God, I love dinner parties.
Janet hosts a dinner party for friends and colleagues to celebrate her promotion as minister for health for the political opposition. As wine flows and cocaine is snorted, secrets begin to come out, and one by one the characters assault the veil of propriety. The party could have gone much better.
To talk more about the plot is to ruin the fabulous experience of the film. Shot in gorgeous black and white, this 70-minute chamber piece feels often as though it were being performed on stage in front of you. We're intimately familiar with these characters, which makes their barbed zingers all the more potent.
As they descend to animalistic impulses -- mostly violent words but occasionally violent actions -- we are both horrified and ecstatic. Nothing is better then watching this fabulous cast sink their teeth into meaty material. Nothing is better than Patricia Clarkson consoling Kristin Scott Thomas with "I think you're having...a feeling." Nothing is better than Emily Mortimer weeping over Cherry Jones sleeping with Timothy Spall. Nothing is better than Bruno Ganz awkwardly petting people.
The one-liners are as funny as they are painful, and though we might be grateful we're not the punchline, I couldn't help but feel as the movie clipped along that we are nevertheless complicit in their cruelties. While this particular piece isn't as exhausting as Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, as colorful as God of Carnage, as culturally relevant as Beatriz at Dinner, it finds its niche quickly and efficiently. As delightful as it is repulsive, The Party works best when it's at its worst.
IMDb: The Party
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