, while imperfect, it is worth seeing. I don't see anything that hasn't been said before in the review.
Posts: 832 | Location: Phoenix, AZ | Registered: February 03, 2003
Originally posted by seanflynn: That quote and differenciation just jumped off the page when I read it - it's going to be the basis of the behind the scenes chat Sony uses in their campaign (they might be a bit shy about the negative comparison of Foxx and Hoffman in their print campaign.)
I can imagine that they will indeed use this strong point in there campaign. Doesn't get much better for them than that.
Ok, I'm just about tempted to say that Meryl's 16th nomination is almost looking certain at this point. Perhaps her best reviews for a movie role since Adapatation?
Everything is everything.
Posts: 33 | Location: Louisiana | Registered: December 31, 2008
*** of **** from Michael Phillips of the Chicago Tribune...
"Julie & Julia," which could also be called "Butter & Butterer," may not be great cinema, but people going to a movie like this for great cinema are sniffing around the wrong kitchen. You go to a movie like this for the sauces and stews, and for the considerable pleasure of seeing (and listening to) Meryl Streep's drolly exuberant performance as Julia Child, the towering culinary icon with the distinctively plummy vocal intonations evoking a flute, an oboe and Ed Wynn after a couple of sherries.
Best known for "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You've Got Mail," writer-director Nora Ephron adapts and intertwines two books here, Child's "My Life in France" (co-authored by Alex Prud'homme) and Julie Powell's "Julie & Julia." The latter grew out of Powell's online experiment, a year spent cooking and blogging her way through all 524 recipes from the seminal Child volume "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." (This was in the off-hours from her job at the Lower Manhattan Development Corp. in the wake of 9/11.)
The movie is scrupulous in juggling its stories and time frames, to a fault: While Ephron surely wouldn't equate Powell's modest achievement with Child's, the structure can't help but inflate the former at the expense of the latter. Yet Amy Adams is very good as Powell. She sells it without overselling it, and while her domestic crises are eminently predictable -- will the marital spat get resolved? Why, I believe it will! -- Adams has a way of playing into a cliche so that it becomes tolerable, even viable. Everybody in this upscale comfort-food movie has been shrewdly cast, from Stanley Tucci (as Child's loving diplomat husband) to Chris Messina (as Powell's easygoing mate) to Linda Emond (a wide-eyed delight as Child's French cohort Simone Beck, who wrote the cookbook along with a third credited author, Louise Bertholle).
The film is two films, one beginning in 1949, with the Childs' arrival in Paris, the other beginning in 2002, with the Powells' arrival in Queens. We hear Streep's voice before we see her, and it's almost Ephron's way of revealing that, yes, Streep has once again nailed The Voice. As Child falls in love with Paris, the star's enthusiasm in playing such an enthusiastic sparkler is infectious. She and Tucci work in deft counterpoint -- she's a fountain, he's a quiet pond -- and the first time the Childs go to a bistro and taste the catch of the day, cooked in an ungodly amount of butter, the dialogue goes like this:
"It's just -- "
"I know."
"I mean -- "
"I know!"
They're in heaven, and we're drooling.
At heart, "Julie & Julia" is a writer-empowerment picture, contrasting the painstaking, nearly decade-long development of Child's cookbook, while she and her husband contend with job reassignments all over the globe, with Powell's head-first dive into her blog. It turns into a hit, and a book and (as the film's end-credits say, proudly) a movie. One can't help but wonder if Ephron would've been better off focusing exclusively on Child: She's simply more interesting screen company. But Ephron's commercial touch serves her well here. And when Jane Lynch shows up as Child's even taller sister for a brief but choice scene, you're seeing simpatico comic acting of an exceptionally high order.
In some films Streep can come off like a solo act (especially in comedies); she's spectacularly assured every second but often in a way that trumpets all the details that go into a performance, from the dialect to the physicality. In "Julie & Julia" she's doing a lot, and you could describe certain bits as stooping (literally, stooping, the way Child used to) to shamelessness. Then she turns around and makes you cry. And then laugh again.
