"There are three types of people," one Bay Area wag I used to know was fond of saying. "There are people who talk about ideas, there are people who talk about things, and there are people who talk about," at which point he'd pause and drop his voice an octave or so, "wiiine."
I'd agree heartily, but since writing about wine is one of the ways I make my living, it might be disingenuous. Still, there are times when wine talk just makes me cringe, such as when anthropomorphic words like "impetuous" or "boisterous" are used.
As a matter of fact, I haven't even figured out what the exact difference between "varietal," a word commonly used to describe a particular type of grape such as Syrah or Chardonnay, and "variety" is. I looked up "varietal" in the Oxford English Dictionary and the definition was "pertaining to a variety." Well, thank heaven that's cleared up.
You get all the wine doublespeak you can swallow in the new Alexander Payne film, Sideways (reviewed by Josh Bell on page 31), one of the few films ever made that uses wine as a backdrop. In the first reel alone, you'll hear expressions like "skin contact" and "malolactic fermentation," neither of which are explained. (The first refers to leaving grapes on their skins, which turns juice red, the basic difference between white and red wine. The second is a secondary fermentation in which the stronger malic acid naturally present in the juice is converted to the weaker lactic acid, a process particularly desirable in red wines produced in cooler climates such as Santa Barbara County, where Sideways was shot.)
Unlike food, which evokes the senses simply by being photographed, wine is a fickle mistress who defies being written into a film script. The best food movies, like Babette's Feast, Like Water For Chocolate, and my favorite of all time, the Chinese Eat Drink Man Woman, make you hungry because they provide images of amazing dishes you long to eat but probably never will.
But simply seeing an actor, albeit a gifted one like Paul Giamatti, tilting his glass sideways and muttering about tannins and butterscotch, is like hearing a distant trumpet and not likely to make anyone salivate. So the fact that Sideways works so well is a tribute to director Payne, and that it actually gives the audience a palatable short course in wine appreciation comes across as a minor miracle.
Jim Taylor's script is a clever one. In it, wine is really only a metaphor for the way the two protagonists, Miles, a failed novelist and wine aficianado, and Jack, a randy actor with a head-on approach to everything, relate to life.
Miles does everything slowly, delicately, and that is how he tastes. Jack takes things by the horns; he drinks wine for the buzz, like, I suspect, many people. In one scene, when Miles and Jack are first shot in a tasting room, Miles advises Jack on how to taste: "Tilt the glass and look for the colors to fade toward the rim. That tells you how old the wine is."
Then, Miles describes the wine with a litany of adjectives, swirling and savoring it in his mouth with brio. As Jack nods his head reverentially, Miles is pleased—until he looks at him and asks in amazement, "Are you chewing gum?" It's just one of the many funny moments in a very funny movie.
But the movie is serious, too. The way wine is dealt with raises a basic question, namely, whether or not it is worthwhile to cultivate a taste in something so ephemeral. I am guessing it is all a function of personality.
In a later scene, when Miles is discussing wine with Maya, a woman he has met, the way he talks about wine and the way she responds indicates how perfect they are for each other. Both take things slow and easy, but with great passion. Jack, meanwhile, just wants to swill the stuff down and get into the sack with Maya's friend, Stephanie, a hottie he meets in a tasting room.
The film succeeds on other levels, too. As a travel film, for instance, it visits a few of the better Santa Barbara County producers, Byron and Sanford Wineries, and for the dining scenes, takes you to two of the better restaurants in the area, The Hitching Post in Buellton (which has great grilled meats, a wonderful wine list and the best french fries on the planet), and the rustic steak house, A.J. Spurs, in Templeton, further up the coast.
You also get a good look at cheesy Lompoc, a faux Danish village where the boys register in a touristy motel, and a feeling for what it is like to do a wine vacation: lush vineyards, scenic byways and everything else that comes with it.
Still, there are a few inside jokes that you really have to be a wine nerd to get, such as when Miles stomps his foot outside a restaurant and tells his friend, "I am not ... drinking ... any ... #$%&! ... Merlot!"
What's wrong with Merlot? I guess you'll just have to see the movie, or drink a few of them, to find out.