Barney’s Version Dir. Richard J. Lewis

[Sony Pictures Classics; 2010]

Styles: drama, adaptation
Others: Elegy, The Best of Youth, Sideways

There are two reasons why novels by airport authors routinely receive film adaptations. The first, more obvious reason is popularity. In most non-academic circles, a novel by Dan Brown or Stieg Larsson is more well-known than one by Saul Bellow or August Strindberg. The second reason is style; airport novelists do not have the same ambition or depth as their more literary counterparts. This is why film adaptations of serious fiction, while sometimes successful, often don’t do the source material justice. Such is the case with Barney’s Version, which is based on the eponymous novel by Mordecai Richler. Director Richard J. Lewis and his cast lovingly bring the book to the big screen, but large sections of the film feel undeveloped. Like a student thumbing through CliffsNotes, the average viewer will walk away from Barney’s Version with only a half-baked understanding of the story’s impact.

With a whiskey firmly in hand, Barney Penofsky (Paul Giamatti) is a lovable drunk who relishes his curmudgeonly nature. We first encounter Barney late in life, where his greatest pleasure is to terrorize his third wife’s second husband. The story of his marriages, as well as a murder investigation in which he’s a suspect, are told in flashback. Barney first marries Clara (Rachelle Lefevre) while living in Rome. She’s a loose cannon whose pregnancy does not impede her smoking habit. After she dies tragically, Barney returns to his hometown of Montreal where his TV-producing career blossoms.

Later, Uncle Irv introduces Barney to his second wife (Minnie Driver), who is a real piece of work. A walking stereotype of a “JCP” (Jewish Canadian Princess, a term I just invented), the second wife spends her wedding day jabbering about the fashion of her guests. She’s so loathsome it’s hardly a surprise when Barney is thunderstruck by Miriam (Rosamund Pike). Here we learn Barney is a romantic to the core. He’s so delighted true love can happen in an instant that he doesn’t care he met Miriam on his wedding day.

At its best, Barney’s Version is a sloppy ode to a vivaciously-led life. The early scenes, particularly those with Barney’s best friend Boogie (Scott Speedman), contain an infectious tone of hedonistic joy. Speedman may not look like a typical Jew, yet his devilish smile and loose physicality help his performance stand out. Barney’s father (Dustin Hoffman, in a wonderfully comic performance) is another highlight. Brimming with pride, he and Barney share heartfelt father/son intimacy as they discuss life over glasses of single malt scotch. In fact, liquor is so ubiquitous in Barney’s Version that it almost becomes a character in the film. The second wedding reception, for example, shows us how grand, booze-soaked gestures define Barney’s life. Another important inebriated gesture occurs when Barney and Boogie are alone at a lake house. I won’t say what happens, except to note how drunken conversations often unearth the deepest wounds.

These two scenes contain enough observation/insight to grip audiences for a solid hour. Once Barney settles with Miriam, however, the energy deflates and never quite recovers. In a matter of minutes, screenwriter Michael Konyves hurdles through entire decades of Barney’s life. It wouldn’t be a problem if Konyves didn’t handle character development so lazily. Rosamund Pike convincingly ages as Miriam, but her character is so loving and patient I couldn’t accept her tolerance of Barney’s thoughtless behavior. An American expat (Bruce Greenwood) eventually befriends the couple, but he’s nothing more than a single-note mockery of an aging hippie. Through it all is Giamatti, who chews the scenery and imbues Barney with restrained mania. He shares a lot with Miles, Giamatti’s character from Sideways, so it’s no surprise he handles the role so well. As with Sideways, I haven’t read the original novel, but I’m certain Mordecai Richler, a Canadian literary heavyweight, elaborates on his world in richer detail than Lewis and Knoyves do. A voiceover, maybe even a soliloquy, might have added nuance. Absent a monologue, Barney’s life is gallingly incomplete.

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