Talking Movies

November 4, 2018

Notes on Juliet, Naked

Juliet, Naked was the topic of tired, aggrieved and dissatisfied discussion on Sunday Breakfast with Patrick Doyle early this morning.

Juliet, Naked is based on a 2009 Nick Hornby novel, and wastes the considerable talents of Rose Byrne, Chris O’Dowd and Ethan Hawke in a rehash of 84 Charing Cross Road for the internet age that again demonstrates Hornby’s penchant for psychological improbability. High Fidelity. Brooklyn. Hornby can’t seem to be near a screenplay in any capacity without implausibilities multiplying and odd life choices being endorsed if not pushed at the audience. The inciting incident of this film is that Byrne listens to an album before O’Dowd does when she opens their mail. I am not making this up.

Hawke does his best with reclusive rock star Tucker Crowe, who in some sense could be the grown up version of his character in Reality Bites, creating a shambling walk to compensate for his lack of dialogue, but everybody is doing their best with very poor material. Hornby fashions one scene where all of Tucker’s exes converge on him to his considerable embarrassment, but, as always, seemingly, Hornby has no grasp of actual human behaviour and so this romantic comedy without jokes or much romance meanders on painfully to a conclusion that rings entirely untrue.

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