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Good Year, APicture the scene: powerhouse director Ridley Scott, fresh from finishing work on Matchstick Men, sits in a sun-dappled garden with Francophile novelist Peter Mayle, bestselling author of 'A Year In Provence'. A bottle of local wine is uncorked, conversation and creative juices start flowing. Scott mentions a newspaper article about French "garage" wines, boutique labels selling at over ??30,000 a case. "That would make a good novel," remarks Mayle. "You write the book, then I'll get the film rights," promises Scott.
That, according to the studio's publicity bumpf, was the origin of both Peter Mayle's 2004 novel 'A Good Year' and Scott's movie. It's a likeable romp that stars Russell Crowe as a bullish City of London financier who inherits a Proven?§al chateau and vineyard from his uncle Henry (played in all-too-infrequent flashbacks by Albert Finney). A self-confessed excuse for Scott to "come back to France to shoot a film," it's a fun feel-good comedy that is nothing more or less than a gentle, meandering break from the director's usual style.
Russell Crowe plays up his arrogant tabloid image as Maximilian, a stockbroker who believes "winning isn't the most important thing, it's the only thing". When his estranged uncle Henry dies and bequeaths him his chateau, Max hops across the Channel with every intention of selling the property for a quick profit. But the lure of Proven?§al wine, an encounter with local waitress Fanny (Marion Cotillard) and the arrival of a young American (Aussie Abbie Cornish) claiming to be Henry's illegitimate daughter force him to reconsider the deal. And his life.
Making no pretence about its breezy intentions, A Good Year plays like a Working Title comedy - bright, jolly and likely to appeal across the board. Part fish-out-of-water comedy, part coming of (middle) age movie, it pivots on Crowe's central performance, a remarkably quixotic turn from an actor more used to grandstanding. Saddled with a (deliberately?) dodgy English accent, a lime green SMART car and some comedy bumbling, Crowe gradually softens his hard man image, a crafty bit of rebranding that would seem shallow if it weren't so expertly played.
Of course, Max's eventual transformation from callous to caring is never in doubt, signposted by a wine metaphor that promises he will, given time, mature like a fine Bordeaux. Those looking for surprises should uncork something less self-satisfied and formulaic, but anyone in need of a full-bodied pick-me-up couldn't choose a better vintage.
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