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Tag: Billie Lourd

  • AHS: Delicate Succeeds Only in Trying to Ruin “Sooner or Later” by Madonna

    AHS: Delicate Succeeds Only in Trying to Ruin “Sooner or Later” by Madonna

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    Almost as though American Horror Story is actively trying to get worse with each new season, AHS: Delicate proves to be no exception to the rule. Which is really saying something considering how atrocious AHS: NYC (which should have been called AHS: AIDS) was. And the season before that, AHS: Double Feature. In fact, the last time American Horror Story showed much promise was with AHS: 1984, before it fizzled out by the finale. Indeed, that’s been AHS’ biggest issue for a while now: losing the plot about halfway in. Not, as some would think, casting Kim Kardashian in a lead role. Because, almost as though to hit the nail over the head with the Faustian pact motif, Kardashian’s involvement in the project has actually been the most praised thing about it. But then, it’s not as though Kim playing a soulless gay man trapped inside a woman’s body is out of her “range.” Nor is it to deliver such lines as, “This is where Harvey Weinstein ejaculated into a plant. Iconic.” Because if Kim is known for one thing more than being “famous for being famous,” it’s being a fame-mongering hanger-on who will cling to any form of celebrity like stink on shit. In truth, she’ll cling to literal shit, too (never forget her appearance at the opening of the Charmin Restrooms to “ceremoniously” unlock the doors to these public toilets in Times Square). 

    As such, playing a publicist is right on-brand for all the name dropping required of such an ass-licking profession. And oh, how Kim knows all about licking ass (especially Paris Hilton’s). As does her “character,” Siobhan Corbyn, a woman who, behind the pretense of being an obsequious ballbuster, is actually, well, practically the devil herself. Or at least one of the devil’s key minions/fangirls. For that is, at her core, what Kardashian truly is: a fangirl. That much has been emphasized with her oft-repeated story about being the Queen of Pop’s neighbor when she was a kid. For, yes, she grew up in a house in Beverly Hills that was supposedly “next door” to Madonna’s…even though Madonna would have either 1) been gone most of the time during that period or 2) been living in Malibu with then-husband Sean Penn, but whatever (as Kim said on a more detailed occasion, Madonna “at a time period in her life, moved in with her manager who happened to be our next door neighbor growing up.” Though one doesn’t hear too much about a “period” when M lived with Freddy DeMann, unless it was to hide out during fights with Sean).

    Kardashian also repeated this anecdote (the one that goes with talking about how M gave her and Kourtney all her “old” jewelry) while promoting the finale of AHS on Jimmy Kimmel Live!, adding in the proclamation that she was Madonna’s “dog walker,” even though there’s also little to be found about Madonna ever owning a dog in the 80s, save for a scoured-for mention of her giving Sean Penn a puppy (though there seems to be no photographic evidence anywhere of said puppy). Lawd knows whatever happened to that poor creature. Particularly if Kardashian really was tasked with walking it. 

    In any case, she’s sure to lead with her “Madonna tales” in lieu of talking to Kimmel about the show (perhaps because it’s so shameful and it’s better to keep the focus on “stories of celebrity”). At the same time, Madonna is actually a key aspect of the show—a “running thread,” if you will. Starting in the second episode, “Rockabye.” By this point, it’s already been established that one of Siobhan’s major clients (and her “best friend”), actress Anna Alcott (Emma Roberts), is supposedly “all in” for awards season, willing to work whatever red carpet she has to in order to secure the nomination for an Oscar. All at the vehement urging of Siobhan. Her enthusiasm for “the road to Oscar” prompts her to show up at Anna’s apartment and announce, “I have a connection at The Paper Bag Princess in West Hollywood” (a very specific mention, by the way). She then proceeds to open the box she brought with her and say, “Obviously, you’re welcome.” What she then takes out is a white gown that looks absolutely nothing like the one Madonna wore at the 1991 Oscars (apart, of course, from sharing the same color).

