It seems odd that the poster of Midnight in Paris, a seemingly postmodernist film which glorifies cubist and surrealist art movements, features a photograph of Owen Wilson walking along the Seine River which dissolves into an impressionist painting. Perhaps it is meant as a nod towards the inner conflict experienced by protagonist Gil Pender, a victim of a contradiction in that he is engaged to a woman that he increasingly cannot tolerate. Initially Pender alleviates his anxiety by falling in love with the City of Lights and allowing his mind to escape to a time period which suits him better than the present: the 1920s.
The film, a twist on the Cindrella myth, is typical of many recent films in that it is engaging and entertaining – so long as the audience maintains their willing suspension of disbelief – without providing much substance. The film is an ode to the Lost Generation and their art (in fact, all of the art which can be found around Paris, including the Musée de l’Orangerie, which I recommend) but is not a work of art itself.
Parallels could be drawn to The American, a work which encapsulates the beauty of the Italian countryside without creating much beauty of its own. Gil meets Getrude Stein via new mutual acquaintance Ernest Hemingway, who begins to critique his work and remarks that some of the plot twists are far too obvious, a statement which applies to this film.
There is no climax to the film, rather an inexorable journey towards a truth self-evident from the opening act. The main conflict in the film could have been expanded upon, allowing Woody Allen to contribute meaningful thoughts about relationships and romance but instead it is casually cast aside and dismissed, leaving the audience with a number of unanswered questions and an anachronistic (albeit funny) joke. Gil yearns to evolve from a Hollywood screenwriter to a real novelist; likewise this film wishes to become more than a tourism brochure yet cannot make the leap.
Characters debate whether Paris is lovelier at night or during the night, when it rains or when the sun comes out and Allen certainly showcases the best aspects of the French capital. Long camera shots linger on the characters and the scenery — the location plays a starring roles and actors portray artists like Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, Man Ray, Hemingway and others in memorable cameos. Various paintings, sculptures, music and architecture appear as themselves, adding nuance to the film due to their already famous symbolism.
The film’s main plot device, Gil’s ability to travel back in time and ask his idols for advice, falls short. Many people over the years may have asked “what would Hemingway say about literature today?” or “what would it be like to live with Picasso?” but according to Midnight in Paris, the ironic response is “not much.” So the Surrealists are the only ones who don’t think that Gil’s modern life is strange but it is unclear whether that is meant is daft humour or pointed commentary.
Really, the premise collapses if contemplated seriously, as does most of the film, so it’s best to ignore the flaws. A film which emphasizes substance over style does not practice what it preaches. On the whole, Midnight in Paris is charming and delivers a clear message: that it is better to find meaning in one’s own life rather than try to escape it. Everyone has their own time and place and self-actualization is far more satisfying than a wistful longing for what cannot be accomplished. ***