of stand-alone vignettes -- has its share of slow moments. But when it works, it
works, and it definitely reaches its apex in a segment called "Cousins" in which
Cate Blanchett plays a thinly veiled version of herself as well as a somewhat
disgruntled cousin who never quite made it in life.
The scene is a marvel on several accounts. It allows one of the best actresses
working today to play two distinct characters opposite herself with alternating
shades of polite disdain and uncouth honesty. (Imagine if more performers acted
in scenes like this; who wouldn't want to see two Julianne Moores debating social
mores of the 1950s or a pair of Nicole Kidmans weighing the merits of foreign
policy? The possibilities are endless!)
But because the subject the women discuss is celebrity -- the advantages it
affords, the strains that come with it -- the execution is both personal and
illuminating. Is this Ms. Blanchett working out her demons onscreen? Is there
a certain shame modern performers experience that "normal people" can never
know? How much of what we see in the film is based on the actress' own truth?
Though one-scene performances -- especially in films divided into chapters -- are
almost as hard to earn nominations for as voiceover work, Blanchett's turn in
"Coffee & Cigarettes" meets the criteria for a stunning supporting gig that adds
to the brainy richness of the the pic as a whole. She shouldn't be overlooked.
