Diane Keaton: who’s comedic delivery is akin to that of an empty pineapple juice carton
The Fifty Shades Of Grey hype, both book and film series, has absolutely passed. The ship has proverbially sailed across a sea of abhorrent literature and equally terrible helicopter crashes, and a film about a group of women who read the series for their book club is not just resurrecting a dead horse but seems like they are trying to bolt it back to life with an under-powered electric fence. Yet, unimaginably, and euphorically, The Book Club manages to boast some genuine and funny content.
The four leads come across strong and humorous, (except maybe Diane Keaton who’s comedic delivery is akin to that of an empty pineapple juice carton) and they seem as if they are genuinely having fun. The film carries such a light hearted tone that if they weren’t enjoying themselves it would become painfully obvious to anyone watching on, including 50 Shades Of Grey Fans.
The script certainly has its moments, and there are jokes that wildly miss (Diane, I’m looking at you) but on the whole it survives to pleasure and entertain on the most basic of levels. It was unlikely to fail with such a great cast, but Book Club’s subject matter definitely put that in doubt.
It was inevitable that the older generations would get involved with the female-only comedy hype and though its nothing particularly special, we should be happy it ended up as Book Club, and not some hideously cliched tale of oldies trying to be young again. At least it plays host to some sense of dignified originality.