Search for Tomorrow

More rooting around in the back of the queue, as a way of clearing out the backlog:

CHERRY BLOSSOMS (2008) (C+) - This well-meaning but meandering drama lays the syrup on pretty thick as it explores some interesting family dynamics. It rarely coheres into a satisfying narrative while offering hit-and-miss insights.

Rudi (Elmar Wepper) and Trudi (Hannelore Elsner) are a happy older German couple. For reasons never explained, doctors tell Trudi -- but not Rudi -- that Rudi has a fatal disease. Trudi wants to go visit their children, either in Berlin where most of them live, or to their black-sheep son in Tokyo, where Trudi, a disciple of Butoh dance, has always yearned to visit. They end up in Berlin. When one of them suddenly dies in their sleep, the other jets off to Japan to fulfill Trudi's dream.

Their kids are mostly duds who seem annoyed by the burden of their parents' visit and have little time for anything beyond the occasional nostalgic memory from childhood. The one in Tokyo is a Type-A jerk of a businessman. The parent-child generation gaps here are actually refreshing. 

The second half eventually drowns in shmaltz, leaning on the character of a young homeless Butoh dancer who gives meaning to the surviving spouse's waning days, those ungrateful kids be damned. The plot rambles in Japan, with only occasional documentary-like takes on the neon-lit big-city culture there.  

PETULIA (1968) (B) - The distracting allure of Julie Christie can detract from this jumbled late-'60s take on the sexual revolution, a take that isn't particular sexy. Richard Lester ("A Hard Day's Night") is in sync with the likes of Mike Nichols' "The Graduate" as he tells the story of a disaffected socialite chasing a married man and having little luck.

Lester employs rough cuts and artsy framing to give the appearance of edginess. But his story (written by Lawrence B. Marcus, mostly a TV journeyman till this point) never really achieves liftoff and comes off as more of a series of vignettes from "Love, American Style" than a cohesive drama. Christie plays the title character who openly flirts with George C. Scott's surgeon Archie, who keeps her at arm's length throughout. Their connection involves the fact that Archie treated a boy whom Petulia somehow knew and who had been injured in an auto accident.

Lester awkwardly tries to fuse this so-so drama with breaks for the psychedelia of the day, basing it in San Francisco and featuring music by the Grateful Dead and Janis Joplin. Any parallels between the pairing of Christie and Scott with the twinning of Jerry Garcia and Joplin are a mystery. What rescues this effort are the performances of Christie -- finding nuance as a woman seeking refuge from an abusive husband (Richard Chamberlain) -- and Scott, who spends most of the movie trying to come to terms with his ex-wife (Shirley Knight) and her nerdy new beau (Roger Bowen) as he seeks to maintain a relationship with his two sons.

As a period piece, this has its points to make about the newfangled idea of how marriages might play out. Christie, sporting bangs and bangled earrings, has the moxie and charisma to match her good looks. But what she sees in George C. Scott -- aside from the comfort of more sensitive hands -- I'll never know.