Long Shot | Little White Lies

Long Shot

30 Apr 2019 / Released: 03 May 2019

Man and woman wearing hats and casual clothing walking together in an urban setting.
Man and woman wearing hats and casual clothing walking together in an urban setting.
3

Anticipation.

Some comedy big-hitters and early raves from SXSW.

3

Enjoyment.

Farfetched and slapdash, but just about passible on a moment-by-moment basis.

2

In Retrospect.

The more you think about it, the more confused and hollow it seems.

Light romance in the west wing as Char­l­ize Theron hires Seth Rogen to fun­ny-up her speech­es… and more.

It is wide­ly accept­ed truth those among us who don’t self-iden­ti­fy as insane that the 1990 film Pret­ty Woman is one of the most exe­crable art­works ever forged in Beelzebub’s fur­nace. Indeed, a sul­phurous tinge ris­es to the back of the throat when even broad­ly refer­ring to this film as a piece of art.

Jonathan Levine’s scat­ter­shot com­e­dy Long Shot attempts to right past wrongs by offer­ing a gen­der-flipped ver­sion of Pret­ty Woman, in which the woman is the high roller, the man is the pros­ti­tute and pros­ti­tu­tion is inde­pen­dent polit­i­cal jour­nal­ism. And yet it does so in the most cloy­ing and pla­ca­to­ry of terms, as if it’s slap­ping Pret­ty Woman’s face and squeez­ing its ass with the oth­er. It chides it while find­ing rea­sons to give Pret­ty Woman the ben­e­fit of the doubt and accept it as a nos­tal­gic rel­ic of a more trag­i­cal­ly unhip era.

Seth Rogen plays Fred Flarsky, a mil­i­tant left wing inves­tiga­tive hack for a Brook­lyn alt week­ly who is remark­ably sim­i­lar to the real life Seth Rogen. He toss­es in the tow­el when his out­let is sub­sumed by a cor­po­rate media con­glom­er­ate run by vul­gar tycoon Park­er Wem­b­ley (Andy Serkis). Lucky for him, the sec­re­tary of state of the USA, affil­i­at­ed to par­ty unknown (or unmen­tioned), Char­lotte Field (Char­l­ize Theron), just hap­pened to be his old child­hood crush, and they bump into one anoth­er at a shiny-floored wildlife benefit.

From across the room, she spies a seduc­tive sparkle in his booze-addled eyes, despite the fact that he seems to make a habit of humil­i­at­ing him­self in pub­lic. But for this hir­sute goon, she will turn the oth­er cheek and nuz­zle him to her gov­ern­men­tal breast, where the prospect of him being able to rekin­dle his teenage sex­u­al yearn­ings is not actu­al­ly a long shot at all – she is very much warm for his form.

The ques­tion, then, is whether the suc­cess­ful, prin­ci­pled woman will decide to nur­ture her romance with this shell-suit­ed man-boy at the expense of her pro­fes­sion­al future, or sack him off at the first sign of suc­cess. We are told that, in the fick­le world of pol­i­tics, no-one will accept a beard­ed Jew­ish man in high office He joins her on an exten­sive world tour to fun­ny-up her speech­es, and learns that his stren­u­ous polit­i­cal intractabil­i­ty will nev­er get things done – and if Char­lotte was not employ­ing some roman­tic flex­i­bil­i­ty of her own, he would be on the scrap heap dou­ble time.

In the spir­it of the mile-a-minute life of a mul­ti-task­ing politi­co, Long Shot takes on more than it can han­dle with any real depth. Super­fi­cial is the word, espe­cial­ly its shock­ing­ly slap­dash depic­tion of a polit­i­cal world which encom­pass­es about six peo­ple. It feels like a film based on a few half-remem­bered episodes of The West Wing rather than the grim­mer-than-grim real­i­ty we see day in, day out. It starts to get inter­est­ing when it arrives at the idea of embrac­ing polit­i­cal com­pro­mise and seek­ing a shared mid­dle ground, even in these hyper par­ti­san times, but ends up scream­ing it at the camera.

We put­ter into the final act and pray this doesn’t descend into an inevitable will she/won’t she snap deci­sion that ends up with some kind of city-wide chase sequence, espe­cial­ly as this film also pro­fess­es to about remain­ing prin­ci­pled in the face of malev­o­lent cor­po­rate inter­ests. But Long Shot, sad­ly, refus­es to prac­tice what it preach­es. In the final scene, Pret­ty Woman can be seen in the back­ground, laugh­ing victoriously.

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