The movie begins with a “Hey, I was here first’’ cab ride. Entering on the left is Bradley Cooper and on the right, Justin Bartha. They just played buddies in “The Hangover.’’ Now they’re strangers. But the recognition in Cooper’s eyes makes the whole encounter feel like a stunt. It also sets a tone of pointlessness. Not much later, there’s Julie Christie and LaBeouf in an episode directed by Shekhar Kapur (who made both “Elizabeth’’ movies) and written by the late Anthony Minghella, to whom the entire film has been dedicated. Christie and LaBeouf interact in a large white hotel room. He’s the limping Russian bellhop; she’s just her ethereal self. He does all the work and most of the talking. Until he makes a dramatic exit, she rightly ignores him.
Just in the last 10 years, New York has received more exuberant valentines from the horny, besotted, and fake-ID-wielding (“200 Cigarettes’’ and “Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist’’ are two that come to mind). This collection also places a premium on kids - Natalie Portman, Christina Ricci, Hayden Christensen, Anton Yelchin, Olivia Thirlby, Eva Amurri, Shu Qi, Rachel Bilson, and Orlando Bloom also show up. But it feels like a business imperative: “We need to sell this thing, OK?’’ This would barely be worth mentioning except that the movie, while populated with exciting young people, misses the natural kick of youth.
Representing the other side of 35, Robin Wright Penn tries to pick up Chris Cooper outside a bar, and it might have been even sexier had we not seen a charmingly overcaffeinated Ethan Hawke do the same to Maggie Q 30 minutes earlier. He’s 38 now and is easily the most vibrant thing in the movie.
There are no gays or people of color who don’t drive a taxi, sell their bodies, or provide a service of some kind. The entry that Portman directs, about a little blond girl and her Brazilian caretaker, highlights the movie’s blind spot by trying to trick us into seeing a racial and socio-economic problem where ultimately none exists.
