There
are so many big issues
something like
this touches upon—remember Clifford Irving faking Howard Hughes’
autobiography?—that the potential for a rousing drama about
journalistic
ethics vs. personal expression, or maybe just truth vs., fantasy vs.
responsibility,
that it seems impossible not to
tell a “hot” story; but Ms. Cram has managed the impossible indeed, in
what
emerges as a tiresome domestic debate between the sisters, on a
kitchen-and-living room set. Emma, the fraudulent author, suffers from
manic
depression and can be vexing when off her meds, remaining mostly
impervious to
criticism, her justifications buttressed by vodka refills; this only
amps up
the irritation of Tess—trying to navigate
marital-offspring
discord that has torn her family apart—and her response is to yell
more.
Emma’s publisher (Isabel Keating) shows
up, as well as her too-young Hispanic ex-lover (Raùl
Castillo) in flashbacks, but
even these scenes fail to be
compelling. It’s hard to assess Pam McKinnon’s direction, save that on aggregate it
seems
commensurately nondescript, if competent.
An idea for dramatization is only as good as its treatment, and the best way I can describe the shortfall between Ms. Cram’s notion and its delivery is suggesting you imagine Amadeus being set in Salieri’s living room as nothing but an argument between him and Mozart about the former’s mediocrity vs. the latter’s bad manners, with breaks for coffee and pastry.
Only
less interesting. Sort of like A Lifetime Warmed Over…
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