Cold Souls

Paul Giamatti playing Paul Giamatti pondering the usefulness of his soul? If it sounds anything like Being John Malkovich, that’s because Charlie Kaufman’s influence is all over it. First time director/writer Sophie Barthes pulls off a metaphysical black comedy that aims to touch the soul but only makes it, occasionally, to the funny bone. The script is too solemn, the pace too dull. It’s as though Barthes was desperate to balance out the nuttiness of the film’s more light-hearted themes.

Giamatti excels as the forlorn actor identifying too closely with his Chekhov character and later as a hollow entity trying out the souls of others. But the team of icy Russians trafficking human souls not only fit all the stereotypes, there are moments you feel you’re meant to be watching a weepy about the plight of exploited drug mules.

The concept of soul storage works on many levels but its absurdity is both a blessing and curse. On one hand it takes the edge off the intellectual pursuit of ‘self’, particularly when Giamatti discovers his soul is a mere chickpea. On the other, you’ve got to hang in there to unveil the film’s many subtle truths, the Descartes references, the parodies of soul-searching such as the actor’s refusal to ‘look inside’ by donning a pair of goggles. Strangely for a comedy, when the actor borrows the souls of others, his persona only gets more melancholy. Then all you’re left with is a cold soul.

By Rebecca Barry, Flicks.co.nz