Just when I thought there couldn’t be a scene more unbelievable than the last, Ellen Page and her Ashton Kutcher boyfriend found an unguarded indoor swimming pool, dove in with all their clothes and shoes on and proceeded to make love in an underwater ballet. Two years after playing a teen in Juno, Page, by now at least 25, sullied that memory by purporting to be another rebellious 17-year-old, who somehow metamorphs into a professional roller-derby star in moments stolen from her high school and waitress job. I could go on and on about everything that annoyed me, but I would just get annoyed again.
See The September Issue, above. Maybe I just need a break from documentaries. I think a documentary just about either Jimmy Page or the Edge, with more concert footage, would have been better. I did like Page’s hair.
No plot. No drama. A superficial look at a superficial subject, although I will say that Anna Wintour commanded the camera. The Devil Wears Prada was better.
Love, fashion – and, oh, a lot of cigarette-smoking by our heroine – is about all there was in this ultimately tiresome period biopic. The story of how Gabrielle (Coco) maneuvered into society had some zip, but it was subsumed in the story of how her forays into personal expression fomented a fashion revolution, which was never convincing. If the movie had left Coco before Chanel, I might have liked it better.
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