In A View to a Kill, Roger Moore’s 007 clambered up the Eiffel Tower’s creaking fretwork, firing bullets at a villain. In Funny Face, Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn swan about the iconic landmark’s upper decks, pestering the lunch crowd with song. And in The Lavender Hill Mob, Alec Guinness’s Henry Holland smuggled gold by melting it into miniature versions of the tower. In Under the Eiffel Tower, no such inventiveness blossoms. Instead, the film sees a schlub named Stuart (Matt Walsh), freshly fired from his job, using the tower as a prop in his midlife crisis. He bends the knee under its looming support struts and proposes to his best friend’s daughter—a girl 25 years his junior. It goes about as well as you would imagine.
The setup is hastily sketched: Stuart worked for a spirits company that specializes in bourbon and he was let go on account of his “lack of passion,” which has the ring of a diagnosis to it. And the prescription would appear to be an easy one: a wine-fueled trip through the French countryside. Before long, Stuart finds himself in the raffish company of Liam (Reid Scott), a professional footballer with a cast on his foot whose career is down to the lees. The two follow in the footsteps—or rather, shuffle in the shadows—of Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church, who ventured through Santa Barbara wine country in Sideways. Where Alexander Payne’s film focused on two men deracinated—not only geographically but in a spiritual sense, marooned on the island of middle age—Borders presents us with a pair that’s simply irritating.
Scott, a native New Yorker whose infectious invective steals scenes in Veep, unwisely attempts a Scottish accent that wanders well clear of the Highlands and, when he attempts French, leaves the solar system, sounding like Ensign Chekov of the USS Enterprise. Where Giamatti’s Miles from Sideways was nebbishy and neurotic, bumbling through a life marked by failure, Stuart is a dopey savant. He whips up sumptuous meals at a moment’s notice, summons speeches to fit any occasion, and happens to be a dab hand at painting.
All of which comes in handy for the wooing of local woman Louise, played by Judith Godrèche, who also co-wrote the film with David Henry and director Archie Borders. Louise works for a vineyard, assisting its ailing owner, Gerard (Gary Cole), who’s confined to a wheelchair. Louise and Stuart meet on a train, and though they wind up getting off at the same station, they never make a convincing connection. Stuart asks her, “What is it like to live in this kind of beauty, day to day?” To which Louise replies, “Well, sometimes it’s boring, and sometimes it’s not.” Given such dialogue, it’s no wonder that the sparks hardly fly between them.
It’s tough to root for the pair when neither of them experiences genuine hardship. In the end, all dramatic conflict here is sunny and soporific. “I’m really loving France, so I might just stick around here for a while,” says Stuart. It’s clear he doesn’t feel any financial strain, and he haggles his old job back fairly easily. He’s hardly unlucky in love, and Liam, who has less success, has no trouble thieving and lying to make up for it. At one point, Louise askes Stuart, “So France solves everything?” It’s a romantic notion, but what is there to solve?
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.