Bottle Shock

This wine hasn't peaked

By Alex Dimitropoulos

During the creation of “Bottle Shock,” word must have come from on high that the source material needed juicing up, and the rushed result is a muscled underdog fighting its way through tiresome sports drama conventions. For a film about California wines winning over snooty critics at a 1976 blind tasting in Paris, this approach proves especially problematic. “Bottle Shock,” a movie that should have let the viewer savor a bouquet of historical details, focuses more on selling itself to a broad, beer-guzzling audience than selling its fine subject.

The film opens by panning over rolling hills and an order imposed upon nature: parallel grape vines stretching for miles and miles. They look Photoshop-beautiful, but they have not made their way into shops like the one that British wine connoisseur Steven Spurrier (Alan Rickman) runs in dusty silence. His customer base, like his wine selection, is limited, and the expert initially seems provincial by not including small-town America in his stock.

Before 1976, however, California wines were not even a blip on the grape-stomping radar. Something from Chateau Montelena, which Jim Barrett (Bill Pullman) runs with his son Bo, would not have been worthy of awkward gulping. Barrett, a man’s man who quotes Hemingway and dons gloves to box Bo, also boxes his own wine in Napa, California. He lives his craft and understands that what he makes is special, even if outsiders do not recognize or know his talent.

“You’re a snob,” Jim tells Spurrier. “It limits you.”

But Spurrier expands his horizons, turns ennui into enthusiasm, and invites Jim and his local competitors to face off with French wines in a blind taste test later titled the “Judgment of Paris.” The judges, set up here as prissy, pompous elitists, would never rate a California wine highly, regardless of its taste, if they knew that was what they were drinking.

These plot elements blend well, but Rickman, who out acts all but Pullman with just a studied arch of the eyebrow, disappears for much of the movie. The remainder, like a bad wine, is poorly structured, and the soundtrack and romantic or inspirational subplots cloud the contest’s impact.

The supporting cast, who work under Spurrier in “Bottle Shock,” has too much to support. There’s surfer slacker Bo, who represents stoners who will not let go of Woodstock; Gustavo, who says he grew up with dirt under his fingernails and wine in his blood; and intern Sam, a woman who gets in between the two youngsters and serves solely as eye candy and joke deliverer. The music, which should have been less of a character, consists of French accordions, a clichéd instrumental swelling for every cellar room pep talk and southern rock, better suited for Hicksville football tales than Napa viniculture.

“If one of us wins, we all win,” Bo says.

“Good luck out there. Thanks for representing us,” Gustavo says.

“Things are about to get real emotional,” the film score says.

But what does "Bottle Shock" itself say? It reveals the significance of the results of the contest at the end of the film, but it does so with text on the screen. Though this is a common technique for serious films rooted in history, it clashes with the lighthearted body of the film here. An excellent movie lies somewhere in this muck, but overall, "Bottle Shock" gives a bland, familiar aftertaste. It could leave you thinking more about the film tricks jockeying for your attention than the event that altered menus in even the most exclusive restaurants, be they in America or abroad.

Check it out: Bottle Shock's official website

Bottle Shock Trailer