I heard a Danish newspaper once published Princess Di cartoons, and British extremists went and burned down the Danish Embassy and boycotted Danish products. I think. Let me check and get back to you.
But the movie Diana, about Diana, is woeful. Just full of woe. For the audience. Possibly for the cast also. I mean, how Naveen Andrews (playing Diana’s one-time Pakistani surgeon boyfriend) managed to keep a straight face while reading some of his lines, I shall never know.
One does not perform an operation. It performs you.
Sure, casting an Australian (Naomi Watts) to play Diana meant the film never stood a chance. That’s like casting a Jew to play Bin Laden.
But the makers didn’t help themselves with steaming lines like the ‘operation’ one above. Or by casting Naomi and Naveen as the two lead lovebirds. Seriously, my parents have more chemistry than these two. Tom Hanks and the volleyball have more chemistry. Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard have more chemistry. I think you get the gist (hint: they have no chemistry).
At its best, this film is a two hour demonstration of my brother’s childhood tip for picking up chicks: treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen. If you want to pick up a divorced princess, just be the only person in the hospital who doesn’t give a damn. Then she’ll be paying you 3am booty calls at the office, having you over for Whopper burgers in the Palace and pretending to like your pretentious jazz by The Dwayne Johnson Quartet which, inexplicably, does not feature The Rock on jazz flute.
And at its worst, this film is full of woe. Dripping with it.
Now I’m sorry this review might seem harsh, but you know what they say. One does not write a harsh review. It writes you.