Somewhere

Bomb Rating: 

"Somewhere" gives the impression of a student film that was discovered locked away in Coppola's hope chest, the indulgent mistake reel of a self-interested cinemaphile for whom every empty look holds all of the import of a thousand words never said.

Sofia Coppola has a dad who's pretty famous. This probably explains why she decided to make a movie about a dad who's pretty famous, because hey, who can't relate to living in a world of luxury where your every desire is catered to at all times? I can tell you who can't relate – me, and probably 99.9 percent of the people who had to decide between either making another payment on their cat's pet hospital bills or going to see her new piece of shit film "Somewhere."

"Somewhere" stars Stephen Dorff, back from fighting Blade and looking even thinner than he did as a vampire - which the last time he did anything of note on the silver screen. It also stars another of the seemingly endless line of Fanning kids, Dakota or Darla or Arkansas or something like that, as his daughter. Together with Chris Pontius, Jackass entourage member and purveyor of various exotic sexually-transmitted diseases, these three characters populate the sparse landscape of "Somewhere" with little more than blank stares and the occasional cigarette.

You see, the biggest problem with "Somewhere" is that nothing ever happens. Like, at all. The opening scene is Dorff driving his Ferrari in circles, filmed from a tripod that was apparently abandoned in the desert somewhere, for about 10 minutes. The last time someone drove a Ferrari in the desert and managed to make it cool was when Dolph Lundgren was still a cinematic force to be reckoned with. Sadly, there was no plowing through cacti or even the hint of any kind of action whatsoever. You can think of "Somewhere" as two hours of a Ferrari driving in circles, shot from space, and you wouldn't be that far off in terms of its entertainment value.

"Somewhere" gives the impression of a student film that was discovered locked away in Coppola's hope chest, the indulgent mistake reel of a self-interested cinemaphile for whom every empty look holds all of the import of a thousand words never said. Why this particular student film couldn't also have been filled with the kind of uncomfortable nudity on the part of affordable drama students three months behind on their rent and willing to do anal for an additional five dollars is beyond me. Maybe it's because they had a kid on set, or maybe it's because those kinds of movies only happen in my mind. Either way, I walked out of this stinker with a wasted erection and the inability to articulate why I feel so lonely in a crowded room of people.

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At least they didn't open with his Ferrari on the freeway

FearlessFreep's picture

A cliche stretching from YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE to CRUEL INTENTIONS.

 

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