The studio blew their whole budget for the film on hiring Jolie and Depp for the lead roles. They couldn’t even afford to give Depp real cigarettes to smoke, just lame electronic ones with all the nicotine needed to calm the nerves but only steam for the smoke.
They were both in cocaine withdrawal…
That was the only steam in the whole production. There sure wasn’t any between Jolie and Depp.
There’s no gritty edge to either character’s performance. Neither is given a driving force in the screenplay: an essential character flaw, need, or vital goal. There’s nothing at stake other than a romantic love that neither one is really very interested in pursuing.
This is Venice, for God’s sake, the very center of the romantic universe.
This must be how gays view male-female romance: Vapid, empty, pointless.
Gay romance is fun and exciting. They’re defying a boatload of moral, spiritual, and natural laws of nature. Heterosexual romance (between a babe who never shows any flesh below her neckline and a guy with shoulder length hair who runs like a girl) is as exciting as puttering down muddy canals in Venice over and over and over again.
The plot is clever enough, with lots of twists and turns, but no real emotional crisis. She’s too cool, confident, and beautiful to fall for a klutz like him. He’s too trusting and WAY too unappreciative of his chance to court the most beautiful woman in the Universe.
At first I figured the screenwriter never imagined his script could land the top two actors on the A list. Then the cops were too stupid, the billionaire was too one dimensional, and my rationale fell apart.
Instead of the lame electronic cigarette, I’d have Depp coming out of sexual rehab therapy. Confront him with the kind of beauty that drove angels to copulate with humans, and you have a problem worthy of Depp’s consumate skill.
This may all seem like an exciting, complex thriller — if you’re high on cocaine, maybe.
The screenwriter should have spent more time on the man the cops thought was the object of Angelina Jolie’s desire. Give him a couple of habits that make Jolie believe he’s her old lover, and drive her over the edge with burning curiosity — burning need, lust, and insatiable desire. Sexual intensity that Depp just happens to be there to soak up, thank you very much.
Two gorgeous actors on the set, and they’re both scarecrows of what they could have been.
They should have spent less money on boats and “action” shots on the water, and more on wardrobes. Depp looked like a chubby busboy in the ball. Angelina had an innocuous smile on her face all the time like nobody was fooling her — if she wasn’t fooled, then how the hell can the audience be fooled?
In one word, androgynous. Mr. and Mrs. Smith without any of the hormones. The men were feminized and the women idealized. Depp didn’t even have a Wisconsin accent. A roguish Wisconsin attitude would have done wonders for his persona.
Jolie, contrary to the dialogue, was actually quite grounded: she drives boats, picks up strange men on the train, eludes cops, and sneaks around in the dead of night.
It’s the film that wasn’t grounded.
Too bad, it could have been a real hoot if they’d just ratched up the emotional backstory and challenged Depp and Jolie more to cope with a wild and crazy romance gone amok.