    And yet, Anna is quick to jump on what would be an obscure reference to any non-gay viewer by gasping, “It looks just like the dress Madonna wore at the 1991 Oscars.” Siobhan replies, “That’s weird. Except it isn’t—because this is that exact dress.” Anna screams in delight as Siobhan insists, “Literally put it on.” “Do I have to, like, pray or something before?” “No, just do not rip it.” This, clearly, is an allusion to Kim Kardashian’s own back(side)lash after donning Marilyn Monroe’s iconic Jean Louis gown from the night she sang “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” at a fundraiser/birthday celebration for JFK in 1962. 

    Upon seeing Anna don the frock, Siobhan insists that they go into her room so she can see herself in the full-length mirror. She then miraculously produces a matching white stole (to further insist that this is Madonna’s exact Oscars ensemble) and proceeds to sing the most cringeworthy rendition of “Sooner or Later” possible. Of course, this isn’t the first time Kardashian has “paid homage” to this particular night in Madonna’s storied history of momentous appearances/performances at awards ceremonies. She previously dressed as M from the 1991 Oscars for one of her Halloween costumes back in 2017, with Kourtney dressed in the same garb as Madonna’s date for that evening, Michael Jackson. So yes, it would seem Kim has a stronger affinity for this pop culture moment than most. And maybe showrunner/writer of all nine episodes, Halley Feiffer, was inspired to incorporate Madonna at the 1991 Oscars precisely because Kim once dressed as her (and wore a dress that looked far more similar than the incredibly plain bullshit Anna tries on). 

    As if referencing the dress in such a sacrilegious way wasn’t enough, Anna and Siobhan then manage to sing the first verse (“Sooner or later you’re gonna be mine/Sooner or later you’re gonna be fine/Baby, it’s time that you face it I alway get my man”) before the mirror rightfully cracks and shatters in response. A mirror that already advises, “Don’t Do It Anna.” Counsel that wasn’t taken in any way, shape or form—least of all with further denigrating Madonna’s 1991 Oscar night legacy by singing the Dick Tracy anthem (which did, by the way, win the Oscar for Best Original Song that night). 

    While one might think this would be enough to sate the apparent tarnishing quota on “Sooner or Later,” Feiffer doesn’t stop there, opting to bring back the song once more in the finale (which is perhaps supposed to come off as creepy and sinister in both contexts, but only reads as utterly embarrassing—both for those singing it and those with the misfortune of watching it). Titled “The Auteur” (in honor of the “indie” movie of the same name that has earned Anna her lusted-after Oscar), the shoddily slapped together conclusion consists of Anna magically being able to combat the true villain behind everything—surprise!—Siobhan. And it’s not even really magical, so much as a witchy chant that the ghost of Adeline (Annabelle Dexter-Jones) suddenly decides to inform Anna of by reciting it with her (“Salve, o puer, Ave Hestia/Vivant liberi domini nostri,” in case you ever need it for effortlessly vanquishing the literal mother of all demons). Not really sure why no one chanted it before in front of Siobhan if it was so effective for destroying her. 

    But before that little “incantation,” Siobhan takes Anna to a full-length mirror again, just as she did in “Rockabye,” and sings the same opening verse from before. Now, of course, the meaning has taken on a darker tone, and when Siobhan goes to fetch their “libations,” a resigned Anna decides to sing the second verse to herself in surrender: “Sooner or later you’re gonna have to decide/Sooner or later there’s nowhere to hide/Baby, it’s time so why waste it with [the correct word to the lyric is actually “in” not “with”] chatter?/Let’s settle the matter/Baby, you’re mine on a platter I always—” It’s at this moment that Adeline (to reiterate, her ghost) conveniently appears to rework the “Sooner or Later” “chant” into a more powerful (for this purpose) “spell.” One that translates to: Hail, o child/Hail Hestia/Long live the children of our Lord.”

