From the witty mind of British actor-comedian-novelist-director Stephen Fry comes “Bright Young Things,” a near-miss comedy with some great one-liners.
Fry had long admired Evelyn Waugh’s novel “Vile Bodies,” a book with a strange conceit. Waugh published the novel in 1930, but set it in an imagined near future in which the Roaring ’20s was still roaring along quite nicely, thank you.
The movie tries to remain true to this notion, but it’s confusing to watch its fictional history, which doesn’t jibe with the 1930s as we know it. A paper-thin production doesn’t help.
Mixed bag: Stephen Fry adapts Evelyn Waugh’s witty novel “Vile Bodies,” about a set of Jazz Age scene-makers. The movie has a bevy of dry one-liners and fresh faces (plus old pros such as Peter O’Toole and John Mills in small parts), but the timeframe is confusing and the attempt to mix wit and gravity doesn’t always take.
Rated: R rating is for subject matter.
Now showing: Egyptian, Seattle.
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Our central character is Adam (Stephen Campbell Moore), a young writer who’s part of a bratty pack of Jazz Age scene-makers in London. Their goal is continuing the party at Gatsby’s long after the champagne is all drunk up.
Adam doesn’t have money, and he pines for the affection of Nina (Emily Mortimer). Actually she returns his affection, but she can’t take him seriously, because she’s a woman who needs a great deal of money for maintenance.
The film’s two great subjects are this callow band of merry-makers and the role of the tabloid press. Adam, whose novel is seized by customs officials in the opening scenes, goes to work writing a society column for a vulgar Canadian press baron (a role made to order for Dan Aykroyd).
The way the press feeds off the antics of the feather-headed rich kids, and the way the ditzy scenesters play up to the scandal-mongering press, is naturally resonant today. This movie could have been written about the Era of Paris Hilton.
The actors who play these caviar-scooping roles are largely new, and they are a talented group – although Moore and Mortimer are rather generic. Notably, Fenella Woolgar exhibits perfect comic timing in a scene that brings the partying right to the breakfast room at 10 Downing St., and James McAvoy is terrific as the high-strung author of the “Mr. Chatterbox” gossip column.
They are surrounded by a glittering stable of old pros, some of whom pop up for one scene only. Peter O’Toole and John Mills bring their professionalism to tiny roles, puckish Richard E. Grant and Imelda Staunton are funny, and Stockard Channing has a sequence as a batty American evangelist. Jim Broadbent (the Oscar-winner for “Iris”) has a recurring part as a pickled Army officer who could help Adam financially – if only he could stay sober long enough.
As director, Stephen Fry keeps all of this skipping right along. He sees the absurdities of these people, but he can appreciate their charm, too.
For all that (and the dandy quips), I felt this movie never quite got traction. Fry tries to honor the gravity that underlies Waugh’s novels, but it doesn’t mesh with the high comedy. For all its sheen, I could never quite summon a good reason to keep watching these people, bright and young though they may be.
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