Dang but its nice to see truly adult characters on screen in a comedy. Diane Lane (Trumbo) turns in a wonderful performance in this odd (sort-of-romantic) comedy. Her character is utterly compelling and in control while also being just a bit mischievous and aware of Arnaud Viard’s intentions. Watching the dance of these two, in a waltz of seduction-by-proxy via food, wine, art, and landscapes is quite a bit of fun to drool over.
Writer/director Eleanor Coppola (yes, wife of THAT Coppola, but with a cv all her own) helms this bit of diversion. Paris, however, is her first time directing a piece of fiction. She very cleverly structures the film so that we are also pulled into our own side trips as we gawk at the food and art and landscapes ourselves, forgetting the movie (the intention) for the moment, just like Lane. She captures Lane’s awakening and joy by making us, if not feel it too, wish we could. She delivers that sense even as she ratchets up the tension between the characters. And that is the “sort-of-romantic comedy” comment; it is more about Lane’s love of herself than it is about the men in her life, but the men do figure into the drive of it all.
As a movie, Paris Can Wait is, itself, a wonderful diversion for an evening. The performances are nicely understated and believable. The emotional intent is sweet without feeling too forced. The result, while not perfect, is a strong delivery out of the gate for Coppola and another great notch for Lane’s reel.