    For Siobhan’s “coven” (let’s call them the [In]Delicates), that lord is Satan. For Adeline, it’s the “beneficent” goddess of the hearth and home (because this season does whatever it can to be heavy-handed with the mother angles and “metaphors”). A “white light” to fight against the dark, evidently. To that end, despite referencing the white light that is Madonna’s Bob Mackie Oscar dress from 1991, it was turned dark by AHS’ most ill-conceived (pregnancy pun intended) season yet. Which seems odd when taking into account that surely the source material, Delicate Condition by Danielle Valentine, provided a far better blueprint. One that promises to be “the feminist update to Rosemary’s Baby we all needed.” That AHS: Delicate is not. But it does succeed quite well in nearly ruining “Sooner or Later.”

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Billie Lourd Shares Emotional Tribute To Late Mom Carrie Fisher On Mother’s Day

    Billie Lourd Shares Emotional Tribute To Late Mom Carrie Fisher On Mother’s Day

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    By Sarah Curran.
    Published:
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    Billie Lourd is remembering her iconic mom, Carrie Fisher, on Mother’s Day.

    The “Scream Queens” star took to Instagram to share an emotional post on Sunday, May 14. 


    READ MORE:
    Carrie Fisher Gets Her Walk Of Fame Star On ‘May The 4th’

    “Even though I’ve been a mom for almost 3 years and now have 2 kids of my own, the first thing I think of when I hear happy Mother’s Day is her,” wrote the actress.

    “Even though it’s been over 6 years since she died, when I first wake up, this still feels like her day – not mine. But as the day goes on, I remember it is my day too now.”

    Lourd continued, “I am a mother to two magical little creatures that I adore to my core, and there is nothing that brings me more joy than being their mother. And even though she’s not here, it’s still her day. It’s our day now. And that is both sad and weirdly beautiful at the same time. With the magic of life comes the reality of grief. It is all intertwined. Mother’s Day can be many things.”


    READ MORE:
    Carrie Fisher’s Brother Todd Details Rift With Billie Lourd Before Walk Of Fame Ceremony Snub (Exclusive)

    She concluded, “So like I say every year. Happy Mother’s Day but also griefy / sad / lonely / estranged / frustrated / etc Mother’s Day! Mixed Emotions Mother’s Day!!! (Hallmark or whoever else makes cards out there – y’all should make that a card!!!) sending my love to anyone and everyone out there who needs it. You are not alone. ❤️”

    Fisher passed away in December 2016, just one day before her mother, Debbie Reynolds.

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    Sarah Curran

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  • Unclear Why It’s Called AHS: NYC and Not AHS: AIDS

    Unclear Why It’s Called AHS: NYC and Not AHS: AIDS

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    At a Pride performance called Finally Enough Love (in honor of the remix album of the same name) back in June, Madonna quipped, “One of the reasons New York is so great is that I’m pretty sure the first queer human evolved from this city. I think they came from the caves of Central Park West.” “Joke” aside, we all know that if queer people evolved from anywhere it was ancient Greece—but chalk it up to New York arrogance that Madonna would even try to present such a thing as a “jocular” theory. Anyway, the obvious point was, New York has long been a mecca for the LGBTQIA+ community—but more than that, a mecca for gay men. 

    This being the overt reason why Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk’s latest season of American Horror Story would opt to make NYC the backdrop of a dark time in gay male history. Or rather, one of those “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times” moments in history. For gay men did have quite the load of fun with their anonymous sex in those last days of disco. You know, before it all went to shit. Very macabre shit. AHS: NYC plays up that grisly era in the most heavy-handed of ways: by making AIDS the mysterious serial killer picking off scores of men throughout the city. 

