Somewhere (Preferably Not Here)

Every so often, the fatty man beside me would take a loud breath in and out, as if he was just so full of hot air he couldn't handle it. I certainly couldn't. Every time he emitted his high-pitched, slightly uncomfortable, too-loud giggle, I had to hold down my arm to resist slapping him. He was on a date, and dressed to slay in dark dress-jeans, favoured by men in their thirties who are ready to be in their forties (that had stretched so much during the movie that when he stood to leave they just sat on his fatty behind like badly-applied papier-mache on a deflated balloon), a navy blazer that didn't so much scream as plead self-importance, and black dress shoes, one of which he propped up over the opposite knee throughout the film, as if to increase his area (completely unnecessary; his person and his ego threatened to occupy the entire cinema).

There's really not much else to say about Somewhere. It could have been a nice short film. Instead it was an over-styled, over-reaching, under-written hour and a half of Sofia Coppola relying on her name, her reputation, and the Emperor's new clothes to make people sit still. Oh, it was pretty. Elle Fanning was lovely to watch. But for ten dollars, I could buy half a tab of acid, and then a grain of sand would be lovely to watch - plus, I wouldn't have to sit beside a guy who definitely didn't end up having sex last night. I feel as if I should tell you about a specific scene. There is one, which I had already read about, where the main character, Johhny Marco, falls asleep while having sex; specifically, while going down on a woman. The reviewer said it was a humourous, climactic example of his boredom with his lifestyle and amusements. I thought Coppola had already "demonstrated" that when he fell asleep during an embarrassing synchronised pole-dance by a set of twins (the most remarkable thing in the movie; these women were actually conjoined twins, sharing a brain, before they were miraculously separated), and that the scene was just another attempt to fill out the film... although now I also see it was to give stupid reviewers something to read meaning into. Maybe Coppola saw Exit Through The Gift Shop and was inspired to exploit crowd-mentality and general retardation.

This isn't a complete slam. If you've done all the washing, caught up with everyone you would miss if they kicked, and have finished reading all the books on Oprah's reading list, then sure, watch it. It's not that bad, and you'll definitely sleep well afterwards, unless you pass someone homeless on the way home and think of what your time and money could have done for them. But frankly, it's no Virgin Suicides. It's no Lost In Translation. It's not even Marie Antoinette. It's just Somewhere, and the morning after, I'm glad to be somewhere else.