Andrew Pulver 

Metropolitan review – beautifully chiselled dialogue in self-aware tribute to deb party circuit

Whit Stillman’s directorial debut is so confident that you fully accept the hothouse world he describes, even if you can’t believe it exists in reality
  
  

Metropolitan.
Metropolitan. Photograph: New Line/Allstar

First released in 1990, Whit Stillman's preppie love story looked fairly odd at the time, as if F Scott Fitzgerald had been forcibly mated with Bret Easton Ellis. Sixteen years on, it looks even odder: a thoroughly arch and self-aware homage to a Wasp subculture that it's hard to believe ever existed. But such is Stillman's confidence as a film-maker that, from the first frame, you never doubt this hothouse world for a moment. (He made it work equally well in two subsequent films, Barcelona and The Last Days of Disco.)

Shades of the Algonquin Round Table are summoned up in the privileged chit-chat of the "Sally Fowler rat pack", college-age Manhattanites who are regular attenders of, and remarkably preoccupied with, the "urban haute bourgeoisie" party circuit. Sensitive deb Audrey (Carolyn Farina) falls for outsider-in-name-only Tom Townsend (Edward Clements) - he has to rent a tux, for goodness sake - and their slow progress towards romance is the main narrative event. But it's the beautifully chiselled dialogue - counterpointed by near-static camerawork and a nicely mannered acting style - that remains the chief attraction.

 

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