    Of course, there’s a real killer in the mix as well, just to throw viewers off the scent and also stretch the season out to a full ten episodes. And perhaps Murphy is over-extending himself on the project front in that AHS: NYC arrived on the heels of his exploitative success, Dahmer. Which makes it feel as though Murphy currently has some tunnel vision about gay serial killing. And sure, AIDS might be deemed the personification of the most brutal gay serial killer of all—but that metaphor doesn’t translate very well in Murphy’s overwrought landscape.  

    In that same abovementioned performance from Madonna, she added, “If you can make it here, you must be queer.” It was precisely the opposite in 80s New York, when to be gay was a “quality” that all but assured the signing of one’s death warrant. Even so, just because the “horror story” (getting a bit more “poetic” this time around as the AHS juggernaut seems to be running out of “conventional” horrors to tackle) is about AIDS, doesn’t mean the season should be called “NYC.” Yes, New York does have a storied history of gay people—particularly gay men—flocking there to seek refuge from their narrow-minded family members, friends and hometowns. But to discount all the other major cities, especially San Francisco, where this disease ran rampant as a result of providing that sense of freedom to gays, is part and parcel of New York-style ego. Indeed, like New York, AHS: NYC is often bloated and overblown. 

    It starts, predictably enough, in 1981 (for all interesting and romanticized things that happened in New York were in the 80s). Opening on a pilot named Captain Ross rebuffing the advances of a flight attendant named Tawny as he claims to be married, flashing his ring as proof. Minutes later, the ring comes off as he prepares to go cruising along the West Side Piers, only to pay for his pleasure in a severed head. This establishes the initial threat as a sentient killer, whose wake of victims leads to the Brownstone Bar.  

    Unfortunately, Murphy and Falchuk were feeling experimental this season—and not in a good way (unless one counts use of Kraftwerk’s “Radioactivity”). Not sure what plot to follow, it appears that some of the decision-making was slapdash, including a particularly bad episode called, appropriately, “Bad Fortune.” In it, Sandra Bernhard gets to milk her needless role as Fran, hired by bath house singer/proprietor Kathy Pizzazz (Patti LuPone) to tell fortunes at another joint she owns. For key proof of the heavy-handedness described, look no further than this “narrative,” wherein Fran proceeds to draw the Death card over and over for every man she sees for a tarot reading. What’s more, even in what can be passed off as a “campy” part, Bernhard’s “acting skills” are little more pleasant than the sound of nails on a blackboard. 

    As the season tries to grow into its own leather-clad, lesion-pocked skin, viewers are hit over the head more frequently with the Big Daddy plotline—especially after the Mai Tai Killer is offed in episode seven, “The Sentinel.” And it is as Big Daddy is ramped up as a “grand metaphor” that one is reminded of Susan Sontag. For it is she who said in Illness As Metaphor, “My subject is not physical illness itself but the uses of illness as a figure or metaphor. My point is that illness is not a metaphor, and that the most truthful way of regarding illness—and the healthiest way of being ill—is one most purified of, most resistant to, metaphoric thinking.” 

    Published in 1978, it was almost as though she could intuit that “something was coming” (“Something Is Coming” being the title of AHS: NYC’s first episode). How much a disease like AIDS could be weaponized by conservative factions filled with Republicans and evangelical Christians. Wielding the disease to say, “We told you so! Fag life is a sin! And now it’s being punished by God Himself!” Now, it’s been weaponized by Murphy and Falchuk to probably buy more real estate.

    In AHS: NYC, it takes quite a while for “AIDS” to be identified by name, with Murphy’s love of revisionist history inexplicably offering a cluster of deer on Fire Island as a source of the new, highly dangerous contagion. Discovered by Dr. Hannah Wells (Billie Lourd), she notices an immediate correlation between what she’s been seeing in some of her gay patients and the deer that are rapidly dying off. So it is that she insists on killing the infected sect of the deer to prevent the spread of the disease. 

