A lovely day in Paris. (Aren’t the days always lovely in cinematic Paris? You’d think they never had winter. Unlike poor Moscow, where it’s always winter.)
Anyway … Elise (Angelina Jolie) is sitting at a table in a sidewalk cafe. She is looking gorgeous in that way that even makes straight women think about changing teams. In a nearby office, Scotland Yard Inspector John Acheson (Paul Bettany) and his team are watching Elise. A young bike messenger approaches Elise and gives her a message. Acheson orders his team to apprehend the unfortunate lad as soon as he delivers his message.
Why? Because they think he may be Alexander Pearce, Elise’s lover. Alexander is wanted because … I’m not entirely sure. He’s scammed the Russian mob out of money, but his primary crime, as far as Scotland Yard is concerned, appears to be tax evasion.
As the bike messenger is being manhandled by Scotland Yard, Elise merrily burns the note. No one at the cafe even bats an eye at her small arson. But Acheson orders his people to get the note. Elise walks blithely away from the table as a group of Scotland Yard operatives converge on her table, Keystone Kop-style, and try to save the note.
The note, it turns out, is from Alexander. In it, he tells her to board a train, find someone his height and build, and befriend them, giving Scotland Yard the impression that the hapless fellow is Alexander.
Enter Johnny Depp as said hapless fellow. Frank Tupelo (Depp), a widower and a math teacher, is on holiday in Europe. Here, sporting a shaggy hairdo that is somewhere between beatnik poet and Geico caveman, Depp is about as far removed from Jack Sparrow as he can get.
Elise sits in the seat before him, chats him up, gets him to ask her to dinner and generally fucks up his life. But she’s so gorgeous, he doesn’t seem to care. Much. The arrival of Russian mob hit men, in the suite that he and Elise share (chastely), is a bit disconcerting. As his subsequent arrest, and the deadly hijinks that follow.
But she’s exquisite and he’s in love.
The problem with The Tourist is that the combined wattage of Depp and Jolie’s star power bleaches away any sexual sparks. Like the New Mexico sun. (It’s also good for getting out nasty smells.)
There’s less chemistry between these two than in that disappointing My First Chemistry Set you got for Christmas as a child. (Baking soda? Salt? Screw that? Where were the dangerous chemicals?) The fault lies largely with Depp’s too-perfect performance of Joe Everyman. Jolie’s Elise is supposed to be aloof and elegant, which she does to perfection. But Frank is supposed to be her foil, average, but somehow something more, something that will charm even a woman who is so out of his league, they’re not even playing the same sport.
Depp, in the pursuit of ordinary, is bland and charmless. It’s like the director said, “Don’t be Johnny Depp.” Why you would pay a fortune for Johnny Depp and presumably his charisma, and then not use it is beyond me, but that’s what the creator’s of The Tourist have done.
Paul Bettany, as Inspector Acheson, feels miscast. Bettany, who has demonstrated considerable charm in movies like Master and Commander, seems to be struggling with the role of callous, “Whatever it takes to get the job done” Acheson. Timothy Dalton’s brief appearances as the Chief Inspector don’t add much besides a “Hey, it’s what-his-face, James Bond!” moment.
But it’s a pretty movie, like a coffee table book. I give it a D-minus.
