What an interested experience I had with this one.
For starters, when I signed on to screen Peace, Love & Misunderstanding, I had no idea what it was. I hadn’t seen a trailer, heard any buzz or read up at all about it on IMDB. And then somewhere along the line (Tim? I am most likely blaming you), someone said something about it being the new James Bond flick… and that stuck. No need to double check. This is why they pay me the big bucks.
So when no one that begged to attend with me agreed (or wanted, probably) to see the new spy flick, I settled into my crowded, smelly, gotta-love-it Landmark seat (next to the guy that took a break from his iPhone Draw Something Game to make sure I knew this seat was reserved for press–if you know me at all, you know the look he got for that) ready for action-packed abs at their finest.
Well, what a (pleasant) surprise to launch into a divorce conversation between Catherine Keener and her Sex and the City veteran Kyle MacLachlan. This is weird that she is in the new James Bond, I thought, eager now, to watch a new twist in staple casting.
But when the dark talk didn’t lead to unfinished Russian risky business that would justify a matrimony split, I questioned my film friend for why the heck anyone thought this had something to do with double-oh seven.
But moving forward, I was pumped to finally see something with the other Olsen sister and really coveted the way they got Jane Fonda’s hair to curl.
Basically, the story is of an ex-flower child, forced to revisit her Woodstock home and love-liberating mom to make her post-divorce decisions. At the same time, her children learn about love and life like they’ve never seen it, thought about it or ever thought they’d be forced to live it (think vegetarian falls in love with the butcher’s son). Keener’s character (somewhat flat, and slow to develop) takes a windy road toward forgiveness, self-acceptance and free(er) will. Yes, it’s a love story all around, illustrating all different types of love in all different types of ways. Semi-new comer Nat Wolff is the comedic relief, with a probing camera and a high libido. Grandma Fonda spits life and love lessons left and right, coming close to the point of being too obvious, but also adding a stab of sentimentality that really appears out of nowhere by the end of the film.
Get ready for moon howling, peace protests and a lot of great 70s chatter. I don’t think you’re actually missing anything to not see this. I can honestly say that it left no other impression on me other than, I wish they had let E. Olsen look a little cuter and I still can’t stop thinking about how pretty JFo’s wig was. I also can never take Jeffrey Dean Morgan seriously, because (as cute as he is), he is no one except Denny to me, and I really hated Denny towards the end there.
Bottom line – cute, sweet and perfectly inappropriate, but suited more for a rainy day Instant Netflix discovery, rather than the $10 ticket stub.