    Naturally, it’s already too late for such “preventive” measures. And while AIDS famously originated from chimpanzees, perhaps Murphy’s “creative decision” to make it appear as though Fire Island deer were the culprit is meant as an allegory for conservatives in power at the time trying to “control” the gay population (the way the deer population is being “controlled” through a sanctioned mass killing). All by allowing them to be exterminated by AIDS via doing absolutely nothing to help stop it. Maybe because, as some conspiracy theorists, like Fran, believe: the CIA unleashed the virus deliberately on LGBTQ communities. Still, that deer analogy could be giving too much credit to the show’s “layers.” And if Fire Island’s proximity to NYC is a chief reason for naming the season after a geographical location, then, really, it ought to have been AHS: Fire Island—but maybe it’s too soon since the release of Joel Kim Booster’s movie, Fire Island, for that. 

    At the same time as that ominous, leather-masked (and shirtless, to show off that musculature) presence referred to as Big Daddy (Matthew William Bishop) is terrorizing the city, so, too, is another man. This one dubbed the “Mai Tai Killer.” Those versed in their gay culture will recognize the similarities between this man’s modus operandi and the Last Call Killer that plagued 90s-era NYC. Needless to say, this isn’t the only form of pastiche Murphy and co. implement to “pay homage” (read: pass something off as their own) to the bad old gay days of yore. There are also allusions galore to William Friedkin’s Cruising (complete with using the same song on that soundtrack, Willy DeVille’s “Heat of the Moment”). A major progenitor of the gay male serial killer genre that’s cropped up as a means to illustrate the many-layered dangers that faced gay men just trying to get off through an anonymous hookup. Not to say straight women didn’t (and don’t) face similar risks (see also: Looking For Mr. Goodbar) in “the big city” as well. 

    Elsewhere on the Cruising emulation front, there is The Native journalist Gino Barelli (Joe Mantello), fervently reporting on the pileup of gay bodies as the Mai Tai Killer and/or Big Daddy (again, the manifestation of AIDS—that is, when the genre switches away from slasher/conspiracy and into melodrama) remain at large. Gino appears to be a clear foil for Arthur Bell, the journalist who wrote a number of articles about the unsolved murders of gay men, playing into the AHS: NYC theme of the NYPD not giving a goddamn about this “facet” of humanity. Of course, neither did the LAPD or the SFPD or any PD in America—begging the question, once more, why not just call it AHS: AIDS?

    Even with a closeted gay cop on the inside, Patrick Read (Russell Tovey), it does little to help the community. And it certainly doesn’t make Gino, who is Patrick’s live-in boyfriend, happy to know that Patrick is working for the enemy. As other gay men, including Adam Carpenter (Charlie Carver) and Theo Graves (Isaac Powell), become ensnared in the swirl of violence that has been intensifying throughout the summer, everyone has a different speculation about who or what is behind it all. Initially, Adam tries to shake down Theo (in more ways than one) for info about this elusive Big Daddy, since Theo once photographed him in the style of Robert Mapplethorpe. Per his sugar daddy Sam’s (Zachary Quinto) assuance, Theo insists that Big Daddy disappeared and/or died a while ago, indicating that perhaps he was “Patient Zero” in this little revisionist scenario.

    In the meantime, Mr. Whitely (Jeff Hiller) a.k.a. the Mai Tai Killer continues collecting his body parts to create a Frankenstein-esque human to display at the Pride parade. He calls it: the sentinel. A perfect representation of all the apathy toward gay men exhibited by institutions such as the NYPD and the government itself (namely, the Reagan administration). Just as Whitely is a representation of the self-hating gay that would do harm to his own kind. 

    The Mai Tai Killer plot is, however, but a red herring for the real killer. Effectively, AHS: NYC is about AIDS as the true murderer—which means the story could have taken place in any metropolis—London, Paris, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, Dallas. And, talking of that latter city, Dallas Buyers Club, despite its straight actors playing bi or trans, does a more humanizing and less exploitative job of addressing the subject of AIDS (with an especial emphasis on the extreme measures employed to attempt treating it in an era of no cure). With regard to AIDS in London, It’s A Sin is also more worthwhile than AHS: NYC. The existence of both alternate works are just a couple of many that convey how New York wasn’t the lone epicenter of AIDS. And titling a show that focuses primarily on AIDS as “NYC” is, again, a sign of pure ego. As though New York “owns” the “commodity” of gay history. It doesn’t. 

