Broken Flowers
I was prepared to like Broken Flowers, a movie starring Bill Murray as a leftover 1990s computer business guy. The portrayal of Don Johnston, retired computer guy, is not very flattering. Johnston sits and/or lies on the same sofa all day watching movies or listening to music. One could admire him for his monk-like patience and stillness but by American Ben Franklin-style self-improvement standards he is reprehensibly incurious. Johnston never reads books or seeks to meet anyone new. Johnston’s only apparent achievement was appealing to women over the years (“I was in computers and girls,” he explains to a young guy).
Johnston receives an anonymous note informing him that he has a 19-year-old son. This spurs him to take a four- or five-stop commercial airline trip around our great nation. Unfortunately the film makers lacked either his budget or his energy and stayed firmly within New York and New Jersey. All parts of the U.S. appear to be right off the New York State Thruway in the fall. One of my literary-minded friends says that a bad movie is better than a bad play because there is more to look at. Why couldn’t one of Johnston’s ex-girlfriends have flaked out to Sedona, Arizona or Santa Fe?
One interesting detail was how Johnston’s world was inhabited by attractive women. If he goes into a store the clerk is an attractive young woman. When he is walking out of the airport the terminal is filled not with paunchy business guys as you might expect, but with young leggy females.
For a movie with no tragic deaths, characters becoming paralyzed, sex, violence, or special effects it holds one’s attention fairly well. My companion, the typical overworked Harvard medical slave (she’s an ob-gyn but sadly has not yet bought her Piper Malibu or Turbo Commander like my more established gynecologist friends), did not fall asleep.
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