The magic of Midnight in Paris really begins the moment we see Owen Wilson’s face twist in confusion after Zelda introduces him to her husband, Scott Fitzgerald. The zaniness just escalates as his character meets Hemingway and other notable authors of the 1920s.
After that, the film just feels like Woody Allen Porn. It’s no coincidence that Owen Wilson looks and acts like a young, awkward, yet woefully pretentious Allen. Like many of his others, the set pieces scream LOOK, LOOK, WOODY ALLEN MADE THIS FILM and it gets old to the viewer very quickly.
I can excuse all of this and continue to enjoy Midnight in Paris. However, any filmmaker, even Woody Allen, knows that it’s better to SHOW rather than TELL. But t one point, Wilson’s character literally STATES THE ENTIRE THESIS OF THE FILM to another character.
I do not know why the public seems to adore this film. The heart of the film is the gimmick of seeing 1920s artists and writers in their natural element. At times it’s fun in a very novel (get it?) way, but Allen is preaching a very tired message that isn’t surprising or thought provoking. But in case you don’t understand what he’s trying to say, just wait. Again, Owen Wilson’s character will spell it out for you in the final act.