Sorry, my mistake. I thought I was off to see a Cole Porter biopic. You know, the champagne-swilling, charismatic omnisexual raconteur who invested his songs and his nightlife with the same saucy elegance? I’m not sure what Kevin Kline was supposed to be portraying in this decidedly un-de-lightful slog, but he was none too fun or swellegant.
Heavens, had we both world enough and time to list out what’s wrong with this picture. A veritable catalogue of biographic pitfalls, Die Lovely quickly dispenses with plot in order to plod through unimaginatively staged musical numbers in different settings. Indeed, the screenplay by Jay Cocks (Strange Days, The Age Of Innocence – I’ll say no more) becomes little more than a series of soundbites for a Greek Chorus. Look, here’s Cole in Paris as a rich young buck; now, he’s in Venice with his wife Linda; here’s his tumultuous private life in LA, and oh, here comes Irving Berlin “the most famous songwriter of his day.”
Given the film’s episodic nature, the characterisation is Victoria Beckham thin, and the book-ending of proceedings with Angel Gabriel (Jonathan Pryce) taking Porter through his life as a staged musical is quite the most excruciatingly half-assed Capra-esque device of the season.
On the plus side, musical cameos from Elvis Costello, Robbie Williams, Alanis Morrisette et al enliven things a little, and Kevin Kline is a good call, if only he had been given a bit more to work with. Ashley Judd is also perfectly cast as the Boring Wife, and as ever she runs the gamut of emotions from zzzz to zzzz. Indeed, her presence is so utterly unmemorable that when she appeared against a balmy LA skyline, I thought they had mixed up the reels with Derek Jarman’s Blue.
So if you’re interested in hearing two hours worth of Porter songs while looking at fabulous dresses – and they are pretty fab - Die Lovely should hit the spot, but frankly, I can do that at home.