February 1, 2010 by Mdaah
I’m a big Kirsten Dunst fan. I’m going to use that as my excuse for why I made such a concerted (never mind belated) effort to see Wimbledon, a romantic comedy that rushed through its plot so fast there are actually two stories lost in its haste. The first is the romantic plot between Dunst and Bettany’s characters that strangely occurs when he walks into her hotel room by mistake. She is in the shower at this point, naked, alone, and here comes a stranger bursting through the doors of her private room. Perhaps this is part of the Kirsten Dunst charm that I admire so much, that way of flirtatiously maneuvering her way through conflict without batting an eye. That said, she continues to shower like it ain’t no thing that a very tall man, who at this point should be considered a stalker at best and a murderer at worst, has just bust through her front door. Some semblance or realism would have been appropriate at this juncture–perhaps Ms. Dunst feigning a touch of panic? But if she’s so disinterested by strangers wandering into her room, I figure why bother locking the door at all? A sign with markered arrows might as well be taped to her front door, “Stalkers, Creepy Strangers Enter Here!” The second story involves the two lovers’ tennis careers; he is old(er) and rickety, she is young, fast, and managed by her father who forbids the two from dating. Spoiler: they date anyway.