‘A Good Year’ more Beaujolais than Bourdeaux
By Julie Brown-Micko

Is your life drab and boring? Do you suffer from a lack of funds? Does your wine cellar consist of jug, box and screwcap options? Well, take a two-hour trip down fantasy lane with Ridley Scott’s A Good Year. This rhapsodic tribute to Provence will satisfy your craving to both despise and redeem the lifestyles of the rich and richer.

The hero we love to hate is Max Skinner (Russell Crowe), a cutthroat London stockbroker who finds his delight in making millions of euros interrupted by the death of his Uncle Henry (Albert Finney). As a child, young Max (Freddie Highmore) was close to Henry, spending idyllic summers at his chateau in Provence. The irascible Henry liberally dispensed wisdom and watered down wine to his crafty nephew but eventually they grew distant. When Max inherits Henry’s estate, he’s eager to sell and make a tidy sum. But of course, the powerful tug of memory as well as the charms of the modern-day French countryside (and modern-day French women like café owner Fanny Chanel, played by Marion Cotillard) has a way of altering the bottom line. Slowly, surely, the languorous days and nights at the old chateau work their magic on Max.

If anyone can write a cinematic love letter to Provence it’s Scott, who’s lived in the region for years. Sun dappled vineyards, beautiful women, great food, and mysterious wines—even a Lamborghini Tractor for God’s sake!—What’s not to like? Pair that with some stellar performances by Russell Crowe (who can play an arrogant bastard with great aplomb) and Albert Finney and you’ve got a winning combination. The women in the movie can hold their own as well: Marion Cotillard proves a feisty match for the arrogant Max and Archie Panjabi is wickedly clever as Max’s “Girl Friday,” Gemma.

If the movie falters, it’s in its formulaic approach. Clearly even the coldest, greediest, most hard-hearted money-grubber alive couldn’t fail to soften in the gentle Provençal sunshine. The plot is as conventional as a Harlequin paperback romance. And Scott’s attempts at comedy feel as stiff and brittle as the old diving board that cracks under Max’s weight.

But in the end, there’s more to like than dislike in this light and lovely romp. A Good Year may celebrate robust red wines, but to me, this movie is more like a Beaujolais—an immature, fruity wine made to be enjoyed immediately, not stored, aged or overanalyzed. It ain’t Oscar material, but it sure is fun.