By Alan Scherstuhl
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Carolina Del Busto
By Amy Nicholson
By Simon Abrams
By Kevin Dilmore
By New Times
By Amy Nicholson
If there were a reason to remake this picture, maybe it would be to cast Sabrina as African American or Latino. That might have given the class issues in the script a tension that would have been almost unthinkable in the Fifties; it would have given us a reason to feel one way or another about what mischief these worthless blue bloods were up to.
But casting Ormond, that dreary little match-girl Brit, automatically dates the film. I'm not the biggest fan of Audrey Hepburn, but the sort of soulful charm that she brought to this sort of vehicle is simply not in the same galaxy as the glum Ormond's range.
Yet, as dull as Ormond is, she's much more animated than Ford. Ford has been good in his juvenile action roles, and he gave one brilliant, neglected performance, in The Mosquito Coast. But when he's called on to be a conventional leading man, as in Regarding Henry or those God-awful Tom Clancy films, he loses the Indiana Jones gleam in his eye and becomes stupefyingly slack-faced and morose, like he's been hit over the head with a board or had an accident in his pants or something. It's quite amazing how badly the scenes between Ford and Ormond play. This Sabrina feels overlong, but the film probably could be cut by a third by removing the dead air between the lines in these scenes. Harold Pinter never wrote pauses like this.
Kinnear actually comes off better than you'd expect--he's playing a good-looking, boyishly annoying guy, so he knows what he's doing. But when Greg Kinnear steals a movie, you know you've got trouble.--M. V. Moorhead
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