Do we really need a pastiche version of old Doris Day/Rock Hudson comedies? Okay, so Todd Haynes’ tribute to Douglas Sirk melodramas Far From Heaven was quite magnificent. It not only had something to say, it was a film that would probably have been made by old Sirk himself, had he not been bound by the fascist ‘moral’ code of 1950s Hollywood. Conversely, the most galling aspect of Down With Love is the sneaking suspicion that it’s sneering and contemptuous of the very films that inspired it. Or maybe it’s because there’s only so many pop-art shower curtains, mule slippers and pink princess telephones that one can take before the blinding migraine kicks in.
Down With Love casts Ewan MacGregor as a celebrity journalist – a cad who’s out to get the scoop on the author of a woman’s self-help manual (Zellweger) entitled Down With Love. This best-selling tome advises women to dump meaningful relationships in favour of casual sex and ball-busting careers. He reckons Zellweger will melt adorably if someone dates her and plies her with a few chocolates, so he poses as a chaste astronaut and sets out to woo her. Of course, she’s not who she says she is. Throw in a couple of reasonably inventive twists and there you have it.
But here’s the real scoop. Guess what the makers of Down With Love have discovered? You know in those old ’50s comedies, whenever Doris Day or some other prissy blonde bird with improbably pointy breasts disappeared off-screen with Rock Hudson, and suddenly there were shots of trains going into tunnels, rockets blasting off and ladies browsing for wienerschnitzel sausages? Well, it wasn’t just inspired product placement for NASA or quality purveyors of spicy horse testicles, it was meant to symbolise fucking!
Well, doh, you might think. Be afraid then, for every single joke in Down With Love is derived from this momentous discovery, with an untold number of lame sight gags run from various phallic objects.
Never mind that the material wouldn’t cut it in Austin Powers 20 (if it ever comes to pass), this particular dead horse of a comic device is flogged until you wish the ISPCA would intervene.
In keeping with the equestrian theme, Zellweger whinnies her way throughout in a manner that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in her forthcoming bid for Oscar glory, playing the title role in a Janis Joplin biopic. MacGregor, meanwhile, though likable enough, lacks the burly physique and cleft chin of a ’50s leading man.
It looks good, and it’s clever, but not nearly as clever as it imagines. Down with Down With Love.