With just enough art-lack and speak-for-itself whiz (call me cheesy), this doc understands the famoustorical Philly park's appeal: Hot girls sunbathe there, and the bums are ka-razy. Yeah, the classy Curtis Institute of Music's next to Rittenhouse, and we ship in them perfect-pitch smarty-pants like it's Making the Band and a mock Bach's playing Diddy. But Downey knows our park's secret: We Schuylkill people are an ugly, tactless, but hopefully lovable bunch, and we love to sing our city's praises, however crooked the camera reveals them to be. To wit
1: The men with the best-kempt moustaches, turns out, are the straightest of sleaze. To wit
2: A gorgeous water-spouting fountain, upon zoom, is covered in rust. To wit
3: A curly blonde sprite gets the affably all-business Downey to tent pitch (metaphorically); when she takes off her sunglasses, I realize she might be my aunt. That last one, and the hokey "young violiness plays well with others in the park" trope, are the flick's only hitches.
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