My Blueberry Nights


More a gooseberry than a blueberry, Wong Kar-wai’s first US movie had critics queuing up to squelch its pretty, plot-light charms, bemoaning the saturated-colour sentimentality and banal bar-room chat. Take a second helping, however, seasoned with WK-w’s explanations of his creative processes, and it starts to look more like an atmospheric experiment that got lost in translation. Granted, Jude Law’s Mancunian mugging, as the smitten NY diner-owner waiting on Norah Jones’ naïve Lizzie to return from her road-trip, is no substitute for Tony Leung’s chain-smoking melancholy. But with its stolen kisses, wailing white-trash adulteresses and neon nights, it’s an unabashed mood piece.


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