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San Francisco Chronicle, CA
July 1 2005
He and She meet, and the poetry just won't stop
Mick LaSalle, Chronicle Movie Critic
Friday, July 1, 2005
Yes: Drama. Starring Joan Allen and Simon Abkarian. Directed by
SallyPotter. (R. 100 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)
The passion and commitment behind "Yes" -- evident in its artistic
daring and in the earnest exploration of its themes -- make it very
tempting, when talking about it, to ignore the film and look at the
intent, which is exemplary. Through this story about an Irish
American woman and her romance with a Lebanese man, Sally Potter puts
forth her imaginative response to living in a post-Sept. 11 world.
She does so poetically, and idiosyncratically, by creating a
dreamlike atmosphere and writing all the dialogue in verse.
Yet, aside from a few brief sparks of illumination, the film is
mostly unbearable. The reasons are manifold. Potter's verse is
ordinary, bordering on silly, and her strategy for how the actors
should perform it is misbegotten: She has them speak it as though it
were standard dialogue. This approach can work for Shakespeare, but
here, for some reason, it just seems like realistic dialogue that's
off. There are none of the benefits of poetry -- no grandeur, no
outsized emotion -- just a distancing artificiality.
Furthermore, by doing a film in verse, Potter opens up a sea of self-
indulgent possibility and promptly drowns in it. She introduces an
introspective maid (Shirley Henderson), who serves as a kind of
chorus, doing long, pointless discourses on the nature of dirt. Then
there are the working- class dishwashers and cooks, in the back room
of a restaurant, talking in their jolly, animated, working class way
about life. It's nonsense, but it's worse than that. It's nonsense
that's supposed to be good for you.
The main characters in "Yes" are known only as "She" and "He," which
says everything you need to know about the film's mix of lofty
ambition and cliche. She (Joan Allen) is the unhappy wife of a
philandering, withdrawn British politician (Sam Neill). He (Simon
Abkarian) is a Lebanese waiter, with a mustache and long hair
reminiscent of the Hudson Brothers. He spots She at a reception one
night and tells her that she's "a beauty" and "a queen." No man
without an accent -- or at least the ability to fake one -- could get
away with such a line, but He has an accent, and so, in short order,
the two are soon launched on an illicit affair.
The affair, judged strictly as a romance, is tepid. Joan Allen, for
all her dramatic talent, is not the first actress one would associate
with middle- aged abandon. Her essence is reserved and cautious,
qualities one must infer Potter wanted, since there's little in the
way of passion on display. Ideally, verse, like music, should
emphasize and crystallize the expression of emotions that are already
there. Potter uses verse to give the illusion of scale to something
insignificant, and it's a doomed effort.
The rhapsodic, romantic ardor comes totally from the man, while the
woman simply receives it, to the extent that this begins to seem like
the female equivalent of those transparent middle-aged male fantasies
that we've all become trained to recognize and laugh at. Indeed, the
question that we might ask of a fantasy cheerleader who chooses to
spend spring break with a broken- down lit professor is the same
question we might ask of He in "Yes": What's in it for you, pal? But
no one would think to ask that question, because both the cheerleader
and He are romantic abstractions, adjuncts to be seen only in terms
of their connection to the one character whose feelings matter.
Abkarian, an Armenian actor, deserves credit for maintaining dignity
and selfhood in the face of serious script challenges. He's helped by
the fact that Potter is on solid ground in one key area -- the strain
of politics on She and He's relationship. In discussing that strain,
He gets to be eloquent, and Potter gets to show her genuine insight.
All the elements in Potter's experiment -- the story, the dreamy
settings, the characters and the poetry -- come together in a single
scene, in which He and She confront their cultural barriers, while
arguing in a parking lot. That scene is like a great song on a bad
album. It's there, and then it's over, but afterward at least it's
clear what Potter was after and why it was worth pursuing.
-- Advisory: This film contains sexual situations and strong
language.
