SPIN ME ROUND (B+) - The poster for this comedic romp in Italy parodies that of a Harlequin Romance bodice-ripper. Thankfully it's more of a slyly funny romp with a great cast of comedians having a lot of fun with a silly story from Jeff Baena ("The Little Hours").
Alison Brie, always perfectly reliable, holds the center as Amber, a nerdy assistant manager of a chain restaurant in Bakersfield, Calif., who gets chosen to participate in the company's cooking seminar in Italy. The company she works for is an Olive Garden knockoff called Tuscan Grove, where the Carbonara sauce splooges from plastic bags onto yellow pasta. The digs in Italy do not look like the brochure (though it is surrounded by lovely towns for fun day trips near Florence), and the cooking school is run by eccentrics.
Her classmates include neurotics, airheads and a fanboy of the company's CEO, hunky Nick (Alessandro Nivola, "The Many Saints of Newark"), who takes a liking to Amber, which confirms what her and a friend back home predicted -- that she was destined to fall in love. But there is a twist, of course. There is more to Nick than meets the eye. Nivola, so dull in that "Sopranos" prequel last year, is quite funny here.
That's impressive, considering the cast surrounding him. Among the other classmates, Molly Shannon is fine as an overdressed passive-aggressive scold; Zach Woods (HBO's "Silicon Valley") has delicious timing as Nick's biggest fan; Ben Sinclair is droll as the cat-herder for the group; Lil Rel Howery ("Get Out") is solid as usual as Amber's boss; Debby Ryan and Ayden Mayeri are delightful ditzes; Tim Heidecker is a pompous know-it-all (he fancies himself as an expert in "molecular gastronomy," apparently an actual thing); and Lauren Weedman is wonderfully weird as the teacher of the class. The cast is so strong that it is odd that two reliable favorites, Aubrey Plaza and Fred Armisen, are fairly forgettable in minor roles.
A lot of the gags are delivered side-arm. A few take a beat or two to sink in. The characterizations are quirky but not showy. Near the end, someone points out the group's privilege -- a bunch of white people paid to luxuriate in Italy -- when Mayeri meekly pipes up: "I'm Persian."
Baena has funny friends. "The Little Hours" was a hoot and a half, and this one is fun from beginning until its sloppy, goofy end.
LE BONHEUR (1965) (B+) - What a shock of fresh air Agnes Varda and her jaundiced camera eye must have been in the middle of the masculine French New Wave. This brightly lit and colorful movie tells a dark tale, but it does it ever so effervescently.
Varda spends a good part of the first half of the movie introducing us to the domestic bliss of Francois, a young carpenter who adores his wife, Therese (Clair Druout) and their two adorable toddlers. They are partial to picnics in the park, and they are surrounded by loving family and friends. But one day, matter-of-factly, Francois meets a postal clerk, Emilie (Marie-France Boyer), a perky blonde, like his wife.
What follows is a very enlightened French love triangle, where Francois has the best of both worlds. His wife is oblivious (though she notes how happy he has seemed lately), and Emilie seems quite evolved and understanding. But then a dark event happens, though again, Varda presents it as a rather ho-hum life twist. Her unblinking ennui is trying to send a message about the frivolities and vagaries of existence and one goes with the flow. It's like a hollow-eyed horror film devoid of jump scares.
Her color palette shares a glimpse of Godard's primary colors. Palate cleansers between scenes include fades to yellow or orange, rather than black. The pacing is leisurely but never boring. Although this has the undertone of male fantasy, the attitude is decidedly feminist. A scene at a dance -- where Varda's camera swings back and forth from one side of the patio to the other, with a tree in between coming into sharp focus with each pendular sway before finding a pair on the other side -- is mesmerizing, surely a sequence that has been taught in film classes for decades.
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