Funny Face movie review & film summary (2021)
Along the way, Saul rages out, and reveals the biggest targets of his insecurity: men like Miller, who are gutting the city and callously scooping out its heart because, like Mr. Krabs, they like money. This reading of Miller’s character is suggested and confirmed in a couple of scenes, including an interminable and enthusiastically icky three-minute sex scene where Miller’s character grimaces while three lingerie-clad women climb onto his lap and then stimulate each other with a mechanical sort of efficiency. It’s a ridiculous scene, partly because of its length, but also because of how deliberately unpleasant and emotionally flat Miller’s character is. He’s more of a sandwich board than a person, a blank slate that Sutton uses to repeat a well-worn strain of urban paranoia. Yuppies are still ruining our city, because they’re still selling luxe apartments to foreign investors (who don’t live here). "This city cares about money” Saul whines to Zama before punching at the Town Car’s dashboard; he’s talking about the Knicks and the Nets, but really, it’s all the same thing to Saul.
I believe that men like Miller’s developer exist, but I don’t believe that he does because he’s always fuming and declaiming, and passively waiting for others to accept him for what he obviously is. No wonder “Funny Face” concludes in a parking lot; there’s nowhere else to go since Sutton’s already painted us into this very literal corner. Miller’s character doesn’t have the capacity to change. He is who he’s introduced as: in an early scene, a group of unnamed yes-men toast Miller’s character, and thank him for making them “filthy rich.”
None of this is as interesting as Saul and Zama’s relationship. Saul clearly wants to understand Zama, but is also too self-absorbed to do anything but hang out with her, so she teaches him how to act just by being with him. I don’t think Sutton really knows who Meskienyar’s character is, either, though, and it shows in the scene where she tries to replace her niqab at a clothing store that specializes in Indian and South-East Asian dresses, like saris and abayas. “It’s OK, sweetie” the shop’s owner reassures Zama: “I’m from Staten Island.” I don’t know what that means, and I’ve lived in New York City for 34 years (though never in Staten Island). Still, I think I get the idea. I just wish that the rest of “Funny Face” were as immediately moving as it were vaguely relatable.
