Movies I'm Watching: Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Went to an early showing of Vicky Cristina Barcelona at the Rialto Cinema this morning. I felt in need of comedy. I wanted comedy. What I got was desperate, melancholic fantasy that was depressing because of its undercurrent of truth--despite the stereotypical characters (the naive American tourist in search of something, the latin lover, the tortured artist).

It was funny, actually, but it was funny mostly because it points out that we are so hopelessly burdened by desire that laughing and suicide seem the only sensible responses. Perhaps art is the more useful response open to a few gifted people? Sometimes it seems miraculous that anyone is happy. Is Buddhism the answer?

One odd thing was the narration. I had an aural hallucination. It was not Woody Allen's voice, but I kept hearing it in his voice, because it was, in fact, his voice. 

Vicky Cristina Barcelona was entertaining, but don't let anyone tell you it's a comedy.