Not Childish enough


I went into "Julie & Julia" with big expectations, looking forward to a movie about the infamous Julia Child, the 6 foot 2 former OSS 'spy' from Pasadena who rose to spectacular heights in the cooking world armed with nothing but wit, fortitude and an insatiable desire to learn.

What I got instead was a sadly superficial, completely foam-headed affair which hardly does justice to Julia and which was made watchable only by the participation of its three stars.

Stanley Tucci - the Toochinator, as I affectionately have named him - plays Paul Child, Julia's monumentally supportive husband, and he's wonderful, as always.

Amy Adams, who is adorably charming and easy on the eyes, does what she can with her basically thankless role - she's the Julie of the title, Julie Powell, who is inspired by Child to write a blog about going through all the recipes in Child's book, Mastering The Art of French Cooking. Her story is told parallel to Child's, which I thought sounded like a cool idea going in but which turned out to be the film's undoing.

Far too much screen time is squandered on this character, who, let's face it, is not that interesting. Instead, the film should have focused entirely on Child, whose story, in contract, is fascinating, inspiring and certainly deserving of more than this inconsequential piece of fluff.

Meryl Streep, fearless actor that she is, does a relatively good job impersonating Child. However, Streep, being a Cancer, simply does not possess Child's Leonine ferocity; it's just not there and can never be. Still, her attempt is noble and the audience (in the packed theatre I saw the film in yesterday) ate it up.