Steve Martin's Smaller Than Life Love Triangle
Lately, love is a much-maligned thing, from thick, syrupy assurances that love means misery—A Lot Like Love, Love, Actually, Down With Love—to Closer's conviction that everyone is a louse. Steve Martin's Shopgirl is similarly unsplendored, though it is easy on the eyes. With Claire Danes in classic clothes, glistening in a Los Angeles that will surprise everyone but those who live here, it is more style than substance.
Meet Ray Porter (played by Mr. Martin, who wrote and produced the picture, based on his novelette), a silver fox who preys upon Mirabelle (Danes), a lonely uptown sales clerk. Using a pair of fine gloves, his intentions are abundantly clear from the beginning—there's really no doubt how this affair will be remembered—but first we meet his competitor, Jeremy (Jason Schwartzman), a lost pup just getting his bearings.
Jeremy attempts to woo Mirabelle with awkward results until, finally, he stumbles upon what they both want, which is the next best thing to intimacy. It's just that Mirabelle was hoping for something more, something exalted, which doesn't necessarily preclude something expensive—and Ray fits Mirabelle's expectations, with, love it or hate it, Barrington Pheloung's lush score piped in for full effect.
The effect works, putting a shine on these seasons of love, from Ray's sterile, boxy home to Mirabelle's L.A. walkup and Jeremy's Pig Sty Palace. As Ray cats around the country, Mirabelle twirls in her princess dresses, and artistic Jeremy phones from the rock-n-roll road—while reading cognitive psychology—and it's like sleepwalking through southern California at twilight—lights twinkling on the freeway, skyscrapers, palm trees and falling in love.
By the time it's obviously too good to be true, it's nearly over, accompanied by the abrupt realization that he's no prince, she's no Cinderella and Jeremy might have to do, with a tossed bone that adds a touch of Mr. Martin's absurdist humor. This is what passes for Hollywood romanticism—a nicer version of Closer with the same premise: we're all dirty, rotten scoundrels.
Mirabelle, Ray and Jeremy live life—as Mr. Martin sees it—in orderly episodes, pawing, stripping and having sex without regard to values. That it all looks very classy is Shopgirl's neat trick, and Mr. Martin, who wrote the screenplay, injects enough kindness to keep it real. No one's bad to the bone, and they are each better off.
That is not to say they are better persons. Jeremy's a joke, Ray's a sugar daddy and, while Claire Danes' austerity enhances her performance, it is strictly in service of a character who is neither bright nor ultimately interesting. Like lecherous Ray, precious Mirabelle knows exactly what she's doing and gaining and by what means.
That much of the movie is contained in hers and Mr. Martin's scenes, which are overly indulgent, makes Shopgirl one self-absorbed movie, wrapped in pretty packaging, that flows as long as you don't think too much. With Danes playing dress-up, Schwartzman the clown and Mr. Martin the worldly jerk, the movie's style—Peter Suschitzky's moody, lustrous photography and Nancy Steiner's elegant costumes—is the real bargain.
DVD Notes
On single-disc DVD, Shopgirl plays better through home speakers, enveloping the viewer in those clear downtown Los Angeles skylines. Breathless audio commentary by director Anand Tucker is nonstop, and he covers a lot of ground, slipping only once when he refers to the department store as Neiman's (it's Neiman Marcus in the book—Saks Fifth Avenue in the movie). Also included: two insignificant deleted scenes and a comprehensive feature about bringing Steve Martin's novelette to the screen.
Meet Ray Porter (played by Mr. Martin, who wrote and produced the picture, based on his novelette), a silver fox who preys upon Mirabelle (Danes), a lonely uptown sales clerk. Using a pair of fine gloves, his intentions are abundantly clear from the beginning—there's really no doubt how this affair will be remembered—but first we meet his competitor, Jeremy (Jason Schwartzman), a lost pup just getting his bearings.
Jeremy attempts to woo Mirabelle with awkward results until, finally, he stumbles upon what they both want, which is the next best thing to intimacy. It's just that Mirabelle was hoping for something more, something exalted, which doesn't necessarily preclude something expensive—and Ray fits Mirabelle's expectations, with, love it or hate it, Barrington Pheloung's lush score piped in for full effect.
The effect works, putting a shine on these seasons of love, from Ray's sterile, boxy home to Mirabelle's L.A. walkup and Jeremy's Pig Sty Palace. As Ray cats around the country, Mirabelle twirls in her princess dresses, and artistic Jeremy phones from the rock-n-roll road—while reading cognitive psychology—and it's like sleepwalking through southern California at twilight—lights twinkling on the freeway, skyscrapers, palm trees and falling in love.
By the time it's obviously too good to be true, it's nearly over, accompanied by the abrupt realization that he's no prince, she's no Cinderella and Jeremy might have to do, with a tossed bone that adds a touch of Mr. Martin's absurdist humor. This is what passes for Hollywood romanticism—a nicer version of Closer with the same premise: we're all dirty, rotten scoundrels.
Mirabelle, Ray and Jeremy live life—as Mr. Martin sees it—in orderly episodes, pawing, stripping and having sex without regard to values. That it all looks very classy is Shopgirl's neat trick, and Mr. Martin, who wrote the screenplay, injects enough kindness to keep it real. No one's bad to the bone, and they are each better off.
That is not to say they are better persons. Jeremy's a joke, Ray's a sugar daddy and, while Claire Danes' austerity enhances her performance, it is strictly in service of a character who is neither bright nor ultimately interesting. Like lecherous Ray, precious Mirabelle knows exactly what she's doing and gaining and by what means.
That much of the movie is contained in hers and Mr. Martin's scenes, which are overly indulgent, makes Shopgirl one self-absorbed movie, wrapped in pretty packaging, that flows as long as you don't think too much. With Danes playing dress-up, Schwartzman the clown and Mr. Martin the worldly jerk, the movie's style—Peter Suschitzky's moody, lustrous photography and Nancy Steiner's elegant costumes—is the real bargain.
DVD Notes
On single-disc DVD, Shopgirl plays better through home speakers, enveloping the viewer in those clear downtown Los Angeles skylines. Breathless audio commentary by director Anand Tucker is nonstop, and he covers a lot of ground, slipping only once when he refers to the department store as Neiman's (it's Neiman Marcus in the book—Saks Fifth Avenue in the movie). Also included: two insignificant deleted scenes and a comprehensive feature about bringing Steve Martin's novelette to the screen.
