Wicker Park

If they ever get around to making Mannequin into a trilogy (we can but hope) the casting directors need look no further than the leads of Wicker Park. Indeed, the central couple are so lacking in charisma or rudimentary signs of life, their plasticity had me wondering if the film was a follow-up to Todd Haynes’ Barbie doll epic Superstar.
This inferior remake of Euro-pudding smash L’Appartement sees bushy browed Boybot Hartnett (the new Ben Affleck, anyone?) chasing after his long lost lover Lisa (Kruger, in the role originally played by Monica Bellucci) only to find another, more enigmatic girl, also called Lisa (Byrne). But as the film’s intricate flashback structure reveals, all is not as it seems. There’s been quite a bit of stalking and skulking going on, though it’s initially unclear just who has been following whom.
The use of multiple perspectives and narrative sucker punches are certainly enough to make Wicker Park pleasant viewing, but those familiar with the first film will undoubtedly be dismayed to find that this tale of obsession has been dumbed way, way down. There’s no sense of burning wantonness and little sense of style. Where L’Appartement had Hitchcockian flair, Wicker Park just goes through the motions, mustering a few gratuitous post-MTV flickers and a couple of crass concessions toward its target demographic. In this spirit, the horrendous dumped girlfriend soundtrack boasts the drippiest songs ever recorded by Coldplay and The Stereophonics. This is not the sound of emotional turmoil. This is sonic wallpaper for BMWs.
Less a latter-day Vertigo than Cruel Intentions without the sauce, the real problem here, of course, is the casting. Hartnett moves so stiffly you wonder how the make-up department hid the bolts in his neck, while blonde lettuce leaf Diane Kruger somehow contrives to be less sexually prepossessing than she was for her last limp outing as Helen Of Troy. Heavens, if it wasn’t for the twinkly Dido-ish backing singers belting out some angelic ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ every time she twirls, Coppelia-like, onto the screen, I’m not sure you’d know she was the love interest.
Matthew Lillard as Hartnett’s best pal is thankfully less painful to watch. His Shaggy is perfectly pitched – all maniacal twitches and popping eyeballs. Shame no-one saw fit to tell him this wasn’t the set of Scooby Doo 3. Predictably, good old Rose Byrne comes to the rescue of all her colleagues, and her complex, touching performance is easily the best thing here.
Still, even with the suitably thorny Rose, Wicker Park falls someway short of being a clever, twisty meditation on the exquisite torments of unrequited desire. Somebody, please, show me the love…