Review: Empty-headed 'Emily in Paris' fails to charm
There’s fizzy and there’s flat. “Emily in Paris” is flat fizz.
Understand, these are tough times and vacuous, fluff-headed, indulgent, fanciful entertainment has its place. But “Emily in Paris” is pretty far from entertaining.
The twiggy beauty Lily Collins plays Emily, a social marketing wiz from Chicago who suddenly finds herself assigned to a company in Paris. But she doesn’t speak French. The show thinks that is hilarious. Seriously.
Emily is immediately hated in her new office because she’s American (again, hilarious). Her chic new boss (Phillipine Leroy-Beaulie) undercuts her every which way, but spunky Emily always wins the day by posting something on Instagram or Twitter. The laughs just don’t stop.
At least there’s Paris. And Paris and Paris and Paris. The show is a series of idyllic travelogue shots — cobblestone streets, outdoor café after café, river walks and wondrous old buildings. And we learn about the French people: They’re rude. They’re romantic. They smoke. But mostly they’re rude.
They’re also stylish, but then so is Emily, who somehow managed to pack an apparently infinite number of oh-so-fashionable outfits and cutesie handbags in two suitcases.
If this all sounds somewhat glossily reminiscent of “Sex and the City,” that’s because the two shows share creator Darren Star. But the warm and goofy and topical camaraderie of that show is nowhere apparent here.
Nor are any laughs. There are no actual laugh lines here, just lines that let you know they were supposed to be funny. It is, in essence, a romantic picture postcard comedy show without any comedy (or much romance for that matter).
Again: Flat fizz.
Tom Long is a longtime contributor to The Detroit News.
'Emily in Paris'