Movies

Woody Allen's in a whimsical mood with Midnight in Paris. You'll either go along for the ride, or yearn for a simpler time when an Allen movie wasn't just a vanity project.

The setting is Paris in spring, the players are some of Hollywood's most recognisable faces (plus French first lady Carla Bruni) and love is on the mind.

Owen Wilson plays Gil, a burnt-out Hollywood screenwriter with dreams of publishing his own 'great novel' and moving to Paris. He's holidaying there with waspy fiancee Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her unbearable parents, but somehow manages to escape on a series of midnight walks that lead him into a bizarre 1920s time-warp where he encounters everyone from F. Scott Fitzgerald to Cole Porter to Salvador Dali. It's here that he reflects on his life and ambitions.

As a Woody Allen fan, I feel like a heathen saying that the movie is a self-indulgent, virtually plotless exercise that's far from his best work. There's no incentive to care about Gil, an upper-middle class creative wannabe obviously driven by ego.

Wilson seems to be doing an impression of the babbling, neurotic Allen we've seen too many times before on screen. McAdams must've signed up just to be in a Woody Allen movie, because he gives her a thoroughly unlikeable role as the naggy princess. She nails the brief, but it's a thankless part.

Best and fairest goes to Michael Sheen as Inez's hilariously snooty pseudo-intellectual 'friend' Paul, and Marion Cotillard as a pixie-like beauty with a very famous lover. Still, they're both walking stereotypes.

Midnight in Paris serves best as an ode to the City of Light. Allen affectionately captures the famous sights, but more importantly, he catches the city's romance and illusions, a smart fit with the subject matter. It's not a bad film — it just could have been a lot better.