Eccentric, unsuccessful but appealing remake of Charade. It’s really only a remake in an incidental fashion. It’s more an excuse for director Jonathan Demme to make his his most swinging film since Something Wild. He delivers delicious textures, lovely visuals, a pair of very relaxed lead performances from Thandie Newton and Mark Wahlberg, who offers up his flat, tough Boston mug in the hilarious guise of a Parisian hipster. Can you take this seriously? Not in the slightest. Charade, whilst far from a masterpiece and nothing to get hung about, had an elegantly witty solidity. Demme’s casual approach to the plot results in most of the spy and chase shenanigans seeming superfluous, and this film is really more a pop-art put-on. Demme provides lightning-quick associative montages, Charles Aznavour turning up singing in the cupboard, glibly anarchic sexuality and ethnicity. its centerpiece is a lovely moment when all the major characters dance to Anna Karina’s singing, swapping between each-other in a sexual free-for-all.
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