3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, and needlessly, for brief profanity and mild sexual candor
By Derrick Bang
[Note: I’ve given up on waiting for this film to be granted wide release
in the States; it obviously ain’t gonna happen. The Weinstein Company initially
promised us this British import in late 2013, and then delayed it to last
spring, and then granted it limited release in October. Apparently, that’s all
we’ll get ... and yet there’s also no word yet of home video release, despite
its DVD availability across the pond for at least a year now. Such are the idiosyncrasies
of U.S. film distribution ... and, regardless, I’m not letting this review go
to waste!]
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| During a courtship that's frequently too cute for words, Paul (James Corden) never misses an opportunity to serenade Julz (Alexandra Roach) with one of his favorite opera arias. |
Some people are blessed and
cursed in equal measure, and that’s certainly the case with Britain’s Paul
Potts. Although graced with a lovely voice and a childhood fondness for opera
and choir singing, these interests made him a frequent target for contemptuous
peers in the Bristol-based, former quarry hamlet of Fishponds, where he grew
up.
The rather unusual arc of Potts’
subsequent life is the subject of this whimsical, sometimes melancholy
biographical drama from David Frankel, who previously charmed us with gentle
character-clash comedies such as The
Devil Wears Prada and the under-appreciated The Big Year.
Frankel is a good choice for this
material; I’m less certain about scripter Justin Zackham, thus far known only
for The Bucket List and The Big Wedding, both broad-strokes
comedies fronted by A-list casts. One
Chance is his first feature-length stab at factual material; while
retaining many elements crucial to Potts’ life, Zackham plays fast and loose
with other important details, for no apparent reason.
The real Potts has two brothers
and a sister, all of whom are MIA in this film. Their father was a bus driver,
not a steelworker. Most crucially, Potts wasn’t nearly as socially inept as
this film suggests; he was elected the youngest member of the Bristol City
Council as a Liberal Democrat in 1996, a position he held for seven years. That
far-from-minor detail also remains MIA.
It could be argued that none of
this matters, in the telling of a real-life Cinderella story, and that’s true
... to a point. But Potts’ actual experiences are sufficiently compelling to
warrant a more accurate account of his ups and downs; heightening his misfit qualities,
to make him even more of an underdog, feels like gilding the lily.
Even so, Frankel and Zackham
skillfully work our emotions, building us to what should be a joyfully shared
triumph ... and then they pull the rug out from under us. I’ve rarely seen a
feel-good film so badly miscalculate its finale, employing a hasty voice-over
to replace what should have been, at the very least, an ecstatic montage.
It’s an atrocious use of
said-bookism: We don’t want to be told
what happens during the climax, we want to watch
it happen. Good grief, that’s basic Storytelling 1A.
Sigh.
That aside, there’s no denying
the teddy bear qualities of James Corden’s starring performance, and the degree
to which we hitch our emotional wagon to his mopey, nonconformist horse. It’s
impossible to resist his Paul Potts: a good-natured, roly-poly hero who
deserves far better than life constantly delivers. We recently saw Corden as
Keira Knightley’s best friend in John Carney’s Begin Again, where he very nearly stole the film from his
top-billed co-stars.
Following a brief prologue of
youthful torment at the hands of little thugs, we catch up with Paul as an
adult in the late 1990s, working as the only staff member at a branch of
Carphone Warehouse in Port Talbot, Wales. Although technically answering to
Braddon Evans (Mackenzie Crook), his frankly daffy boss and best mate, it could
be argued that Paul is the mobile phone outlet’s more stable employee.
Paul hasn’t lost his youthful
devotion to opera, an affectation that infuriates and embarrasses his gruff,
blue-collar father, Roland (Colm Meaney), although his mother Yvonne (Julie
Walters) is much more supportive. Paul has his heart set on attending a master
class in Venice, which could lead to an instructive session with the great
Luciano Pavarotti, but of course the means to finance such an adventure remain
beyond him.
