A boy becomes a man in Marc Webb’s newest dramedy, ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’. Thomas Webb (Callum Turner), the son of a publisher and his artistic wife, has just graduated from college and is trying to find his place in the world. Moving from his parents’ Upper West Side apartment to the Lower East Side, he befriends his neighbor W.F. (Jeff Bridges), a shambling alcoholic writer who dispenses worldly wisdom alongside healthy shots of whiskey. Thomas’ world begins to shift when he discovers that his long-married father (Pierce Brosnan) is having an affair with a seductive younger woman (Kate Beckinsale). Determined to break up the relationship, Thomas ends up sleeping with his father’s mistress, launching a chain of events that will change everything he thinks he knows about himself and his family alike. ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’ is rated R for adult language and some drug use.
Ever since the dawn of Woody Allen and his library of films, the world has ushered out more than A few of his disciples whom you can clearly taste the Allen influence in their respective pictures. Marc Webb is one of those mentioned, and the taste of pretentious filmmaking reeks in his latest movie ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’. That’s not to say that this is A terrible film, it’s just terribly bland. Once you have watched the trailer for this film, you can take pleasure in knowing that you have witnessed the entire first hour of this rushed 83 minute production. To say that we’ve seen this kind of film before is quite the understatement, so what makes it noteworthy in the slightest? The New York Backdrop (Cough Cough Allen)? The soft and unsubtle lighting textures that make every shot feel like a painting (Allen)? or maybe it’s the snobby cast of characters who complain about A life that most would wish for (You know what? You get the picture). I felt like I have already seen this film up until A last second swerve that is far too late in hitting us hard with the big life lesson. Was I shocked? more so noticed, as it’s the first point in the film that I began investing myself in, but it doesn’t fix what’s been broken through this vapid script of insincerity.
This film early on takes a popular cliche by instilling some narration by Jeff Bridges character in the movie, but it feels completely unnecessary with the creative direction of the film, albeit except for one stance in logic; exposition. Because this film is so brief in its runtime, it doesn’t have time to bring along these characters and their respective backstories, so Bridges is tasked with filling in the blanks to outline the proper traits in these characters that do sometimes run together because of their limited expressions. Then the film decides to just drop it forty minutes in. There is no longer anymore narration by Bridges, and suddenly it feels like we’re on our own, and my honest fear of sloppy exposition seems to have been affirmed by the film’s lack of attention in keeping up with its own rules. If there’s one positive that I had, it was in the relationship between Bridges and Turner’s characters, serving as the film’s blackboard for emotional pulse. The film feels the most light hearted during these scenes, mainly because it isn’t trying to take itself too seriously, and just enjoying those quiet moments in life when clarity is necessary.
As I mentioned before, the pacing does feel incredibly rushed, and this limits the potential in clearing these hurdles in continuity and progression that far outruns our waning interest. From the romantic triangle perspective, too much happens far too quickly during the early scenes of the second act, and it often felt like the film was hinting at where it was going long before we had the possibility to accurately depict it. I’m not saying this movie is the most unpredictable offering in the world, but showing your cards far too early will shatter the boundaries of immersion that anyone will have in this project, leaving it void of any suspense. There is never enough tension being built with Brosnan’s character that he will either find out about Turner and Beckinsale, or that he himself will be caught having this seedy affair. Those elements could’ve done wonders in establishing the proper attitude for this film, which often feels unattended by the proper creative direction. I could swear that this film was A comedy, but I’m still completely unsure.
The performances aren’t too bad considering what little this extremely talented cast is given to work with. I do believe that this is my first engagement of Turner’s work, and I have to say that he wins the award for best James Franco impersonation. As Thomas, Turner can sometimes come across an sniveling and callow, making for the wrong guy to want to spend an entire feature with. His character lacks anything that makes him come across as engaging, and I would’ve much rather spent time with the adults in the movie who properly keep the flow of these conversations going. To that degree, Bridges is definitely the best here. Besides being the pulse in narration for the movie, Jeff can make A line of dialogue delightful by simply emoting that rugged sarcasm that has earned him universal praise. Pierce Brosnan isn’t too bad, but lacks enough proper screen time, and Kate Beckinsale is virtually playing every character that she has for the past three years. It’s got less to do with her talents, and more to do with the writers she is working with who time-and-time again write her unflatteringly against type.
With the choices for cinematography and artistic expression, the film does yield some exceptionally elegant lighting, giving way to the Allen environment that Webb articulately demonstrates. Some of the wide angle interior shots in this film are so gorgeous that they belong on a rich person’s wall, so they can show off their rich people to everyone else. See the problem here? New York is also very prevalent in the film, but there’s never enough gorgeous establishing shots to ever make it too A character who is present and talks back against all of the bad that is being said about it by these people. Anytime you have A setting as big as this, you MUST embrace it to relay the kind of heartbeat in culture that many of us have only heard about and never seen. Everything else is quite conventional, and that’s kind of A disappointment because Webb’s sleek style usually plays A prominent role in his visual breath-stealers like ‘500 Days of Summer’ and ‘Gifted’. There’s not enough on the experimental side to ever make this one his own, and it serves as A reminder all around of A project that is entirely forgettable.
THE VERDICT – ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’ is A bit of A boring one. There’s A word used often in the film that is “Serviceable”, and that concept would be giving this one far too much credit. Webb’s latest lacks the kind of patience in precision storytelling or insightful characters to ever make this must-see entertainment from someone we’ve come to know as A modern day master. The visual specter tingles in patches, but the art isn’t enough to save itself from A screenplay lacking any kind of hardened drama or edge. This boy isn’t living, he’s mumbling through A life that has already moved on from his constant moaning.
5/10