Adapted rather freely from a late-'50s novel, and boosted by a once-in-a-lifetime cast, this love letter to the Seine captures a moment, and a mood, that matter more than the lackadaisical plotting. Paul Newman and Sidney Poitier, expat jazz musicians, get involved with American tourists Joanne Woodward and Diahann Carroll, and they're such a gorgeous foursome you just want them all to get married and have lots of children. But wait. Woodward does already have two kids, which should be a major grappling point but is treated as a mere divertissement, while Carroll and Poitier squabble about whether he should be in Paris or fighting civil rights battles at home. The movie seems to advocate the latter, but I wonder if that's fair--all the jazz sequences, with the races happily enjoying each other's company and savoring the fabulous Duke Ellington music, look mighty alluring. There's one well-staged jazz romp with the two guys (they mime their instruments well) and Louis Armstrong riffing that's the most joyous thing you'll ever see, and there are lots of moodily photographed strolls through early-'60s Paris, looking glamorous and curiously bereft of cars. Not a whole lot happens, and Newman's character is rather more of a jerk than he has to be, and a couple of subplots (Newman's mistress; the cocaine-addicted guitarist) aren't well resolved. Martin Ritt had already worked well with Newman and Poitier on different projects, and would soon give the world "Hud," but this one isn't as substantial or moving. What it is is gorgeously photographed and scored, and full of beautiful people, and an alluring time capsule.
Review of Paris Blues