Mixed review, praise for Streep from Rafer Guzman of Newsday...
Butter, that rich but simple staple, lies at the heart of every great dish, according to "Julie & Julia," a salty-sweet movie in which a young blogger finds inspiration in the recipes of Julia Child. Meryl Streep, as Child, is this film's butter; everything else is garnish.
Affectionately written and directed by Nora Ephron, working from both Child's memoir, "My Life in France," and the blog-turned-bestseller "Julie & Julia," the film juxtaposes the biographies of two women who find purpose and meaning in food. Child's story, however, proves to be the more engaging.
That's partly because she faced the sexism and conformity of the 1950s while laboring over her still-iconic book "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." And, of course, there's Streep, incarnating Child to perfection: the yodeling voice, the tottering height (6 feet, 2 inches), the general daffiness that made her television show, "The French Chef," such a hoot. And thanks to Stanley Tucci as Child's ever-encouraging husband, Paul, "Julie & Julia" also serves up a tender, even amorous love story.
Amy Adams has less to work with as Julie Powell, an unfulfilled office drone living in Queens whose bland husband (Chris Messina) suggests she start a cooking blog. It's still intact at blogs.salon.com, complete with cutesy punctuation (!! as well as ?!) and words like "ugh." Nevertheless, Powell's attempt to make all 536 recipes in Child's famous book gains such a following that the blog itself becomes a book (and, as the movie wryly notes, a movie).
Powell's story, while inspirational, seems slightly trivial. Before her death in 2004, Child said she found the blog somewhat of a gimmick; audiences may feel the same way.
Mixed review from Joe Morgenstern of the Wall Street Journal...
Before and after everything else, Nora Ephron’s “Julie & Julia” gives us Meryl Streep in a grand comic performance—a fearless actress playing the fearless Julia Child in post-World War II Paris, where she’s in the process of transforming herself from an embassy wife into a world-famous apostle of French cuisine. That ought to be enough for one movie, and there’s more: handsome settings (the City of Light regaining its prewar lustrousness), midlife romance (Stanley Tucci is Julia’s charmingly ardent husband, Paul) and foodie porn (brie, chocolate cream pie and beurre blanc sauce in lascivious close-ups). Strangely, though, there isn’t enough for one movie, and the first clue to why lurks in the title’s ampersand, a sort of linguistic duct tape holding together two stories that never really function as one.
Meryl Streep as Julia Child in “Julie & Julia” The Julie story, intercut with Julia’s, takes place in New York half a century later, and involves a real-life blogger, Julie Powell, who is played by Amy Adams. A bright woman doing dull office work in the depressing aftermath of 9/11, Julie sets out to cook, in the space of one year, all 524 recipes in “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” the landmark book that Julia wrote with Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck. Julie’s intention is to write a blog about her culinary adventures, but the blog leads to a popular book of her own, published in 2005, that provides half of the film’s structure, though much less than half its substance.
The parallels are intriguing at first. Two women, happily married and blissfully obsessed by food, follow their bliss as they seek to define themselves in love and work. (Ms. Ephron’s alter ego in “Heartburn” was a food writer played by Ms. Streep.) And the early scenes in Paris are so enjoyable that you’re set to go along with whatever may come. (The cinematographer was Stephen Goldblatt.) Ms. Streep starts off with huge and affectionate energy—the unworldly warble of Julia’s birdcall voice precedes the first glimpse of her towering physique—and never relents. (To help the star measure up to her character, who stood 6 feet 2 inches tall, the movie surrounds Ms. Streep with shorter actors and scaled-down props. One scene, in which Julia’s feet overflow a Parisian bed, looks like “The Incredible Shrinking Woman” in reverse.)
