This mini-series or whatever is atrocious. The writing is less than formulaic, for petit-bourgeois viewers. The bite of Coco Chanel, that austere, sublime woman with the cruel mouth, is nowhere, nowhere to be found. McLaine singes her. I wonder why she was chosen: someone who believes in reincarnation is an absurd choice to portray a woman who obviously thought this is it and that's all; McLaine's performance severely lacks the X-ray piercing gaze of Coco Chanel that showed everybody the astuteness of one incarnation.
Especially when on screen with McDowell, the results are ludicrous: poor McDowell seems painfully aware of the badness of the script and gives a lecherous, despaired emphasis on the badness of his lines, yet he knows and unfortunately shows he cannot escape vulgarity. So, let's grab the money and run!
The fact that she was a paid mistress, becomes a series of - oh! - so romantic affairs, suffering by inane lines ("You are the love of my life!" exemplifies how the writers wanted to avoid by all costs any kind of complexity); her touchy relationship with the Nazi regime in occupied WWII France - oooh!!!! that's touchy for our audience! So in the end you get a piece of sh*t, that is obviously destined to excite people that cannot afford a Chanel but will muse upon acquiring one, because it seems myths are exemplified this way in Lifetime States. The film does not even stand as this dim-witted defensive (since it cannot actually buy one) phrase I once witnessed on a bag: My other bag is Chanel. Chanel should sue for defamation, though it seems we live in times when you cannot sue the petit-bourgeois state of mind - when in fact this was what Chanel achieved in style! It made me even wonder if the clothes were real, which is bad. But even if they were copies, it was sure a blissful sight for sore eyes! Truly sublime, and the only thing of real and high worth in this crapola.
Especially when on screen with McDowell, the results are ludicrous: poor McDowell seems painfully aware of the badness of the script and gives a lecherous, despaired emphasis on the badness of his lines, yet he knows and unfortunately shows he cannot escape vulgarity. So, let's grab the money and run!
The fact that she was a paid mistress, becomes a series of - oh! - so romantic affairs, suffering by inane lines ("You are the love of my life!" exemplifies how the writers wanted to avoid by all costs any kind of complexity); her touchy relationship with the Nazi regime in occupied WWII France - oooh!!!! that's touchy for our audience! So in the end you get a piece of sh*t, that is obviously destined to excite people that cannot afford a Chanel but will muse upon acquiring one, because it seems myths are exemplified this way in Lifetime States. The film does not even stand as this dim-witted defensive (since it cannot actually buy one) phrase I once witnessed on a bag: My other bag is Chanel. Chanel should sue for defamation, though it seems we live in times when you cannot sue the petit-bourgeois state of mind - when in fact this was what Chanel achieved in style! It made me even wonder if the clothes were real, which is bad. But even if they were copies, it was sure a blissful sight for sore eyes! Truly sublime, and the only thing of real and high worth in this crapola.