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That's it, you will say. You've gone too far, you will say. I was happy to cheer you on as you put the boots to such obviously fame-bloated and played-out celebrities as Whoopi Goldberg and Sharon Stone, you will say. But not Christina Ricci. Not our pie-faced darling. Now you have gone too far, you will say.
And then, perhaps, you will click-through on your merry way to Mr. Showbiz. And you won't think about it again, except in nagging little bursts that bubble up to irritate you: "Christina Ricci!?! Those bastards went too far. Why, she's so...daring! Her choice of roles is so...daring! You know, she started out as a cherubic child-star! She didn't have to grow up and become so...daring!"
And you will be satisfied that you are right and we are wrong. We, who point out to you that, sure, there are some things to like and even admire about Christina Ricci. Her pie-shaped face. Her -- by Hollywoodian standards, anyway -- refreshingly Rubenesque figure. Her willingness to take on roles that could rightfully be listed in a separate section of her résumé headed "Assorted Skanks & Sluts." But who also point out that, even as her characters are said to have some troubling undertow rumbling beneath their happy, placid surfaces, Christina Ricci's near-unanimous coronation as indie-queen, circa the late 90s (witness the most recent cover of Rolling Stone), does itself have a kind of troubling-undertow feel about it. Take, for example, the not-much-spoken-about fact that Ricci increasingly seems to equate "acting" with "catatonia." It's an errant equation made by many indie film staples, perhaps brought on by seeing too many Hal Hartley films.
Or consider this quote that Ricci gave to Entertainment Weekly: "Acting's just something I can do without thinking....I learn my lines right before I do each scene....[Then] I go on autopilot." Then ask yourself: doesn't that sound about right? Isn't "autopilot" a pretty good word for Ricci's acting style, in movies like Pecker and (if you've seen it) Sleepy Hollow and 200 Cigarettes and even The Ice Storm? And then, ask yourself: in how many more movies can "flat and bland" be euphemistically explained away as "poignantly capturing the ennui of an empty and bankupt middle-class"? And exactly how long before someone says, "Okay, enough with flat and bland"?
No! you will say. She was so good in The Opposite of Sex, you will say. But will you stop to consider whether she was really that good, or whether it was just cool seeing the little girl from Mermaids running around smoking by the pool and talking dirty with a gay guy? Will you stop to compare Christina Ricci to a young actress like, say, Natalie Portman, and realize that even Natalie Portman's impersonation of a surfboard in The Phantom Menace -- which seemed so crappy compared to other work she's done -- was pretty much on par with most of Ricci's recent work? Will you stop to think that Ricci is uncannily similar to another actress who (a) rose to stardom in a spooky comedy, (b) was crowned Miss Great Actress of Tomorrow, and then (c) turned out to be kind of wooden? (For further information, see Ryder, Winona.)
No, you won't. You will defend Christina Ricci to your last breath, and we won't blame you, because, hey, she does seem cool, and she's not the worst actor in Hollywood, by a long shot, and it's nice to see someone with such "unconventional looks" doing so well. In fact, you are right. Forget we said anything.
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