Julie and Julia

Julie and Julia was not our first choice for our inaugural Richmond movie experience. Of the movies currently playing, the only ones we really wanted to see were Humpday and The Hurt Locker, but they started too early. (I sort of thought moving to a bigger city would give us more choice in movies to see in the theater, but it turns out the same twelve movies are just playing at twenty different locations here.)

I can't help thinking of Julie and Julia as two different movies.

Julia

It is maybe redundant to even bother mentioning that Meryl Streep is a brilliant actress, but I can't help saying it again, because Julia Child is an impossible role. Everything about Mrs. Child was so huge: her personality, her height, her voice -- oh man, that voice. Who could play Julia Child better than Dan Akroyd? What I mean is, a perfect portrayal of her would almost have to play like a caricature. And that's how I felt at first. But then. I was convinced, and then I was drawn in, completely. Sincere, mature love stories are rare in the movies anyway, and this one is unconventional in many ways.

Oh, and Jane Lynch! It might be the most serious role I've seen her in (Or the first? Does Joyce Wischnia count as a serious role?), and she was perfect. There is this moment at the wedding, an overhead shot, that could have been cheesy, but it wasn't quite cheesy.

Julie

First I should say that I agree with everyone else on planet earth that Amy Adams is delightful and charming and adorable and everything. From Junebug to The Office to Enchanted to the recent Night at the Museum movie, she always seems to stand out, often as the only thing on screen worth paying attention to at all.

But this movie, the Julie half of Julie and Julia, I just can't get behind it at all. The characters keep talking about how narcissistic and selfish Julie is, but then they go on to reward and praise her narcissism. She talks constantly about how she was supposed to be a writer, but really, who thinks sloppy online babbling is writing? (To paraphrase Capote: That's not writing, it's blogging.) Seriously, is there anything more pointlessly unoriginal than writing a completely derivative blog, whose stated purpose is solely to respond to the creative work of someone else?

Jeez, fictional Julie Powell, get a life.