    Perhaps the reason the title (not to mention to the story itself) is so irksome is because there was much more potential in terms of what might be explored with such an all-encompassing term as “NYC”—and now, it feels as though an opportunity to unveil the manifold terrors of that city has been squandered. Leaving it up to Scream 6, one supposes, to pick up the slack. Even so, if the intent was to ensure that AIDS would be associated solely with NYC, therefore as the source of all pain and suffering, well, mission accomplished.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Ticket to Paradise Commingles Father of the Bride and Mamma Mia! Elements for Its Rom-Com Escapism

    Ticket to Paradise Commingles Father of the Bride and Mamma Mia! Elements for Its Rom-Com Escapism

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    Despite being a rather generic title, there have only been four previous films (documented in the database, at least) with the title of Ticket to Paradise. In 1936, it was a movie centered on that tried-and-true trope of the lead character getting amnesia. Except, rather than being a comedy, like, say, Desperately Seeking Susan, it was rendered a drama in the hands of Nathanael West (who Eve Babitz was right to talk shit about for making his money off California while simultaneously deriding it—which also smacks of Joan Didion, but anyway…). The second was a 1961 “romance” feature set against the backdrop of an Italian resort (fake, to be sure, and called “Palmos”). Then there was a 2008 documentary of the same name that tells the “touching, tragic and at times humorous tale of strong, decisive women who see themselves as entrepreneurs in a globalized world rather than victims of poverty and prostitution.” Following that, there was 2011’s Ticket to Paradise, with still another less than paradisiacal premise: “A teenage girl running away from her father’s sexual harassment meets a young rocker who has escaped to Havana with his misfit group of friends.”

    Which brings us, at last, to 2022’s Ticket to Paradise. At a time when the premise to such a title should present a plot even more deliberately and antithetically bleak than ever, Ol Parker’s addition to the pile is unabashedly “jubilant.” Or outright schmaltzy for those who do not have the stomach for rom-coms. And yet, there is no denying that, even after all these years, Julia Roberts remains the queen of the genre, proving yet again that she has the ever-dwindling-in-subsequent-generations “it” factor. That ability to shine and outshine any clunky dialogue or ingenue of a co-star. In this case, that would be Kaitlyn Dever, not George Clooney. Roberts, who turns fifty-five at the end of October, is also surprisingly age-appropriate for sixty-one-year-old Clooney, who usually favors larger age differences with his romantic counterparts, including his own real-life one, forty-four-year-old Amal Clooney.

    In any event, male writer-directors apparently still know what women want more than they do, as Parker and co-screenwriter Daniel Pipski take us on a journey with freshly-graduated Lily Cotton (Dever) and her best friend, Wren Butler (Billie Lourd)—who embodies the one-dimensional cliché that is the drunk hot mess to counteract Lily’s “good girl who studies hard” persona. So hard, in fact, that she’s already secured a job at a law firm in Chicago. Which just leaves one more summer of frivolity for her to sow her oats as she embarks upon a vacation with Wren to Bali. A place that Julia Roberts must secretly have in her boiler-plate contract as part of what will sell her on participating in a movie (see also: Eat Pray Love)—even if filming was actually done in Australia… close enough, to the untrained eye of the hoi polloi.

