Trite New Year’s Eve a Party to Forget
I’m trying to figure out what to say about New Year’s Eve but unfortunately nothing of value or import comes to mind. Granted, that’s kind of representative of the movie itself, nothing of value or of import, and thanks to that assessment I guess that’s probably why I can’t come up with anything to write.
Ashton Kutcher and Lea Michele in New Year's Eve © Warner Bros.
Not that director Garry Marshall’s follow up to Valentine’s Day is abomination. The film’s all-star cast acquits itself relatively decently, and unlike the filmmaker’s previous holiday-themed multi-story drama there’s nothing embarrassing about any of the storylines (Taylors Lautner and Swift thankfully are nowhere to be found). Heck, one narrative arc (concerning Halle Berry, portraying a hospital nurse caring for a deathly ill Robert De Niro) actually has some emotional heft to it, the surprise twist in regards to it delivered with a subtly believable flair I personally found borderline wonderful.
But the movie? The movie is a serious waste of time. Katherine Fugate’s (The Prince & Me) script is over the sitcom variety, completely superficial in every way and not treating any of its disparate characters with anything close to respect or care (Berry notwithstanding). Marshall directs with all the care and delicacy of a steamroller, the whole movie assembled with cookie-cutter precision that’s about as endearing as a slap to the face (which, coincidentally, this film happens to have more than its fare share of). It’s so lazy and paint-by-numbers watching was akin to taking a sleeping aid, and I’m sort of surprised I didn’t nod off halfway through it.
It feels kind of pointless to say what New Year’s Eve is about but seeing it’s the job I guess I should at least make an attempt. Basically we’re in New York City waiting for the ball to drop. Hilary Swank is in charge of doing just that, Chris ‘Ludacris’ Bridges is the police lieutenant in charge with helping her do it and Marshall regular Hector Elizondo shows up as an electrician called in to save the day. Meanwhile, Ashton Kutcher is stuck in an elevator with Lea Michele, Sarah Jessica Parker doesn’t want daughter Abigail Breslin to attend Times Square activities, Jessica Biel and Seth Meyers are in a race to have a baby before Sarah Paulson and Til Schweiger, Josh Duhamel is racing back to town in order to meet up with the mysterious woman he didn’t kiss a year prior, Zac Efron is attempting to complete spinster Michelle Pfieffer’s resolution list in order to grab a quartet of party tickets while Katherine Heigl is catering an exclusive industry party headlined by her former beau Jon Bon Jovi.
There’s more (including the appearances of even more name stars like Carla Gugino, Common, Alyssa Milano, Sofía Vergara, James Belushi, Cary Elwes, Larry Miller, Yeardly Smith, Penny Marshall, Cherry Jones, Amar’e Stoudemire and Matthew Broderick), and it is somewhat astonishing Marshall and Fugate are able to keep things to under two hours. But it’s so uninteresting and banal I don’t even care that I haven’t bothered to list any of the characters’ names and only bothered to identify them by the actors portraying them as to go any further than that is serious waste of time. The movie is pointless and forgettable, and by the time I left the theatre I could hardly remember a darn thing of merit in regards to it.
There’s not a lot more to say. I’m sure New Year’s Eve will show up on the Cable television rotation and plenty of viewers will tune in, and I’m equally as certain there are tons of people out there excited about catching the one-time director of Pretty Woman and The Flamingo Kid’s latest in a theatre. I just can’t imagine any of them are going to be all that thrilled after it’s over, the final holiday-themed affair hardly a celebration worthy of confetti, kissing or any sort of exclamation, positive or negative, whatsoever.
Film Rating: ê1/2 (out of 4)
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