Three stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang
We’re supposed to root for this
guy — and it shouldn’t be difficult; we are, after all, talking about Bradley
Cooper — but his character is too damn mean.
Redemption stories get their
juice from the intensity of atonement: The deeper the downward spiral, the more
we cheer the dogged climb back to salvation and forgiveness.
That said, this story’s
protagonist is such a temper tantrum-throwing bully — such a relentless prick — that viewers likely will write him off as
unworthy, long before he tries to get his act together. Scripters Steven Knight
and Michael Kalesniko give him too many unpalatable virtues, and — as directed
by John Wells — Cooper obligingly delivers too many thoroughly persuasive
rages.
Matters probably aren’t helped by
the fact that this story takes place in the world of London and Paris’ haute cuisine restaurants, where
screaming enfant terrible chefs
browbeat their staffs into delivering the perfect artistic touch to dishes with
portions so small they wouldn’t satisfy a mouse, which then are served to
über-rich snots who smack their lips and roll their eyes over imagined sensory
marvels.
We live in a post-Gordon Ramsey
world, where — rather weirdly — boorish behavior by celebrity chefs has come to
be synonymous with gastronomic perfection. I ain’t buyin’ it. Frankly, this
film’s most interesting moments come during the occasional montages that find
our hero (?) exploring food carts, back-alley stalls, bodegas, street markets
and even fast-food restaurants, while searching for intriguing spices, sauces
or seasonings.
Once back in his high-end
kitchen, applying said discoveries to laughably over-decorated menu items ...
not so much.
But maybe I’m just not enough of
a foodie.
All that said...
We meet Adam Jones (Cooper) at an
oyster shack in New Orleans, where he has spent the past few years doing
self-prescribed penance for previous bad behavior. His path to spiritual
salvation: the shucking of one million oysters, a task he has recorded
meticulously in a pocket notebook. He reaches this goal as the story begins,
and then he’s off to Paris, scene of his previous extremely bad behavior.
Back in the not-so-distant day,
Adam was head chef at a two-Michelin-star restaurant, where he held court with
fellow chefs Reece (Matthew Rhys) and Michel (Omar Sy), and pluperfect maître
d’hôtel Tony (Daniel Brühl). As the highly talented protégé of a legendary
Parisian chef, Adam could do no wrong; he also indulged in a torrid relationship
with his mentor’s daughter, Anne Marie (Alicia Vikander).
But it all went to hell in a haze
of drugs, alcohol, promiscuous sex and every other vice Adam could embrace. He
flamed out with some truly atrocious acts, and then disappeared; friends and colleagues
thought him dead.
Now the prodigal has returned,
and those same friends and colleagues are far less than thrilled.
But Adam is determined, even if
regaining trust is an uphill struggle. His charm offensive notwithstanding —
and Cooper’s disarming smile can move mountains — his motives will seem
questionable to those who understand the dynamics of addition recovery. This,
of course, is the heart of the story.
Adam is back because he covets
the elusive third Michelin star; that’s obviously more important than expressing
heartfelt regret to all those he wronged, and seeking their absolution.
Tony has relocated to London,
where he runs the family hotel; Adam begs, pleads and cajoles his former
friend’s father into bankrolling a new restaurant venture. The deal comes with
strings, though; Adam must submit to weekly blood tests given by Dr. Rosshilde
(the always reliable Emma Thompson), a psychiatrist who immediately spots a
wealth of undiagnosed and stubbornly disregarded issues in her new patient.
Thus, “Adam Scott at The Langham”
makes its bid to become London’s newest and most prestigious dining
establishment.
Adam’s hand-picked brigade de cuisine expands to include all
sorts of underlings, most notably Max (Riccardo Scamarcio) and David (Sam Keeley).
Then there’s Helene (Sienna Miller), the chef at a rival restaurant, whose way
with a peppe e cacio tantalizes
Adam’s taste buds; he “arranges” for her to join the team, initially quite
against her will.
Helene is a hard-working single mother
with an adorable young daughter (Lexi Benbow-Hart, as Lily). Miller is credibly
spunky as this feisty, independent woman, who sees right through Adam. That
said, she — like everybody else — recognizes the talent behind the exterior
arrogance, and does her best to submerge her instinctive loathing.
The struggle is plain on Miller’s
face, and we keep waiting for Helene to punch Adam right in his condescending
mouth.
That’s perhaps the hardest
narrative pill to swallow: that all of these people, several of them quite
talented in their own culinary right, would continue to put up with their
impatient martinet of a boss. Accepting this becomes even harder, as Adam flies
into increasingly self-indulgent rages.
That’s the ongoing problem: He
crosses the line of acceptable behavior so many times, and with such cruel and
belittling ferocity, that he loses all sympathy.
On top of which, Helene’s arrival
troubles Tony, who knows full well — from previous experience — that a woman in
Adam’s world spells bad news.
Whew. Such a load of tempestuous character dynamics. And did I mention
the nasty drug dealer, who demands that Adam settle a large debt from previous
transgressions? (Definitely one plot contrivance too many.)
Knight and Kalesniko’s script
focuses almost exclusively on the ruptured-but-mending dynamic between Adam and
Tony, and the fractious-but-thawing dynamic between Adam and Helene. While all
three actors are engaging as their characters wrestle with these relationship
issues, it’s a shame we don’t spend more time with the sidebar folks.
Sy, in particular, is far too
strong an actor — recall his excellent work in 2011’s The Intouchables — to be sidelined so shamelessly. Scamarcio’s Max
also seems to have a provocative back-story, and Keeley’s David is a likable
chap. Given that Wells was so adept at granting equal time to every member of
the huge ensemble cast of TV’s ER,
earlier in his career, it’s a pity he doesn’t do the same here.
Wells and cinematographer Adriano
Goldman also spend considerable time with montages and tight close-ups of food
prep, whether chopping, slicing, frying or sprinkling with dainty flowers and
micro-mushrooms. The intent is obvious: We’re supposed to be dazzled by all the
culinary legerdemain, made ravenous by all the exotic dishes framed with such
loving precision.
But it doesn’t work. This is frou
frou food, which too often looks silly, rather than appetizing. These montages
don’t have near the mouth-watering intensity of similar scenes in, say, Ang
Lee’s Eat Drink Man Woman, or Maria
Ripoll’s Tortilla Soup. Those films
always leave me famished; this one ... not so much.
To the credit of all involved,
things come together nicely in this story’s third act, which boasts one deliciously
nasty surprise, along with (finally!)
an honest depiction of humility, and an acknowledgment of the proper way to
deal with addiction recovery.
Whether you’re still on Team Adam
by this point, however, is up for grabs.
Much
as I wanted to be, I couldn’t do it.
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