    But before that jaunt, we’re given a glimpse into the combative dynamic between Lily’s parents, David (Clooney) and Georgia (Roberts), who have been divorced for roughly twenty years. Having made it through only five years of marriage, they’ve done their best to sidestep each other without getting Lily caught in the crossfire—but, obviously, she does. Yet another reason to advocate for “harmonious co-parenting” (a term that sounds a lot like “conscious uncoupling”). Lest the venomous parents damage their precious spawn’s psyche. Which is a real shame as it’s theoretically and literally the only thing they have to show for their bitter years of marriage. In any case, after being left no choice but to sit next to each other at Lily’s graduation, it’s clear their so-called contempt for one another is just a new variation on that old Hepburn/Tracy theme: the “vicious” banter that ultimately unveils itself to be a product of love. For one can’t be that passionate about someone if there’s no love in the mix—hence, that old chestnut: there’s a fine line between love and hate.

    Something David and Georgia are about to be taught in a big way after foolishly believing they won’t have to see each other for a very long time a.k.a. until Lily’s next major life event. Which, yes, would technically be marriage. It’s just that neither parent imagined it to be happening so soon. But, little do they know, their fates are in the hands of the same man who brought us Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again. Which is why we must control our vomit reflexes when Lily and Wren are rescued by a handsome seaweed farmer named Gede (Maxime Bouttier), who just so happens to pass by their totally deserted part of the water after being abandoned by their tourist boat in the midst of taking a swim. Further suspension of disbelief is required when we see Lily having a proverbial “love at first sight” moment, laying it on real thick as she stares in a trance at Gede, who lifts her up first onto the boat. From that day and night onward (after quickly “consummating” things), Lily is struck with the epiphany that her whole life has been a lie, and that all the things she’s been pursuing—namely, being a lawyer—are merely by-products of wanting to please her parents. But no more, Gede has shown her the light (read: his dick), and she’s never going to go back into the darkness again. Of course, she could have simply just watched the “Don’t Be A Lawyer” song from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and learned the same lesson. The same goes for Annie Banks (Kimberly Williams) in the 1991 version of Father of the Bride, except with being an architect.

    Incidentally, that’s what David’s métier is in Ticket to Paradise, but the connection to Father of the Bride is far more pronounced than that mere nuance, with Parker’s movie also playing up the Father of the Bride-level disapproval and sabotage-by-subterfuge element. Except, unlike George Banks (Steve Martin), David has the overwhelming support of his (ex-)wife in the endeavor. A woman, who just like George, feels that Lily is making the worst mistake of her life. In fact, the very same mistake she made when she chose David over going to Los Angeles to work in an art gallery (which she presently does, owns one in her own name, as a matter of fact) after graduating from college.

    So yes, one might find that Ticket to Paradise is actually a better update to the Steve Martin edition of Father of the Bride than whatever that trash heap Andy Garcia was trying to peddle earlier this year (let’s just say that some erstwhile Ocean’s 11 cast members haven’t been faring as well as others). And, in many ways, Bryan (George Newbern) in Father of the Bride is the Gede of Ticket to Paradise, trying to level with George by admitting to him when they first meet, “You know, driving down here, I tried to put myself in your place. Your daughter comes home after spending four months in Rome, and I’m sure you couldn’t wait to see her, and she shocks you with the news that she’s getting married.” In response, George, just as David and Georgia, tries to present himself as cool, aloof and otherwise “totally fine” with the swift courting period and impending nuptials, but behind the scenes, he’s trying to dig up any dirt he can on Bryan and his family. The Cottons (specifically, Georgia) will, instead, decide to hide the rings necessary to perform a sacred and traditional ring ceremony before the actual wedding, thereby inciting major “bad omen” vibes. Even George Banks wouldn’t stoop that low.

    But honestly, that’s about the worst thing the Cottons try to attempt. Everything else is just foreplay between David and Georgia, who is technically spoken for by her younger boy toy, Paul (Lucas Bravo, seemingly omnipresent these days). And while dating a younger man is meant to make an “older” woman feel younger, it seems Georgia is having a crisis of faith about her age… and the looks associated with that age (at one point, she tells David, “Maybe I’m too old to feel young”). Especially after being told by one of Gede’s family members that she looks like a very beautiful horse (a compliment that feels as though it should have been reserved for Sarah Jessica Parker).

