A disclaimer: If your immediate reaction to seeing the title Feast of Love appear on-screen accompanied by what sounds like music from a rainforest documentary is anything other than “Oh, God, I’m in the wrong movie!” it’s probable that we approach film art from across an unbridgeable divide. And therefore my following opining would mean less to you than were it written in Sumerian.
Portland, Oregon. The vicinity of a college campus. Harry Scott (Morgan Freeman) is a philosophy professor on an extended leave of absence following the unexpected death of his son. So Harry spends his days at the local coffee shop, a fine vantage point from which to observe the foibles of love amongst frisky neighborhood Caucasians, whose flirtations he benedicts with a benevolent smile. Periodically he dispenses soft-serve homilies on life and love, and intones lines, in that commanding voice-over, such as, “Bradley looked up from the paper one day and realized, no one burns for him.”
Click here to read the rest of Nick Pinkerton’s review of Feast of Love.