I don't love Robert Zemeckis; he always seemed a shadow of his sage and master, Steven Spielberg. Oscar wins or not, he's simply not as talented as his teacher. That being said, he's had some seriously, delirious high points (Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Contact, and Back to the Future), but the rest of his oeuvre is, well, cloying at best (Forrest Gump) and atrocious at worst (What Lies Beneath). He's a capable mid-level director who was rocketed to superstardom by his association with a true master of the cinematic artform (though, truth be told, Spielberg has missed the mark on numerous occasions).
In any event, one could view I Wanna Hold Your Hand as a microcosm of Zemeckis's entire career--frequently excruciating with bouts of brilliance. Where are the lows? How about the saccharine reiterations of the three four central female characters. For the first 45 minutes, the women are defined by repeated phrases that beat into the audience's brain their too-flimsy characters. Rosie loves Paul, Janis loves folkies, Grace wants to take some photos, and Pam wants to get married.
Ultimately, the arcs for the former three characters follow predictable patterns. With Pam's storyline, however, Zemeckis finds the heart of this film and creates a lasting tale that, more or less, makes this movie recommended (though not necessarily essential) viewing.Pam's conflict is fairly straightforward until she finds herself in the Beatles' suite. Then something interesting happens--she does something to a guitar that, well, I don't want to mention here for fear of having the post deleted. She cowers in front of that guitar and she shudders. Later, she clenches the hem of her dress in tightly wound fists between her thighs.
What Zemeckis finds between Pam's legs is the nascent youth movement of the 1960s. Pam's running away from her betrothed at the end of the film to the Beatles and that funny feeling causing her to quiver, demonstrates the shift from the cleancut, conformist ideals of 1950s America to what would become a more liberating--sexually and emotionally--period in the late 1960s. The Beatles were at the forefront of that youth movement and, here, the rumblings of the movement are present.
What Pam reveals in this movie is among the most emotionally and sexually truthful representations of that turbulent decade. I credit Zemeckis for his willingness to not ignore the sexuality inherent in Beatlemania, and I credit too Nancy Allen for an amazing performance. It's a real shame she's never received the recognition she deserves (for this movie, Blow Out, and Dressed to Kill).
The rest of the movie, though, is hysterical, in the late-19th century definition of the word. Mostly, it's a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Bobby Di Cicco turns in a performance that is worth seeing, as he's able to find, by movie's end some level of truth in Smerko's character. And then, of course, there's the overzealous Eddie Deezen's overacting, which is shrill beyond all reason. It's rare to find a performance that strident and, at the same time, ingratiating due to the actor's prowess for physical comedy (again, his physical shenanigans are, well, overblown, but I somehow found them riveting).
All in all, this movie really isn't a seven--it's probably a six at best--but I cannot shake those scenes of Nancy Allen nor do I want to. They're probably the most wonderful moments Zemeckis ever contributed to celluloid. For that it gets an extra point.
In any event, one could view I Wanna Hold Your Hand as a microcosm of Zemeckis's entire career--frequently excruciating with bouts of brilliance. Where are the lows? How about the saccharine reiterations of the three four central female characters. For the first 45 minutes, the women are defined by repeated phrases that beat into the audience's brain their too-flimsy characters. Rosie loves Paul, Janis loves folkies, Grace wants to take some photos, and Pam wants to get married.
Ultimately, the arcs for the former three characters follow predictable patterns. With Pam's storyline, however, Zemeckis finds the heart of this film and creates a lasting tale that, more or less, makes this movie recommended (though not necessarily essential) viewing.Pam's conflict is fairly straightforward until she finds herself in the Beatles' suite. Then something interesting happens--she does something to a guitar that, well, I don't want to mention here for fear of having the post deleted. She cowers in front of that guitar and she shudders. Later, she clenches the hem of her dress in tightly wound fists between her thighs.
What Zemeckis finds between Pam's legs is the nascent youth movement of the 1960s. Pam's running away from her betrothed at the end of the film to the Beatles and that funny feeling causing her to quiver, demonstrates the shift from the cleancut, conformist ideals of 1950s America to what would become a more liberating--sexually and emotionally--period in the late 1960s. The Beatles were at the forefront of that youth movement and, here, the rumblings of the movement are present.
What Pam reveals in this movie is among the most emotionally and sexually truthful representations of that turbulent decade. I credit Zemeckis for his willingness to not ignore the sexuality inherent in Beatlemania, and I credit too Nancy Allen for an amazing performance. It's a real shame she's never received the recognition she deserves (for this movie, Blow Out, and Dressed to Kill).
The rest of the movie, though, is hysterical, in the late-19th century definition of the word. Mostly, it's a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Bobby Di Cicco turns in a performance that is worth seeing, as he's able to find, by movie's end some level of truth in Smerko's character. And then, of course, there's the overzealous Eddie Deezen's overacting, which is shrill beyond all reason. It's rare to find a performance that strident and, at the same time, ingratiating due to the actor's prowess for physical comedy (again, his physical shenanigans are, well, overblown, but I somehow found them riveting).
All in all, this movie really isn't a seven--it's probably a six at best--but I cannot shake those scenes of Nancy Allen nor do I want to. They're probably the most wonderful moments Zemeckis ever contributed to celluloid. For that it gets an extra point.