![]() ![]() ![]() On God, lifestyle, and Coppola, we are a divided nation. Their appeal is a question of taste, but rarely of negotiation. With their dreamy self-absorption, flickers of romantic transcendence, and fabulous indie-rock soundtracks, Coppola’s movies seem to come as missives from some never-ending sophomore fall, a kingdom ruled by moody young folks who have read Rousseau but never seen the inside of a tax return. Last week, the Los Angeles Times described her recent film, Somewhere, as “a kind of road movie of the soul, a delicate, meditative look at a particular state of mind in a particular time and place.” The New York Post, that same day, wrote, “magine a film called ‘Wanna See Me Crack My Knuckles?’ ” Both are typical reactions. But her greatest talent may lie in inciting small-scale culture wars. In the past two decades, Sofia Coppola has been publicly laughed at, booed, and wept over by Quentin Tarantino -treatments that, in the ledger of Hollywood fame, add up to something slightly short of canonization. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |