'Sixty Six': an uninvolving portrait of self-absorption

By Michael Ordona | Los Angeles Times Staff Writer

October 17, 2008

In Sixty Six, an attention-starved, sad-sack boy in 1966 Britain wants to have the biggest bar mitzvah ever. However, his family's business fails and England's chance to finally win the World Cup falls on his big day. So he sulks when he can't have his Super Sweet 13 bash and roots against the national team.

Oy vey.

Director Paul Weiland, on whose childhood experiences the film is based, may be too close to the subject matter. The things that intrigued him as a youth are sprinkled throughout, but that fascination is not transferred to the audience. Even the rabid love of soccer seems to be taken for granted by the filmmakers rather than shared with the viewer. Because characters are played strictly as types, with no arcs to experience, the audience is presumed to care when selfish, foolish decisions are made.

That the performances are uniformly one-noted certainly doesn't speak well of the direction. Only Helena Bonham Carter, as the mother, achieves human warmth, while Peter Serafinowicz, as the outgoing uncle, manages to charm. Sixty Six may find a niche audience, but instead of depicting a boy's first steps toward manhood -- ceremony aside -- it turns into an uninvolving portrait of self-absorption.