Maria

The surprise of this glum biopic is at the end credits that show the real Maria Callas. And she's smiling! She's laughing! She's even...gasp...having fun!! Amazing, since, with the exception of a scene toward the end where she's playing cards with her butler and cook, you can get old waiting for a light moment from this misery fest. And when director Pablo Lorrain isn't drowning you in doom (the film should have been titled "Death In Paris") scenarist Steven Knight is showering you with pretension in dialogue that is excessively florid even by the standards of folks who make their living in opera.

So once again we have a biopic of a creative near genius without the creativity or the genius. Just endless self pity and self destruction. If it were not for the considerable acting talents of Ms. Jolie this thing would be utterly unwatchable. Well, that's not really true. Cinematographer Ed Lachman's beautiful evocation of the city of light makes it eminently watchable. And the music, of course, is heart breakingly lovely. But then Lorraine and Knight have to go and muck things up again with their relentless rain cloud of a movie. Give it a C plus.