On a personal note, Paul is a
career nonstarter with women, a sad state of affairs that Braddon hopes to
improve with some assistance from an Internet dating service. Paul reluctantly
but gamely follows through, leading to a too-captivating-for words first date
with Julz (Alexandra Roach). It’s a meet-cute encounter for the ages, certain
to be appreciated by romantics who believe in love at first sight.
(And that bit, at least, appears
to be an accurate account of how the real-world Paul and Julie-Ann met.)
Emboldened by encouragement from
Julz, Paul does manage to get to Italy ... but only after a Port Talbot event
that’ll leave you cringing with worried horror. Really, must this poor guy go
to such extremes to demonstrate his talent in a public venue?
Once in Venice, we meet this
little drama’s final key character: Alessandra (Valeria Bilello, appropriately
vibrant and gorgeous), a young Italian singer who also desires that highly
delectable private audience with Pavarotti.
Some of the folks reading these
words, well versed in the recent history of unexpected talent show champions,
already know what eventually happens to Paul. For the benefit of everybody
else, I’ll not reveal anything further. Suffice it to say that some things work
out, but others don’t ... and then others do, and still others don’t. Poor Paul
must be the original guy who couldn’t catch a break; the physical calamities he
endured, by themselves, are almost too numerous to be believed (but, again, are
mostly accurate).
The core plotline aside — Paul’s
driving ambition — our attention also is held by the captivating roster of
supporting players, friendly or otherwise. Crook is hilarious as the unapologetically
peculiar Braddon, who seems to reside in a world that’s slightly left of center.
Zackham feeds Crook a riotous stream of dry one-liners, and Frankel assures
that each is delivered with well-timed precision.
Jemima Rooper is equally funny as
Braddon’s outlandish girlfriend, Hydrangea, who answers his worshipful,
love-struck gaze with withering retorts that don’t faze him in the slightest.
Roach is sweetness personified as
Julz, who seems the utterly perfect yin to Paul’s yang. Perhaps even more than
we want him to fulfill his lifelong ambition, we root for this relationship to
succeed, and can’t bear the slightest threat to that outcome. Nothing could be
worse than the crestfallen disappointment that clouds Julz’s face at times, and
Roach knows just how to play our emotions.
Walters is feisty and
tart-tongued as Yvonne: perhaps the only woman willing to put up with her
eternally scowling husband, while giving as good as she gets, although her love
for him is equally obvious.
Roland is another in Meaney’s
long line of grouchy curmudgeons, but — in his case — familiarity never breeds
contempt. Somehow, each of his chronic grumblers feels fresh, armed with
different degrees of tough love. Indeed, at one point — difficult to watch —
Roland is unrelentingly harsh, reflecting the view of a beaten-down realist who
has come to believe that dreams never come true.
Maria Del Monte has a brief but
delicious part as Alessandra’s grandmother, and Trystan Gravelle is appropriately
nasty as Matthew, the former childhood bully who tormented Paul, and continues
to do the same as an adult.
The primary music is deliriously
beautiful, particularly the operatic excerpts performed off-camera by the
actual Potts, as Corden carefully lip-synchs. That said, the decision to blend
the likes of Puccini, Verdi and Mozart with The Village People and New Wave
groups such as Super Furry Animals and Dexys Midnight Runners is utterly daft.
The worst offense comes at the
end, when Paul’s performance of the aria “Nessun Dorma” cuts to a pop ballad by
Taylor Swift. I mean, seriously?
One cannot help suspecting
eleventh-hour interference, likely from the notoriously hyper-controlling Bob
and Harvey Weinstein, who purchased One
Chance for Stateside release via their own company. Sadly, they seem not to
have known how to market this little charmer, which may explain why it has been
scheduled for release on these shores ever since December 2013, and repeatedly
held back. Adding grotesquely inappropriate pop tunes seems like a desperate
marketing ploy.
If that’s what it took to bring
Potts’ cinematic saga to the States, I suppose we should be grateful. But as
delightful as this film is at times, it’s badly damaged by some ill-advised
artistic decisions.
Which is a true shame.
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