French Exit: Comme ci comme ça

French Exit (2020) • View trailer

2.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity and sexual candor

By Derrick Bang 

Few films follow their source as closely as this one: not really a surprise, since scripter Patrick DeWitt has adapted his own 2018 novel.

 

Newly arrived in Paris, having fled Manhattan ahead of creditors, Frances (Michelle
Pfeiffer) and her son Malcolm (Lucas Hedges) wonder what they're going to make
of this new life.

Add a director — Azazel Jacobs — who clearly studied at the altar of Wes Anderson, and French Exit becomes a slice of absurdist eccentricity: a character study filled with people who (mostly) seem to exist slightly out of phase with the real world.

 

The degree to which they’re likable or sympathetic — as opposed to annoying and contemptuous — will depend on your ability to laugh at their foibles. In fairness, moments in this unhurried narrative are laugh-out-loud funny … but they’re few and far between.

 

To cases:

 

Despite years’ worth of warnings from her accountant, Manhattan socialite Frances Price (Michelle Pfeiffer) has exhausted the inheritance left when husband Franklin died 12 years earlier.

 

“My plan,” she insists rather vaguely, “was to die before the money ran out.”

 

Which means that she gave no consideration to leaving anything for her directionless adult son, Malcolm (Lucas Hedges), who has put his own life on hold, in order to be her faithful companion for the same 12 years. (Nice mother, eh?)

 

Given the way Pfeiffer swans condescendingly through every scene, we immediately realize that this is typical of Frances, who rarely (never?) considers anything — or anybody — beyond herself. She’s all appearance and no substance, given to grand gestures of generosity — such as inappropriately huge tips — solely because they call attention to herself.

 

Acting on her accountant’s advice, she quietly (and quite illegally) sells everything in her lavish home, converts the proceeds to Euros, and accepts a suggestion to move into a Parisian apartment owned by best friend Joan (Susan Coyne, as one of this saga’s “normal” characters).

 

Where Frances supposedly will “figure things out.”

 

Malcolm somehow has accumulated a fiancée along the way: Susan (Imogen Poots), a nice young woman who quite reasonably cannot understand why he’s abandoning her in order to follow his mother. Their parting does not go well; Malcolm pauses outside the restaurant, looking back inside at her, clearly having no clue how to do the right thing … or even what that might be.

 

Patti Cake$: Baked too long

Patti Cake$ (2017) • View trailer 
Three stars. Rated R, for relentless profanity and crude behavior, and drug use
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.1.17

An endearing saga of empowerment beats within writer/director Geremy Jasper’s debut feature, but it’s too frequently buried beneath crude behavior, relentless vulgarity and a wildly uneven tone.

As the enigmatic Basterd (Mamoudou Athie) listens warily, Patti (Danielle Macdonald)
outlines a plan for a rather unusual rap group with her grandmother (Cathy Moriarty).

Jasper can’t get out of his own way. He makes the rookie mistake of larding his film with twitchy cinematography, tight-tight-tight close-ups, and a surfeit of artistic aggression undoubtedly intended to mirror his protagonist, but which too frequently feels like an assault on our senses.

A mere 15 minutes into this flick, I wanted to bolt the theater. Patience proved a virtue, as Jasper eventually found his footing, and his film — and its star — ultimately won me over. But not everybody was as generous, during last week’s preview screening; several people abandoned ship. It was hard to blame them.

Patricia Dombrowski (Danielle Macdonald), a plain, plus-size 23-year-old member of America’s working poor, ekes out a marginal existence in her dilapidated New Jersey home town. When not enduring insults during late-night shifts as a bartender in a seedy establishment populated by local losers, she’s stuck at home with a bitter, bitchy, boozy mother (Bridget Everett, as Barb) and a wheelchair-bound grandmother (Cathy Moriarty, as Nana).

Patricia’s fantasy escape route is fueled by her fixation on famed rap god O-Z (Sahr Ngaujah), whose posters fill her bedroom walls; she dreams of stardom under the alias of Patti Cake$ or — better still — Killa P. Truth be told, she’s a talented poet and nimble rapper, but nobody takes her seriously: particularly not Danny Bagadella (McCaul Lombardi), the swaggering townie who dominates the local rap scene, and cruelly calls her “Dumbo” and “White Precious.”

Patti isn’t entirely without allies; she shares her passion for rap with BFF Jheri (Siddharth Dhananjay), a subdued young pharmacist by day, who blossoms into a wildly enthusiastic R&B crooner after hours. He believes in her, far more than she believes in herself. But faith isn’t enough, particularly when — at home — Patti must contend with her larger-than-life mother, who still resents the now grown result of an unintended pregnancy that derailed her own music career.

Everett’s Barb is frankly scary: a formidable force of nature so intimidating that one must credit Patti for having the chutzpah to stand up for herself. The uneasy mother/daughter dynamic is established early on, when Barb wades into the bar on karaoke night, and demands three quick shots from Patti: the latter two poured with long-suffering resignation, and full awareness of what is to come.