The remarkable thing about the Julia segments, given Ms. Streep’s daring flirtations with caricature, is how full and affecting they prove to be. Yes, Julia’s windmill arms are outlandish; so is her awkward, stentorian French and her religious belief in the miracle of butter. Yet she’s an endearing figure, a woman who digests the life around her with enormous gusto while she’s breaking the gender barrier at a Cordon Bleu cooking class or, much later, after fame has struck, digests with incredulity her husband’s advice that she ought to be on TV. Mr. Tucci’s Paul plays a subordinate role in the story, but his dry wit and calm love are perfect counterpoints to the intensity of Julia’s enthusiasms. (The film includes a bit of Dan Aykroyd’s deathless send-up of Julia Child on “Saturday Night Live.”)
The Julie segments, though, are pallid by comparison—dollops of margarine that barely hint at butter. They’re agreeable enough, at least until Julie and her husband Eric (Chris Messina) fall into banal wrangling over the emotional cost of her new career. And Ms. Adams is appealing, as always. (”Are you back?” Julie asks with lovely guilelessness when Eric reappears after briefly leaving her. “Please be back.”) Yet those segments aren’t very interesting, despite a pervasive sense of calculation—Julie’s plan for her blog sounds like a movie treatment—so they grow constantly more intrusive to the end, which is notable only for its clumsiness. The joys of the Julia parts are cumulative, and addictive. The Julie parts keep forcing us to go cold turkey.
Nora Ephron whips up something wonderful in 'Julie & Julia.' Bon appétit, indeed.
"Julie & Julia" does it right. A consummate entertainment that echoes the rhythms and attitudes of classic Hollywood, it's a satisfying throwback to those old-fashioned movie fantasies where impossible dreams do come true. And, in this case, it really happened. Twice.
Starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams and written and directed, in her most accomplished work to date, by Nora Ephron, this film adroitly combines two separate stories told by two different books (the characters never meet) that are linked not only by subject but also by theme.
The first is Julia Child's, "My Life in France," a memoir by the celebrated cook, teacher and writer whose "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and accompanying "The French Chef" television show radically changed the American culinary landscape.
The second memoir, "Julie & Julia," follows writer Julie Powell as she works her way through a self-imposed quest: cooking all 524 recipes in Child's book, all specifically formulated for "the servantless American cook," in the space of one 364-day year.
These two books are linked not only by Powell's decision, or even by the authors' shared zeal for butter, but also by a similarity in personality and situation. Both women are unstoppable forces searching for something worth their involvement, and both find that cooking completes them, makes them feel alive in ways wonderful and unforeseen.
It's also worth noting that these two stories are tales, so to speak, of sisters doing it for themselves. Though both women have loyal and encouraging husbands (played by fine actors Stanley Tucci and Chris Messina) who are crucial to their success, this is the rare Hollywood film where it's the men who are the support team, not the women.
"Julie & Julia" is very much a female coming to power story, which is one of several reasons why the producers were fortunate to get Ephron to write and direct.
Herself a passionate cook who told The Times' John Horn, "I felt my entire life had prepared me to write this screenplay -- my obsession with food," Ephron shares with her protagonists a deep appreciation for the pleasures of the stove. Though "Julie & Julia" is a film about love and accomplishment as well as cooking, it's especially animated by a genuine enjoyment of food as one of life's warmest and most pleasing satisfactions.
As felicitous as the choice of Ephron was her decision to cast Streep in the Julia Child role. No one needs to be told at this late date how formidably accomplished an actress Streep is, but she outdoes herself here in a comic-dramatic role that is not only enormously funny but also trickier than it may seem at first.
That's because with her inimitable voice and unmistakable mannerisms, Child was simultaneously a real person and a kind of caricature, a personality so extreme it's initially hard to separate the clip we see of Dan Aykroyd's "Saturday Night Live" impersonation from the real thing.
Streep makes crossing this chasm look simple, easily conveying Child's phenomenal energy and relishing the contradictions of the character the way Julia herself relishes a particularly delicious sole meunière. This is a performance to cherish and enjoy.
