Titles are becoming instantly forgettable. About Time anyone? Now we have Enough Said. What’s that supposed to mean?
If it is memorable, and that’s debatable, James Galdolfini takes the call.
He died shortly after making the film which was tragic on every level. Remembered universally as Tony Soprano, he was an exceptional character actor, as demonstrated here.
Albert is retired, divorced, with a teenage daughter about to leave the nest, living in LA. He admits to being a foodie and a slob, which is far from the truth, more like a control-freaked scruff with a penchant for pasta.
He makes friends, later love, with his masseuse (Julie Louis-Dreyfus), also divorced with a teenage daughter about to go to college. The repartee is good and, despite shape differentials – he’s a whale, she’s a sparrow – so is the sex.
Just when you think you are sinking into a morass of warm sit-com, with the bits and pieces of failed marriages hanging like wire off their egos, something happens that flicks the switch to hot – or rather not.
One of Eva’s clients is a poetess (Catherine Keener) who happens to be Albert’s ex. Naturally Eva pumps her for info on Big A without divulging her romantic involvement.
Morally dubious, you might think, and you would be right.
The film is dependent upon the script and the performances which cannot be faulted. The problem lies in that line from their pillow talk: “Our middleagedness is kinda comforting and sexy.”
Enough said.