Prime: a movie review

Here’s your primer: this movie, which was written and directed by Ben Younger, stars Uma Thurman, Meryl Streep and relative newcomer Bryan Greenberg. Prime is a dramedy about a young Jewish man who falls for older Rafi (Thurman). The premise of this farce is that Rafi’s therapist (Streep) is also young Jewish man’s mother. So, while Uma Thurman’s character spells out the fine points of a detailed menu of sexual entrees with her therapist’s son, Meryl’s character winces and pretends to take down notes. I hesitate to call this a twist, though, because it’s not all that clever and not really twist-y. That, and we already know from the trailers about this Freudian triangle.

The movie plays like a Woody Allen cover tune, minus the nebbish male lead. Oh, and minus the humour. Greenberg’s character drops jokes as wooden as the desk I’m writing this on, with no sense of comic timing. There’s subtle, and then there’s non-existent. Meryl Streep’s character grows on you, despite her fidgety twitching, but Uma is not much more than eye candy (quality candy, though she may be).

The title suggests a coming-of-age that doesn’t come. The doomed love story premise is played out with all the precision of a yo-yo. The dialogue isn’t bad but the multiple close-ups of David (Bryan)’s paint-stained hands become obvious, bordering on irritating. The ending isn’t your typical test-audience-pleaser, which is nice, but this band-aid does little to stop the bleeding well into the denouement. The face savers of the evening: the incredible soundtrack, the New York panorama and Uma Thurman’s smile. Oh Uma.

Two Bushes out of Five