Though the film's Julie Powell sequences were shot first, "Julie & Julia" opens with Julia Child arriving in France in 1948, not knowing the language or a thing about the cuisine. But to say she's an enthusiast is not to say the half of it, and not content to be merely the wife of U.S. Embassy cultural attache Paul Child (Tucci), Julia searches for something to be enthusiastic about.
After a failed foray into hats and the realization that eating is one of the things she does best, Child enrolls in the Cordon Bleu cooking school run by the disagreeable Madame Brassart (former French Vogue editor Joan Juliet Buck). Being thrust into a class of professional men rouses her competitive spirit -- a sight gag involving chopped onions is priceless -- and thus begins the adventure leading to a chance meeting with Simone Beck (Linda Emond) and the years-long process resulting in the first modern English language guide to French cooking.
Meanwhile, in a universe far, far away and 50 years in the future, we meet a woman facing a different set of challenges. The year is 2002 and Julie Powell (Adams) is a once-promising young writer who now sits in a cubicle at the Lower Manhattan Development Corp. fielding phone calls from malcontents.
Frustrated by her job and her power broker friends and encouraged by husband Eric (Messina), Julie comes up with the idea of tackling Childs' recipes in her small Queens kitchen and recording her progress in the then-new arena of blogging. Like her role model, she faces down obstacles and perseveres to the happy ending we feel she deserves.
Though a bit overshadowed by Streep (who isn't?), the gifted Adams is essential in making this two-part story work. Playing a character that is more ordinary than the actress' past efforts (think the princess in "Enchanted") but still a tad eccentric, Adams turns Julie into someone we always care about no matter what shenanigans she is going through.
To both create and effortlessly intercut this pair of stories required a high level of craft, starting with Ephron's unflappable writing and directing and Richard Marks' smooth editing, which makes the film's back and forth structure seem inevitable. Ann Roth's costumes and Mark Ricker's production design are just what they should be.
And cinematographer Stephen Goldblatt gives Queens its due while giving Paris the rosy glow of re-created fantasy -- and making the less imposing Streep seem as tall as the 6-foot-2 Child.
In a film where food is so central, a special word of thanks needs to go to culinary consultant-food stylist Susan Spungen and executive chef Colin Flynn. They made sure, in Ephron's words, that "the food in the movie looked like a normal person made it." Fantasies have to lightly touch on the real to be truly effective, and no film of the moment understands that connection better than "Julie & Julia."
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With this review (easily the most influential paper for Academy members), Streep not only becomes the clear frontrunner to win best actress (that doesn't mean she will, just that she is way ahead at this early stage, and the one against all other contenders will be measured), but I'd say the film is entering best picture nominee territory.
The importance of this review cannot be underestimated.
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Yes it is the LOS ANGELES TIMES but I do not see how one rave can significantly change the game when the vast majority of the reviews are saying the film is just mediocre while Meryl Streep is magnificent. If it is a big hit MAYBE it could be a best picture nominee with ten slots but that seems very unlikely based on all the **1/2 to *** (at best) reviews. Yes, the occasional film with mediocre reviews gets in like "The Reader" but that film was helped by its serious, historical content. "Julie & Julia" is light and fluffy and that does not generally get you the top Oscar nominations.
Posts: 27150 | Location: Phoenix, AZ | Registered: February 02, 2003
Because most Academy members don't see most of the other reviews.
Turan for a film like this (not expected to be a critics' favorite) makes a huge difference. Members (and more so their wives, since 80% + are male) are likely to enjoy the film, but need the extra rationalization. This review plus hit status (and of course 10 nomination slots) could make the difference. And of course the Metacritic rating will be ahead of The Reader.
We don't know yet if members will list 5 or 10 pictures, which could make a difference, but as of now, I'd put it on any list of 10 most likely.
And in the unlikely event that it's a close year with mainly highbrow, great reviewed alternatives, maybe this could win with 15% of the vote (not REALLY serious about that, but with the new system, who knows?)
