Sunday, September 16, 2012
All creative work in The Words is performed in gushes of inspiration. The manuscript at the center of the story is written at a furious pace by the Old Man after a tragedy, while Rory (who has completed but failed to publish two novels) is most active when he's copying someone else's words. There's no sense of the daily work and process of writing, not that being a novelist is an easy job to portray on film. Little moments feel false too; Hammond reads an enormous chunk of his book, flirts with Wilde over wine, and then goes back on stage for round two? I don't think so. There's some point to be made about the ownership of one's story, or about the way artists make their own truth, but it's either too subtly laid in or not followed through on and the movie never takes off. The Words shouldn't have made it out of a studio slush pile.