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Where’d You Go, Bernadette (4/10)

by Tony Medley

Runtime 107 minutes.

PG-13.

Directed (and co-written with Holly Gent and Vince Palmo; clearly they didn’t have enough writers on this thing) by Richard Linklater, who specializes in these films that are uninvolving, the answer to the question he poses (note that there is no question mark, so I guess he didn’t want an answer) is, who cares?

Linklater likes self-absorbing monologues (see Before Sunrise 1995, Before Sunset 2004 and Before Midnight 2013, or, on second thought, don’t see them) but he went overboard here. About a half hour in, he has Bernadette Fox (Cate Blanchett) talk endlessly about herself to an unidentified friend, Laurence Fishburne. She goes on and on and on. Interlaced with this oration is an equally boring soliloquy by her husband, Elgie (Billy Crudup), also about her. I would have been out of there in a shot if I hadn’t had to stay around to write a review. These are among the most excruciating 10-15 minutes I’ve had to endure in a film in a long, long time.

Bernadette is an architect. I’m not certain what Elgie does (I’m sure we’re told in the movie but, let’s face it, I lost interest very quickly), but it looks as if she wears the pants in this relationship. She has made them buy an old mansion in Seattle apparently against the desires of Elgie and her daughter, Bee (Emma Nelson), after making a bundle by designing a house that won a prize.

This film, like Bernadette herself, is all about Bernadette which was obvious and which was why I couldn’t wait to leave because there’s nothing appealing or sympathetic about her. Whether that’s due to the writing or the directing or Blanchett’s acting, take your pick.

As to the story, it falls far short of being credible. The last half hour in the Antarctic (actually shot in Greenland but ice is ice) is particularly absurd, lowlighted by Bernadette rowing about a huge ocean all alone.

The only good thing I can say about this is that Kristen Wiig rises way above the material and gives an outstanding performance as Bernadette’s next door neighbor. She should get a Silver Star for gallantry for hanging in there (so should I).

Apparently it’s based on a book by Maria Semple, alleged to have been a best-seller. I’m glad I never tried to read it. Linklater did direct one of my favorite films of this century, Me and Orson Welles (2008), so he has the capability of making a good film. Hope springs eternal, though, because this is not it.