And remember - the NYTimes review is sympathetic to the film at least. That helps as well.
This message has been edited. Last edited by: seanflynn,
I don't get that this review was influenced by editors. It says the same thing that almost all of the reviews have said- that Meryl Streep is flawless and full of life, that she and Stanley Tucci are perfect together, and that the "Julie" part of the movie doesn't hold up as well as the "Julia" part. And that overall, while imperfect, it is worth seeing. I don't see anything that hasn't been said before in the review.
Because the whole tone is sort of "hey, I'm saying these things, but ignore them." The tone is completely, let me make the criticisms, but make them sound like they aren't important. That's a huge editorial choice.
I don't know if Scott self-edited or his editors influenced him, but it sure sounds like he pulled his punches.
Originally posted by seanflynn: Because most Academy members don't see most of the other reviews.
Turan for a film like this (not expected to be a critics' favorite) makes a huge difference. Members (and more so their wives, since 80% + are male) are likely to enjoy the film, but need the extra rationalization. This review plus hit status (and of course 10 nomination slots) could make the difference. And of course the Metacritic rating will be ahead of The Reader.
We don't know yet if members will list 5 or 10 pictures, which could make a difference, but as of now, I'd put it on any list of 10 most likely.
And in the unlikely event that it's a close year with mainly highbrow, great reviewed alternatives, maybe this could win with 15% of the vote (not REALLY serious about that, but with the new system, who knows?)
And remember - the NYTimes review is sympathetic to the film at least. That helps as well.
I guess the NEW YORK TIMES review is sympathetic overall but it is agreeing with the majority opinion that the Julie Child half is terrific and the Amy Adams half is weak and whenever Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci are not onscreen you will want them back. That does not sound like the review for a likely best picture nominee.
Posts: 27150 | Location: Phoenix, AZ | Registered: February 02, 2003
And if the LATimes review were the same, I'd agree.
I am serious when I say I can't remember the last time I saw an LATimes review boost a film's best picture nom chances as much as this one (and this will be seen by 90% or more of the LA area members by tomorrow; and then remember Ephron is NY based and also a writer and reasonably well-liked) and that this review likely will jump off the main Calendar page - it's pure gold.
We have a long way to go till the nominations - but J&J's stock just went way, way up.
This message has been edited. Last edited by: seanflynn,
I don't get that this review was influenced by editors. It says the same thing that almost all of the reviews have said- that Meryl Streep is flawless and full of life, that she and Stanley Tucci are perfect together, and that the "Julie" part of the movie doesn't hold up as well as the "Julia" part. And that overall, while imperfect, it is worth seeing. I don't see anything that hasn't been said before in the review.
Because the whole tone is sort of "hey, I'm saying these things, but ignore them." The tone is completely, let me make the criticisms, but make them sound like they aren't important. That's a huge editorial choice.
I don't know if Scott self-edited or his editors influenced him, but it sure sounds like he pulled his punches.
Really? I didn't feel that at all and I read the Times on a regular basis. I think he was very clear in what he didn't like about the film, but that overall, he enjoyed the movie, and in particular, Streep.
Oh well, even if he had crapped all over the movie, I'd still be excited to see it, so I guess it's not that big of a deal.
Posts: 832 | Location: Phoenix, AZ | Registered: February 03, 2003
Originally posted by seanflynn: And if the LATimes review were the same, I'd agree.
I am serious when I say I can't remember the last time I saw an LATimes review boost a film's best picture nom chances as much as this one (and this will be seen by 90% or more of the LA area members by tomorrow; and then remember Ephron is NY based and also a writer and reasonably well-liked) and that this review likely will jump off the main Calendar page - it's pure gold.
We have a long way to go till the nominations - but J&J's stock just went way, way up.
If I read a single other rave like Turan's from a major film critic maybe I would agree but for now his review seems like an aberration.
Posts: 27150 | Location: Phoenix, AZ | Registered: February 02, 2003