July 1 2005
He and She meet, and the poetry just won't stop
Mick LaSalle, Chronicle Movie Critic
Friday, July 1, 2005
Yes: Drama. Starring Joan Allen and Simon Abkarian. Directed by
SallyPotter. (R. 100 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)
The passion and commitment behind "Yes" -- evident in its artistic
daring and in the earnest exploration of its themes -- make it very
tempting, when talking about it, to ignore the film and look at the
intent, which is exemplary. Through this story about an Irish
American woman and her romance with a Lebanese man, Sally Potter puts
forth her imaginative response to living in a post-Sept. 11 world.
She does so poetically, and idiosyncratically, by creating a
dreamlike atmosphere and writing all the dialogue in verse.
Yet, aside from a few brief sparks of illumination, the film is
mostly unbearable. The reasons are manifold. Potter's verse is
ordinary, bordering on silly, and her strategy for how the actors
should perform it is misbegotten: She has them speak it as though it
were standard dialogue. This approach can work for Shakespeare, but
here, for some reason, it just seems like realistic dialogue that's
off. There are none of the benefits of poetry -- no grandeur, no
outsized emotion -- just a distancing artificiality.
Furthermore, by doing a film in verse, Potter opens up a sea of self-
indulgent possibility and promptly drowns in it. She introduces an
introspective maid (Shirley Henderson), who serves as a kind of
chorus, doing long, pointless discourses on the nature of dirt. Then
there are the working- class dishwashers and cooks, in the back room
of a restaurant, talking in their jolly, animated, working class way
about life. It's nonsense, but it's worse than that. It's nonsense
that's supposed to be good for you.
The main characters in "Yes" are known only as "She" and "He," which
says everything you need to know about the film's mix of lofty
ambition and cliche. She (Joan Allen) is the unhappy wife of a
philandering, withdrawn British politician (Sam Neill). He (Simon
Abkarian) is a Lebanese waiter, with a mustache and long hair
reminiscent of the Hudson Brothers. He spots She at a reception one
night and tells her that she's "a beauty" and "a queen." No man
without an accent -- or at least the ability to fake one -- could get
away with such a line, but He has an accent, and so, in short order,
the two are soon launched on an illicit affair.
The affair, judged strictly as a romance, is tepid. Joan Allen, for
all her dramatic talent, is not the first actress one would associate
with middle- aged abandon. Her essence is reserved and cautious,
qualities one must infer Potter wanted, since there's little in the
way of passion on display. Ideally, verse, like music, should
emphasize and crystallize the expression of emotions that are already
there. Potter uses verse to give the illusion of scale to something
insignificant, and it's a doomed effort.
The rhapsodic, romantic ardor comes totally from the man, while the
woman simply receives it, to the extent that this begins to seem like
the female equivalent of those transparent middle-aged male fantasies
that we've all become trained to recognize and laugh at. Indeed, the
question that we might ask of a fantasy cheerleader who chooses to
spend spring break with a broken- down lit professor is the same
question we might ask of He in "Yes": What's in it for you, pal? But
no one would think to ask that question, because both the cheerleader
and He are romantic abstractions, adjuncts to be seen only in terms
of their connection to the one character whose feelings matter.
Abkarian, an Armenian actor, deserves credit for maintaining dignity
and selfhood in the face of serious script challenges. He's helped by
the fact that Potter is on solid ground in one key area -- the strain
of politics on She and He's relationship. In discussing that strain,
He gets to be eloquent, and Potter gets to show her genuine insight.
All the elements in Potter's experiment -- the story, the dreamy
settings, the characters and the poetry -- come together in a single
scene, in which He and She confront their cultural barriers, while
arguing in a parking lot. That scene is like a great song on a bad
album. It's there, and then it's over, but afterward at least it's
clear what Potter was after and why it was worth pursuing.
-- Advisory: This film contains sexual situations and strong
language.