After the break-up of her marriage Elizabeth Gilbert decided to take a year out, travelling to Italy, India and Indonesia. Her year involved indulging in previously restricted carbs in Rome, a spiritual quest in Kolkata and romance in Bali. This reviewer hasn’t read the bestselling book- Eat, Pray, Love about the author’s journey of self-discovery, and thanks to Ryan Murphy’s (Glee) film version, probably never will. No amount of grinning Julia Roberts, Javier Bardem, James Franco and beautiful scenery is enough to sell this pseudo-spiritual, completely dull travel log.
The idea of middle-class malaise that this film examines is a reasonably common theme for indie films. But while it is dealt with using humour, bitter sarcasm and guilt by the likes of Baumbach, Anderson or Holefcener, in this mainstream incarnation it is painfully serious, but ultimately disingenuous.
Watching the film, there are moments when you think it’s not so bad- the scenery is spectacular, and the acting is passable, but then it ramps up the platitudes. Eat, Pray, Love is like one of those novelty books of ancient wisdoms, digested and regurgitated for Western readers that they stack up around counters at bookshops. Without context these sayings are empty words. This is the same with the film- we are taken to three vastly different countries and are fed vapid truisms with no exploration or attempt at real immersion. This isn’t a criticism of the real Elizabeth Gilbert and her journey, but of the film’s structure and script.
Eat, Pray, Love provides characters that are not only uninteresting, but are also uninterested. The filmmakers seem to think that Italy and India are cities as opposed to countries made up of vastly different landscapes and cultures and make very little effort to distinguish specific locality. It is also kind of ironic that Gilbert spends most of her time with people outside the cultures she visits, a Swede (Tuva Novotny) in Italy, a Texan man (an actor who deserves so much better, Richard Jenkins) in India, and a Brazilian man (Bardem) in Bali.
Self-discovery is by definition a form of self-absorption, and never has this been more obvious than witnessing Gilbert ‘finding herself’. Middle class dissatisfaction isn’t meant to be this earnest; this is a film unable to laugh at itself, desperately reaching for importance but falling flat. This film has the vocabulary of day-time TV psychologists- using terms like ‘healing yourself’ and ‘forgiving yourself’, which both lacks honesty and is quite off-putting. Give me real emotions of guilt, embarrassment and confusion any day over the forgettable trite this film exudes.
