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Not Green Card

06.22.09 | movies | 17 Comments

If you’re itching to see The Proposal, you’re better off watching the trailer five times and then renting Green Card, though  in The Proposal‘s favor, there is no montage.

(I loathe montages, those cop-out mishmashes set to thematic music that are supposed to take the place of pivotal transition action. The worst montage of all time, is, of course, the speech montage in that movie sort of inspired by J.D. Salinger — the one with the cute black boy and Sean Connery as the reclusive writer? In the climactic scene where Sean Connery (a famous, eccentric, brilliant writer) leaves his apartment for the first time in seventeen years to read a speech at the cute black boy’s school and as soon as he steps to the lectern to give his speech, a godless montage of camera shots and “inspirational” music takes the place of, you know, words.

It’s a travesty, basically.)

While The Proposal doesn’t commit that most egregious of all cinematic sins, it’s quite a letdown in other ways. From the tired orphan issues and daddy issues (Sandra Bullock’s and Ryan Renold’s characters, respectively) to the apology-to-the-family scene near the end that I think is actually identical to the  speech in While You Were Sleeping, it’s all-cliche, all-the-time, and not in a cheeky sort of way.

I’m really not much of a feminist (I mean, I stay at home, and only recently started mowing the lawn again), but the portrayal of Margaret as a scary boss strikes me as sexism of the worst sort. When she fires an underling who is demonstrably lazy and ineffectual, she says he has two months to find another job and that he can tell everyone he quit. And she never makes personal remarks or raises her voice. Sounds pretty fair to me, but what do I know? I haven’t worked in an office in seven years. Maybe male executives fire goof-offs by giving them raises and holding their hands in a purely platonic manner.

But the biggest strike against The Proposal is that it failed to convince me that Margaret and Andrew have any warmer feelings for each other than I do for tapioca pudding. I like tapioca, I’ll eat it, especially when my dad flexes his cooking muscles once every six months and whips up a batch in the microwave, but I’m not going to weep if we’re kept apart by a tragic blood feud, okay?

Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock are cute of course, and witty enough. They even have a kind of reverse-Sabrina take-a-break scene complete with Frenchy-artist scarf for Margaret and a consistent give-and-take comraderie, but they don’t fall in love.

My cousin was (understandably) disturbed by the nudey scene, but the truth is that I would gladly sit through raw footage of octopus-unicorn sex if at the end of the day I’m convinced that Miss Tentacles and Mr. Sparkly are going to happily populate the world with octocorns and enjoy seventy years of maritime bliss.

totally unrelated, but fun to read

17 Comments

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