John Fante’s autobiographical 1939 novel was languishing in
semi-obscurity when writer Robert Towne first thought of turning it into a
movie. That was over 30 years ago, before Towne cemented his reputation with
his script for the 1974 classic Chinatown. Meanwhile, the novel’s
reputation grew, and Colin Farrell and Salma Hayek grew up and got cast when
Towne finally secured financing. For Towne, it’s a return to an older Los
Angeles, though the characters in Chinatown probably wouldn’t know the
ones here. Newcomers like Farrell’s Arturo Bandini, a struggling, Italian
American writer, or Hayek’s Camilla, a Mexico-born waitress, formed a diaspora
in the desert that swelled the population by a million in just 20 years. The
way Towne artfully conjures this long-gone L.A. (filming was in South Africa)
is as much a reason to see the movie as anything else. Camilla is a step below
Arturo on the racial hierarchy of the day, and this makes a difference.
Nowadays, we see period dramas, like The Notebook, where the characters
feel too modern. These don’t. They casually insult one another’s
ethnicity; they rent by the week; they suffer from TB. This is what I liked
about the movie, plus the actors. But there’s something too literary about the
adaptation. The verbal battles between Arturo and Camilla struck me as stilted,
even as I admired the snappy dialogue. And the sudden intrusion, and equally
sudden departure, of a third (or fourth) character in the drama, seemed
unnatural. The couple’s halting romance lurches to a resolution that’s
heart-rending to the extent you’ve bought the characters. I was about half way
there.
posted 9/9/13
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