A Love Song For Bobby Long
Like New Orleans chicken and jambalaya, A Love Song For Bobby Long is deep fried and slow cooked, but not nearly as tasty. This quaint little slice of life drama about three castaways awash in misery and booze feels like Fried Green Tomatoes cooked in unsaturated fat and featuring an overripe performance by John Travolta as the drawling, drunk professor who fashions himself as a modern day Tennessee Williams.
Imagine writer-director Shainee Gabel being told John Travolta wants to star in her first film, only to learn Travolta is the worst thing about the film. Ouch. No matter how much powder they dust in his tightly cropped hair, or how many extra pounds he carries around, it’s impossible to get past Travolta’s star turn. Every look, every emotion, every word that comes out of his mouth took me out of the story.
I like Travolta. He’s just miscast, and it’s obvious every time he engages the cast. It’s difficult, painful at times to see the amazing Scarlett Johansson and the durable Gabriel Macht try and dodge Travolta’s wake. It feels like he’s in a different movie, wandering off into a make believe world that accommodates his vision. More often than not that leaves the rest of the cast engaged in one-sided discussions, which rob them of any emotional weight.
A Love Song For Bobby Long might have worked better as a theatrical play, where audiences expect characters to sit around and talk for two hours. At least in most plays the characters have something to say. Gabel’s screenplay is extremely traditional to the point of being obvious. There’s very little mystery or surprise in the chain of events that bind the characters, especially the big revelation that is more surprising to the characters than the audience. We pretty much know going in where A Love Song for Bobby Long is headed, and unfortunately the writer-director never disappoints.
After the death of her estranged mother, 18-year-old Purslane Hominy Will (Johansson) returns to her New Orleans home only to learn she has to share it with two men: Bobby Long (Travolta), a fifty-something former professor who crawled into a bottle following a personal tragedy and never left; and Lawson Pines (Macht), Long’s former assistant turned protege, another damaged soul hiding out in New Orleans and at the bottom of a bottle.
Purslane isn’t thrilled with the prospect of sharing her former childhood home with two strangers, but through necessity finds herself becoming part of their extended family. Not much happens as Purslane looks for ways to better her life, hopefully inspiring her emotionally scarred roommates.
At least Purslane is old enough to know better. She sees the damage in her life and wants to repair it. The men in her life, including the deadbeat boyfriend she left behind in Florida, are content to wallow in their self pity. Johansson is the film’s beacon, a bright light that shines through the murky trappings of the screenplay.
Bobby Long is quite a character, but Travolta never allows him to exist in the same frame. We get to hear all of these great things and stories about the man, but every time Travolta attempts to bring those moments to life, all we see is Travolta. Macht, on the other hand, perfectly personifies a jaded young man who knows that the emperor has no clothes, but admitting it would expose him as well. The interaction between Johansson and Macht is powerful and sincere, just a taste of what could have been.
Behind the camera, Gabel makes equally vanilla choices. She plays it safe, allowing Travolta to kidnap rather than command the scene. Gabel gets the pace right, the film flows like fresh honey, but with no sentimental investment, it becomes tiresome.
Look Who’s Squawking
Travolta Cramps Bobby Long’s Style
A LOVE SONG FOR BOBBY LONG
John Travolta, Scarlett Johansson, Gabriel Macht, Deborah Kara Unger. Directed by Shainee Gabel. Rated R. 119 Minutes.
LARSEN RATING: $4.00
