Green Book | Little White Lies

Green Book

30 Jan 2019 / Released: 01 Feb 2019

Two men seated in a turquoise vintage car, one Caucasian and one Black, looking ahead.
Two men seated in a turquoise vintage car, one Caucasian and one Black, looking ahead.
3

Anticipation.

A buddy comedy starring two of America’s best actors, from one half of the Farrelly brothers.

3

Enjoyment.

Ali and Mortensen are superb.

3

In Retrospect.

Just enough (laughing) gas in the tank to merit its two-hour runtime.

Vig­go Mortensen and Maher­sha­la Ali embark on a tour of the Jim Crow south in Peter Farrelly’s crowd-pleas­ing bud­dy comedy.

You haven’t heard some­one do a Noo Yoik accent until you’ve heard Vig­go Mortensen do a Noo Yoik accent. In Green Book, the famous­ly eru­dite, nat­u­ral­is­tic screen actor drops his vow­els (and piles on what looks to be about 50lbs) to play a gristly, larg­er-than-life Ital­ian-Amer­i­can meat­ball called Frank Antho­ny Val­le­lon­ga – nick­named Tony Lip because of his pow­ers of persuasion.

He may not be the most cul­tured or well-spo­ken fel­low, but Tony is a first-rate talk­er, and his superla­tive bull­shit­ting abil­i­ty comes in espe­cial­ly handy in his capac­i­ty as a bounc­er at the Copaca­bana, the leg­endary New York night­club made famous by Sam­my and Sina­tra and immor­talised by Manilow and Marty.

It’s the ear­ly 1960s, a time when the mob ruled Man­hat­tan and all men like Tony need­ed to get by was a smart mouth and a sweet right hook. He’s street­wise enough to keep out of trou­ble and pro­vide for dot­ing stay-at-home wife Dolores (Lin­da Cardelli­ni) and their two young kids. But when the Copa is sud­den­ly closed for refur­bish­ments”, Tony is left seek­ing oth­er means of employment.

The film appears to be steer­ing towards fish-out-of-water com­e­dy, only to take a sharp left turn into odd couple/​buddy com­e­dy ter­ri­to­ry as Tony is hired by black vir­tu­oso pianist Don Shirley (Maher­sha­la Ali) to be his pri­vate chauf­feur on an eight-week con­cert tour. The catch is that Shirley’s pro­posed route will take the pair right through Jim Crow country.

Two men, one in a beige jumper and the other in a yellow jacket, seated at a table in a garden setting.

The title of this true sto­ry refers to The Negro Motorist Green Book’, a real-life trav­el guide pub­lished between 1936 – 1966 which list­ed African-Amer­i­can-friend­ly motels, restau­rants and ser­vice sta­tions in states where seg­re­ga­tion was still in effect. The jour­ney our unlike­ly dou­ble act embark on is both lit­er­al and metaphor­i­cal, as they expe­ri­ence the Deep South in all its nat­ur­al splen­dour and ide­o­log­i­cal ugli­ness while grad­u­al­ly begin­ning to see the world through the other’s eyes.

Ini­tial­ly the cul­tur­al and intel­lec­tu­al gap between these men seems insur­mount­able: Don is but­toned-down, well-read and can play Liszt with­out break­ing a sweat; Tony swears, smokes and is vis­i­bly stunned when his boss is unable to iden­ti­fy Lit­tle Richard or Aretha Franklin on the car radio. But they learn to get along and soon realise that, in fact, they are not so different.

If you’re imag­in­ing a sort of crude mash-up of My Fair Lady and a race-swapped Dri­ving Miss Daisy, well, you’re not far off. Green Book is an old-fash­ioned crowd-pleas­er with good inten­tions that sub­verts a num­ber of lazy stereo­types while rein­forc­ing oth­ers. Telling­ly, the script (co-writ­ten by Tony’s son Nick) fills in far more of Tony’s back­ground than it does Don’s, who is depict­ed as a gift­ed mis­fit and stub­born lon­er: estranged from his broth­er, reject­ed by his own peo­ple” and viewed as a low­er class of cit­i­zen by white southerners.

While this allows for some affect­ing dra­mat­ic moments, with Ali once again prov­ing him­self to be a per­former of rare emo­tion­al integri­ty, it means we’re ulti­mate­ly left with a rather sketchy pic­ture of one of the great­est and most under­ap­pre­ci­at­ed black musi­cians of his gen­er­a­tion. This is anoth­er lark-filled road movie from the direc­tor of Dumb and Dumb­er and Me, Myself & Irene – and it’s no less problematic.

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