Imagine having access to millions of dollars, the villas and oceans of Naples, and your pick of gorgeous, complicated men to play Tom Ripley and Dickie Greenleaf. Now, imagine saying to yourself, "Nah!"
Instead of making interesting choices that complement the wealth of source material from the book, you decide to squander it all with a lack of common sense, taste, and cultural appreciation. You shoot in black and white! You cast actors in their 40s with the emotional range of rocks to play youthful sex Gods! You cast an oddly young man to play Freddie Miles to make your leads look even older and less interesting!
Every single choice - from Herbert Greenleaf's bizarrely working-class wardrobe to the badly dubbed opera singer's lipped-synced performance to the lack of color when shooting Picassos and Caravaggios or ocean views to the nearly as dull as Gwyneth Paltrow - is more dull and boring than the next.
Instead of making interesting choices that complement the wealth of source material from the book, you decide to squander it all with a lack of common sense, taste, and cultural appreciation. You shoot in black and white! You cast actors in their 40s with the emotional range of rocks to play youthful sex Gods! You cast an oddly young man to play Freddie Miles to make your leads look even older and less interesting!
Every single choice - from Herbert Greenleaf's bizarrely working-class wardrobe to the badly dubbed opera singer's lipped-synced performance to the lack of color when shooting Picassos and Caravaggios or ocean views to the nearly as dull as Gwyneth Paltrow - is more dull and boring than the next.
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