Worth seeing, albeit plenty disappointing, The Tourist proves little more than an exercise in high style. Ogling beauty, the movie fetishizes Angelina Jolie and Venice, its grand hotels, sleek wooden motorboats and tiny arched bridges a gorgeous platform for her turn as The Most Beautiful Woman in the World, supremely polished edition.
La Jolie does the full Loren here: nonpareil statuesque features coiffed, costumed and bedecked like a movie queen of old. Crowds part and men goggle in her presence.
However, she doesn’t pull off her British accent especially well, only one of the movie’s many flaws. For another, Johnny Depp doesn’t sell the dufus act. Most egregiously, The Tourist traffics in cheap humor, only some of which works. That and the story’s vapidity prove wearisome by the final reel.
Go for the glamour, tolerate the preciousness, and be entertained. I was.
Angie’s a great actress, not just a great beauty, but she shouldn’t play a Brit again, especially one named Elise. She pronounces it E-leez. Pooh-leez.
Johnny D doesn’t play dumb well. As if to prove the point, his British accent works much better than Jolie’s when he finally pulls it out.
The supporting players lag well behind:
Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck not only has the best name of any recent director, he directed one of the great movies of the 21st Century. The Lives of Others trafficked in personal espionage, as does The Tourist, yet it also revealed a profound reality. The Tourist gives Henckel von Donnersmarck a big budget to amplify the personal espionage, albeit in a story unhinged from reality. Its exclusive focus on glamourous entertainment makes The Tourist nothing but rich cinematic junk food. La di da.
Highly styled yet mildly risqué.
Over-the-top surrealism, big budget Hollywood style. At an rFactor of 2.5, it’s a little more screwed down than Wanted’s 3.3 supernaturalism. Neither is normal, so enjoy the ride or stay home.