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BY PETER KEOUGH
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What’s it all about, Alfie? It’s about a hundred minutes of the most hackneyed voiceover narration in film history, non-stop and infuriating, mostly addressed, with a cockney wink and an elbow in the ribs, to the camera. Shut up, Alfie (Jude Law); I can’t remember Michael Caine in the original being so longwinded and full of shit. Be that as it may, director Charles Shyer has taken the 1966 tale of the sad little London hedonist and set him adrift as a skirt-chasing chauffeur in modern-day Manhattan. Alfie’s banal Hefner-esque philosophy has not aged as well as, say, Susan Sarandon; she plays a sly, aging, wealthy sexpot who, you suspect, will be more than a match for this would-be lothario. Among those taken in by Alfie’s charms are Marisa Tomei as his single-mom "steady" (watch out for the drift into About a Boy here, though Law’s wordless scene with her near the end is a reminder of his talent), Omar Epps as his best friend, and Nia Long as his best friend’s best girl (you can guess the rest). Shyer clumsily tries to jazz up this trite picaresque with such flashy ’60s touches as split-screens and a score by Mick Jagger and Dave Stewart; the latter is actually quite good. Me, I prefer Austin Powers. At the Apple Valley, Entertainment, Flagship, Opera House, Providence Place 16, Showcase, and Tri-Boro cinemas. (103 minutes)
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