August 12, 1994 | Since the death of novelist John Cheever, hardly anyone has dealt with WASP angst as sympathetically and insightfully as writer-director Whit Stillman. And that, mind you, is only one of Stillman’s rare qualities as an artist. Another is his willingness to deal seriously with, and be seriously funny about, characters that most other contemporary filmmakers would subject to cruel mockery.
Stillman is defiantly unfashionable, almost subversive, in his insistence on giving even the most buttoned-down, white-bread squares a fair shake and a happy ending. On the other hand, he is equally insistent on revealing their worst fears, their most naive assumptions and their most fatuous self-delusions. Much like Eric Rohmer, the great French filmmaker who is in many ways his soul mate, Stillman lets his characters talk, talk and talk some more, long enough to talk themselves in and out of love, and resolutely enough to convince themselves of the most egregious follies.
Metropolitan (1990), Stillman’s debut effort, was a wise and witty ensemble comedy about young WASPs a-flutter during New York’s debutante season. At its frequent best, it recalled F. Scott Fitzgerald’s love-hate fascination with the rich who are so very different from you and me.
Barcelona, Stillman’s second film, is more reminiscent of Henry James’ sharply perceptive character portraits of Americans abroad. At the same time, though, there is a hint of classic screwball comedy about the entire enterprise. Stillman’s characters have a lot to say, and they do so at a brisk clip, with sharp humor. Try to imagine what director Howard Hawks (His Girl Friday, Bringing Up Baby ) might have done with a Henry James-inspired screenplay, and you will have some inkling of what to expect here.
Fetchingly photographed and exceptionally well-acted, Barcelona is the story of two American cousins: Ted (Taylor Nichols), an uptight executive for an American firm’s Spanish division, and Fred (Chris Eigeman), a sardonic Naval officer who serves as an ”advance man” for the Sixth Fleet.
During ”the last decade of the Cold War,” Fred shows up at Ted’s apartment, intent on staying as long, and borrowing as much money, as he
possibly can. Ted bristles at the intrusion. After a while, though, it becomes very clear that Ted, though he would never admit it, appreciates the company of someone so familiar — even someone so familiarly obnoxious — while living in a strange land at a very strange time.
In the mad rush of post-Franco tumult, young Spanish women are discarding all restraints of traditional morality, in discos and bedrooms alike. That’s the good news, sort of. (Ted, a closet prude and disco music devotee, is frankly unsettled by so much sexual liberation.) The bad news is, anti-Americanism is on the rise, near the boiling point. Fred, whose crass jingoism is no less amusing for being deeply felt, likes to thumb his nose at the lefties by wearing his naval uniform everywhere, and defending the United States to everyone he meets. ”I did not confirm their worst assumption,” he snaps when Ted complains about his behavior at a party. ”I am their worst assumption.”
Truth to tell, the most annoying anti-American Fred meets — Ramone (Pep Munné), a handsome journalist who just happens to be the ex-lover of Ted’s new love — deserves a good dressing down. Trouble is, the journalist assumes the worst about Ted and writes a front-page story based on those assumptions. At that point, Barcelona makes a bold shift in tone that only a director as accomplished as Stillman could pull off.
Before that happens — and, to a large degree, afterward — Barcelona places more emphasis on romantic entanglements than political ideologies. Much of the movie focuses on Ted’s on-again, off-again romance with the vibrant Montserrat (Tushka Bergen), a trade fair translator who’s leery of long-term commitment. By contrast, Fred has a much easier time of it — at first — during his dalliance with Marta (Mira Sorvino), a translator with a surprising method of supplementing her income.
The best moments in Barcelona have little to do with advancing its sketchy, anecdotal plot, and everything to do with undermining the self-assured facades that Ted and Fred work so hard at sustaining. Once again, Stillman – who earned an Oscar nomination for his Metropolitan screenplay — has provided his cast with reams of sharp, smart dialogue. Better still, he has found actors capable of delivering that dialogue with flawless comic timing, so that the film frequently has the flavor of straight-faced absurdity.
Just about everyone on screen is first-rate, but Nichols and Eigeman are even better. They are remarkably adept at revealing the essential
ridiculousness of their characters’ self-regarding attitudes without ever making Ted and Fred themselves appear ridiculous. Or unsympathetic. In short, they have perfect pitch when it comes to making the most of Stillman’s comic rhythms.