    Nonetheless, she still certainly gets the job done for David, who gives her “compliments” about how she’s still in her prime. And yet, even if she weren’t, Georgia has been given the benefit of forever being seen in his eyes as someone young, for that’s what she looked like when they first met—the moment a person gets frozen in time by their lover’s gaze. Unless, of course, you’re Fred Mertz glancing at Ethel.

    David’s long-standing devotion to Georgia comes through in small details (as it does for her—for instance, why has she never gone back to her maiden name?), like the fact that he’s been single for most of his post-Georgia life. Or when he tells Wren, who joins him late one night at the hotel bar (in a moment that might go a very different, far more perverse way if this were another type of movie), that his relationship ended for the same reason that all relationships do: “At first it felt unreal, and then it got real.” In other words, they didn’t work hard enough to bring back the “fantasy flair” of the honeymoon period now and again.

    Which is why being in Bali—a proverbial “fantasy land”—together starts to stoke the old flames. Particularly after they challenge Gede to a game of beer pong… using the strong moonshine-esque alcohol Gede says is a customary drink as a substitute for beer. Lily, meanwhile, finds it hard to watch her parents slip so easily and shamelessly into their past, acting like college kids once Wren instructs the DJ to put on something more “age-appropriate” (this, naturally, means C+C Music Factory’s “Gonna Make You Sweat [Everybody Dance Now]” and House of Pain’s “Jump Around”). As they dance and revel in their triumph over Gede, who is about to yak from having to drink so much, one thing especially marked about the scene is how it pits the true grit of older generations (this includes Gen X now) against dainty and hyper-sensitive Gen Z.

    And Lily turns out to be expectedly sensitive indeed when she invariably discovers the missing (read: stolen) rings in her mother’s bag (Roberts being no stranger to playing a wedding saboteur; see: My Best Friend’s Wedding). This occurs after they get marooned on a remote part of the island without Gede’s boat (which David didn’t tie securely, so it drifted away). Lily lets loose under the circumstances by accusing them of being just like every other parent, trying to correct their “mistakes” through her. After which she traipses off in a huff. To this point, Ticket to Paradise is very much a “parents’ movie,” with mothers and fathers alike surely prompted to blush over resonant lines about how a parent will so often do anything for their child except let them be themselves, make their own choices.

    So maybe, even more than Bali, it’s Lily that brings them back together (for Hollywood does so love an exes reuniting story). This is what we already know is bound to happen before even going into the movie. It’s what we expect. Like watching Dahmer, we already know how this is going to end. And yet, in contrast to something of Dahmer’s nature, it’s actually pleasant, frothy escapism rather than the dark form that’s been in fashion of late.

    With a movie poster that shows Roberts glancing lovingly up at Clooney as he looks into the distance perhaps “surrenderingly,” it’s clear there’s something to the idea that an idyllic location can bring out the best in people (except obscenely rich ones; see: White Lotus), and the love they have for one another—buried as it might have been for decades. And sure, some might brand that as “saccharine” or nothing more than “a very thin plot,” but Roberts and Clooney have certainly been in less worthwhile rom-coms before and still carried it off (for Roberts, America’s Sweethearts, and for Clooney, Intolerable Cruelty, centered on a similar premise [penned by the Coen brothers, among others] in terms of divorced exes “hating” each other).

    That’s the unique gift of their “breed,” their star caliber. Part of the last of Nouveau Golden Age Hollywood (the 90s) when it was far easier to sell an audience on whimsy and romance without trying to put a coat of “realness” on it (as a movie like Meet Cute recently attempted). For, in the present, the veil has been totally lifted on how unrealistic such portrayals are. Yet somehow, we still want to believe in the unapologetically straightforward rom-com that Roberts and Clooney remain capable of delivering.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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