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Rashida Jones and Bill Murray deal with family problems in On the Rocks |
Coppola’s new film is an entertaining, low-key family and
relationship drama that’s as light as a puff of air. Recycling many familiar
ideas from her previous films – in particular the idea of women who seemingly
“have it all” but are feeling discontented and trapped in their lives – it
spins off into a fairly gentle parable of how doubts and insecurities can take
over our lives, which mainly serves as a lovely little showpiece for two very
engaging actors to entertainingly do their thing.
Rashida Jones balances the trickier part as a woman who’s
half endearingly fond of her fun-loving dad, half infuriated and damaged by the
way he wrecked his marriage to her mother and ruined her childhood (it seems
her sister and mother are no longer on speaking terms with him). At the same
time, she’s keen to hold onto her successful writing career and family life – while
also facing an existential crisis as she feels herself becoming more and more
stuck in a rut. There are distant echoes of the lack of focus Scarlett
Johansson’s character felt in Lost in
Translation, the many lonely women running the house in The Beguiled, or the rich girls cut
adrift in The Bling Ring or Marie Antoinette.
Into all this drops the bombshell of her husband’s possible
infidelity. Coppola gently uses this as a subtle investigation of human nature.
Is infidelity and betrayal something all people have as common possibilities?
Or does a history of infidelity in our families make us more ready to see it everywhere?
Gentle is the word, as the film doesn’t really labour any of these points –
perhaps worried that to do so would take it into deeper waters than it has the
nerves to handle – and prefers to keep the mood light and frothy. This does
mean that when – eventually – emotional moments come, they come rather from
nothing, and a braver film would have balanced better the lightness of father
and daughter chasing after a (possibly) cheating husband, with tension between
that same father and daughter over his appalling past behaviour.
But then, the film perhaps falls rather in love with Bill
Murray – and genuinely it’s pretty hard not to. Sofia Coppola again provides
Murray with a part designed to match all his strengths. A charming performer,
it’s very hard (near impossible) not to like Murray and as he coasts through
the film with relaxed cool, arching an eyebrow there, a touch of glib lightness
here, investing certain lines with a saggy sadness, others with a playful
childishness, you’ll enjoy every moment. Murray makes perfect sense as the
ageing roué
and cad, who has lived his life entirely for his own pleasure, and now is
conducted by chauffeur from hotel to hotel, flirting with any woman who crosses
his path.
It’s a delightful performance, with several scene stealing
moments – not least when Felix is pulled over by the cops and charms his way
out of a ticket with confidence, a bottomless contact book and charm. The cops
even push-start his showy old sports car. Of course it’s the ultimate display
of white privilege: I’m interested if Dean would have had similar success if it
was him. The film shies away from any commentary on race at all, which feels
like a missed opportunity. Does Dean put so many hours into work because he
needs to prove himself in the ways people like Felix never had to? A different film
might have wondered if sub-consciously Felix was even more jealous and
concerned about losing his daughter to a black man. But these are areas the
film chooses not to go into.
Instead it largely settles for being a charming meander,
centred around Murray’s character, that doesn’t want you to look to closely and
realise what a selfish cad he really is. Of course the film is really about
Felix’s regrets about not having the relationship he would like to have with
his children (and Murray more than gets this across with his skilful suggestion
of sadness behind the eyes), but even this is a beat the film very lightly
taps. What you end up with is a very light, almost whimsical film that moves
through a series of events that wind up feeling rather inconsequential. A puff
of air you feel would blow the film apart.
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