Cold Souls (2009)

Another interesting idea lags under the weight of its own cinematic soul. In a Kaufmanesque concept (see Being John Malkovich), Paul Giamatti plays a film version of himself (and gee, he's pretty good at it... ha ha ha).

As we enter into the world of first time writer/director Sophie Barthes we see Giamatti struggling to find the right "voice" for Uncle Vanya (and somehow I wonder why it is that Chekov still gets all the juice on the boards... if I see another revival of Vanya or Cherry Orchard I'm going to slit my wrists or read some Russian Poetry, whichever kills me first!).

Of course the above little asides are the kind of wry, sarcastic humor that this pseudo satire cashes in on, but for me, the satiric moments were too few and came only after slogging through some tedious bits of unimaginative setup and scenes that were meant to be funny (in that satiric kind of way) but simply weren't as far as I'm concerned.

The fresh idea of the film (which I wish could have been better handled) has to do with the ability to extract the soul from a human body (and replace it with someone else's if desired). Giamatti perceives that he is so weighed down by the heaviness of his own soul that he decides to replace his with the soul of a Russian Poet (all the better to get inside his role of Vanya, he surmises). From this premise the film flitters around, allowing for a nice bit of satire when the Russian mob gets involved in the soul selling business; but while watchable, I was neither grinning from the dark humor, nor glued to the chair by any kind of drama. This yin/yang of drama/dark comedy is at odds with itself as some of the more absurd moments derail any dramatic value.

Similarly Barthes doesn't seem quite sure which route to take - the first half seems serious (and fails as a dramatic engine), while the second half, and especially when the film moves to St. Petersburg, seems much more tongue in cheek (and it is here that the moments of inventive dark satire occur).

I really wanted to enjoy this film and am going to give it a passing grade just for the concept alone - but as the closing credits rolled I sat back and wondered at how much more could have been said and how so many of the satiric moments could have either been better evolved or left on the cutting room floor. At least there weren't three sisters sitting in a broken down manor house saying that they simply must go to Moscow.