This should have been called The Death of Talent. Where to begin? One-dimensional, clichéd characters; generic-to-the-core plot; junior high improv class dialogue; laughably lazy "dancing" and "singing"; zero magic, chemistry, or basic understanding of classic musicals and what made them work. That a film this trite and hollow is receiving praise is more proof that the world has gone completely mad.
A gorgeously crafted ode to the cinema of yesteryear, La La Land modernizes a genre mastered by the likes of Stanley Donen, Jacques Demy, and Vincente Minnelli. I'm impressed that Chazelle has created a truly beautiful and sensitive love story after his debut film, Whiplash, was one rooted in such machismo and lacking any sort of whimsy whatsoever. This film has charm to spare and its main stars are spellbinding.
The inevitable backlash is somewhat depressing: this is a supremely crafted piece of escapist fluff that absolutely fulfills its purpose, serves its audience and earns its ticket. There are so many giddy stylistic flourishes on display that I can't wait to see what Chazelle does next. Emma Stone is a genius, but it's Gosling's surprisingly note-perfect comic chops - if not his singing - that earn it that fifth star.
[minor spoiler] The balletic, soaring finale, submerged in deep aquatic hues, elevates La La Land from a polished but ersatz musical confection to something else entirely: a tender reverie to cinema and sacrifice, asking that most aching of questions - "what might have been?".
I am aware of the influences: Singin' in the Rain, An American in Paris, Astaire/Rogers, the New Orleans Jazz scene, the meta flourishes, the hipster muso sensibilities, memories of past love, and high-minded aspirations of romantic millennials. I get it. Stone and Gosling are a delightful pair, and Chazelle proved a commendable director with 'Whiplash', but it is far more self-congratulatory than genre-defining.
há um momento conseguido, perto do fim do filme, em que o Goshlingue já no seu clube vê a saloia e quase paralisa. Mas não é esse o momento, é a seguir, quando se senta ao piano e há uma pausa de alguns segundos, de vazio, silêncio (que tanta falta faz neste pseudo-musical, no lugar do fogo de artifício, ou só do artifício, porque fogo nem vê-lo), de tensão, em que pensamos que se calhar nem vai conseguir tocar, mas
La La Lame. Fists what it pitifully tried to pay homage to. 50.cal rounds worth of clichés. Emma Stone carries the whole movie by herself. Gosling is invisible and plain. Chazelle's a phony & pretentious wide-eyed "film lover" that "creates" a hollow, shallow, & meaningless film. A corpse has more spunk than this. Predictability fest. Nothing sadder than puke soup sold as sophisticated Vichyssoise. G'ahead, Oscar it∇
The musical numbers are great especially in the first hour and Gosling's weird characterization, reminiscent of DeNiro's work in NEW YORK NEW YORK, def kept my attention at first but I didn't feel the story covered new ground and just recycled characters from other musicals, although with excellent enthusiasm. Emma Stone gives it her all as well and that saddened me becasue she deserved a better movie to inhabit.