Slice of life

Julia Roberts suffers in style in glossy

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Who is the real star of “Eat Pray Love,” adapted fromElizabeth Gilbert’s spectacularly successful memoir about finding yourselfthrough the magic of Italian cuisine, Indian gurus and the wisdom of Balinesemedicine men? Is it Julia Roberts, who is in every scene of the film? Or is itSusan Spungen, the food stylist par excellence, who has created the movie’sjaw-droppingly perfect portraits of pasta?

True, Roberts is radiant throughout — even when Liz is inthe throes of a crushing identity crisis or a bitter divorce, Roberts alwaysfinds opportunities to unleash her stunning smile — but even her milk-chocolateeyes and shimmering saffron hair get some determined competition from theItalian dishes Spungen has cooked up. Sizable stretches of “Eat” are devoted toscandalous close-ups of spaghetti, provocatively arranged prosciutto slices andmagnificent platters of fried artichokes that might have inspired Shakespeareansonnets. When Liz drizzles olive oil over stalks of asparagus, the image hasthe erotic charge of Marlon Brando’s trick with the butter in “Last Tango inParis.”

Soon after arriving in Italy, a lonely Liz makes a date witha plate of spaghetti pomodoro. When Roberts plunges her fork into themeticulously arranged strands, sending that gorgeous dusting of Parmesan cheeseflying and that sumptuous vermilion sauce splattering, it’s as terrifying asJohn Travolta jabbing that syringe into Uma Thurman’s heart in “Pulp Fiction”:You can’t imagine someone committing such violence against something so exquisite.

Spungen was also responsible for thedamn-the-calories-full-speed-ahead French meals showcased in last summer’stummy tantalizer “Julie & Julia,” but “Eat Pray Love” makes that Gallicgala look like a documentary about Old Country Buffet.

Of course, eating is only one-third of Gilbert’s recipe forgetting back in touch with herself after walking out on a static marriage(Billy Crudup plays her monochromatic, aimless husband, who committed theunpardonable sin of playing Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration” at their weddingreception). There’s also a sojourn in an Indian ashram — the “Pray” portion ofour program — and an extended stay in Bali, where a bicycle-riding Liz isnearly killed by a distracted driver who, naturally, turns out to be Mr. Right.

Although Liz loses her marvelous Manhattan home and much ofher wealth in the wake of the divorce, she ends up gaining some of thoseelusive “things money can’t buy,” such as a clear conscience, a newappreciation of herself and — oh, yeah — a hunky, reckless Brazilian rich guywho shouldn’t be behind the wheel. (Interestingly, the movie neglects tomention that Liz’s year-long, continent-jumping vision quest was financed by ahefty advance from her publisher, who correctly sensed it had the makings of abest-seller.)

“Ruin is a gift,” Liz ruminates as she sits in thetumbledown splendor of Rome’s Augusteum. “Ruin is the road to transformation.”If ruin also means getting to consume large quantities of flabbergasting foodand sorting through your various heartaches in a Balinese cottage straight outof a Calvin Klein fragrance ad, to quote that noted soul-searcher George W.Bush, bring it on.

The movie puts a glossy coating on even the most mundane episodes, which makes it gorgeous to look at, even when it's slightly painful to listen to. Whatever its flaws, it does attempt to demonstrate there's more to life than exercising your credit cards, changing your hair and fretting about Botox; compared to such brainless, witless chick flickery as "Sex and the City 2," "Confessions of a Shopaholic" and "New in Town," this is practically "Atlas Shrugged."

That said, the "mangia episodes are more enjoyable than the meditationsequences, which detail Liz’s encounter with Richard From Texas (RichardJenkins), who nicknames her Groceries — no explanation necessary — and jeers ather half-hearted attempts to find inner peace.

“You wanna get to the castle, Groceries, you gotta swim themoat,” Richard barks. “Do you always talk in bumper sticker?” Liz cracks.

Yet only minutes later, she’s complaining, “It’s not that Ineed ‘easy’ right now, it’s just that I can’t take ‘so hard.’” So who’s fluentin bumper sticker?

If “Eat” serves up plenty of Oprahesque banalities alongwith its magnificent meals, at least screenwriter Jennifer Salt offers aspoonful of humor to help the medicine go down. When Liz brings copies of “WhoMoved My Cheese?” and “Crappy to Happy” to the check-out counter of abookstore, the clued-in clerk reminds her, “You know, we’ve got a whole divorcesection downstairs.” Felipe (Javier Bardem), the reckless motorist, tries topick up Liz in a bar by talking about his deep love of the music of PhilCollins and Air Supply. “You really shouldn’t say things like that out loud,” Lizadvises.

Director Ryan Murphy (whose scene-staging has improvedenormously since his ham-handed “Running with Scissors”) devotes many of thefilm’s 140 minutes to simply basking in the vibrant colors of New Delhi, theserenity of the Balinese coast and the rustic Roman streets. In addition toboosting business at Italian restaurants, this movie should also double thetraffic at Priceline and Travelocity.

It won’t do any damage to Roberts’ reputation, either. She’sthoroughly convincing and immensely likable as she flirts and feasts her wayaround the world. Twenty years after her breakthrough role in “Pretty Woman”and 10 years after her Oscar-winning turn in “Erin Brockovich,” Roberts remainsa certifiable screen presence, easily carrying this sprawling show on herdelicate shoulders.

While Bardem, Crudup and James Franco are fine as thevarious men in Liz’s busy love life, it’s Jenkins who gets the meatiestmaterial: Richard’s anguished monologue about the collapse of his family isshot in one lengthy take, and Jenkins turns it into an arresting moment thattemporarily pushes all the fabulous food porn and scenic spiritual safaris tothe sidelines.

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