This filmmaker should have his license to create films revoked until he's actually lived some life, as opposed to regurgitating tone and moments from Woody Allen, Rohmer and Truffaut. But without their wit and intelligence. I just saw this dreadful waste of time at COLCOA in Los Angeles. I've never wanted to shoot an off-screen narrator in the larynx before, but the vapid, pointless words coming at the audience to tie the random bits together is painful to listen to. And the incessant piano music from Mozart and Chopin to give the movie some class, or provide an ironic counterpoint counts as some kind of elder master musical abuse. All of the talented actors are utterly wasted as they serve the one-dimensional puppetry manipulated by the writer/director to fulfill his desperate attempt to be humorous. This film is the problem with film-school geeks who've been unjustly praised for their early short work, but have NO idea how human beings actually behave.
Review of The Art of Love
