French Lover: An affair to forget

French Lover (2025) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated TV-MA, for sexual candor, mild nudity and profanity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang

Although numerous sources have called this romantic dramedy a French, gender-reversed response to 1999’s Notting Hill, the comparison is superficial at best.

 

Despite the fact that ABel (Omar Sy) repeatedly behaves badly, like a spoiled child, he
always apologizes ... and Marion (Sara Giraudeau) always forgives him. Too many times...

Hugh Grant’s “regular bloke” in that earlier film is a successful bookstore owner, with a solid gaggle of supportive friends; he also has his act together. Sara Giraudeau’s Marion, in director Lisa-Nina Rives’ new film, has neither a job nor savings, is in the midst of messily divorcing her loutish husband Antoine (Amaury de Crayencour), and is an emotional wreck. Her only companion is an adored Great Dane named Claudine.

Even so, Marion’s vulnerability is endearing, and Giraudeau plays her 

well; she’d have been a great character in a different film.

 

Getting back to Notting Hill, Julia Roberts’ famed Hollywood actress is a nice person ... whereas this story’s similarly celebrated Abel Camara (Omar Sy) is an arrogant, self-centered horse’s ass who expects everything, including female companions, to be handed to him on a silver platter.

 

Sy, who has charisma to burn, can’t make this jerk appealing. Not even at his better moments.

 

As a result, this story — scripted by Noémie Saglio and Hugo Gélin, loosely inspired by the Israeli TV series A Very Important Person — never successfully sells its relationship of unequals. Sy and Giraudeau give it their best, and Rives’ film has some charming moments ... but accepting the telegraphed inevitability of where this will conclude, is a major eye-roller.

 

The story opens with a terrific tracking montage, as Abel swans his way through a TV commercial shoot for a perfume dubbed French Lover; once in the can, he angrily stalks off, believing himself “above” doing such twaddle. He lands in a bistro where Marion works as a waitress; after taking his order, she responds to a text on her phone, at which point Abel narcissistically accuses her of filming him, in order to post on social media.

 

The resulting brouhaha costs Marion her job, and she stalks off in a huff. Suddenly contrite, full of apologies, Abel slowly paces her while in his car, insisting — at the very least — on being allowed to drive her home.

 

It’s important to note that although Abel behaves as if his contrition is sincere, he never clarifies why he’s apologizing ... meaning, he never acknowledges his conceited assumption.

Holy Cow: An earthy, beguiling character study

Holy Cow (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Not rated, but equivalent to an R, for nudity, explicit sexuality and occasional violence

Available via: Amazon Prime and other video-on-demand options

By Derrick Bang

Discovering charming little films like this one, and bringing them to viewer attention, is my favorite part of this job.

 

Having yet yet another hindrance to his idealistic goal of making the best possible
Comté cheese, Totone (Clément Faveau) considers his options ... and younger
sister Claire (Luna Garret) has faith that he'll work it out.

French director Louise Courvoisier’s feature film debut is an accomplished coming-of-age saga so raw, naturalistic and intimate at times, that it often feels like we’re eavesdropping on actual people, rather than actors playing roles.

(As a quick sidebar, her film’s original title — Vingt dieux — translates to Twenty Gods, not Holy Cow: a terrible substitution slapped on by the American distributor.)

 

The lush farmland setting of Jura, in the eastern French region of Bourgogne-Franche-Comté, is captured splendidly by cinematographer Elio Balezeaux; this has much to do with the film’s cinema-verité atmosphere. That said, Courvoisier and Balezeaux don’t exploit these countryside locales for their natural beauty; this is an environment of dirt, mud, sweat, hard work, earthy casual sex and often flinty relationships.

 

We sense that most of these folks don’t bathe very often.

 

Nor does the story — by Courvoisier, Théo Abadie and Marcia Romano — make it easy on us. Their main character is a thoroughly unlikeable waste of space who — unlike the artisan cheeses produced within this region — doesn’t improve with age and additional exposure ... at least, not for a very long time.

 

In fairness, 18-year-old Totone (newcomer Clément Faveau) never had a chance, having been raised by an alcoholic, hands-off father whose wife apparently fled long ago. We meet the deadbeat teenager during a typical late-night binge of booze, cigarettes and casual sex, accompanied by best friends Jean-Yves (Mathis Bernard) and Francis (Dimitry Baudry), who aren’t much better.

 

By day, the badly hungover Totone does nothing to help his father with the family’s struggling Pimorin Cheese Dairy. His sole display of responsibility is taking younger sister Claire (Luna Garret) to school each day, after which he joins Francis while they watch Jean-Yves work on his lovingly modified stock car.

 

This routine abruptly shatters when Totone’s father wrecks his car and dies, having gotten behind the wheel while hopelessly drunk. (We gasp at the stupidity of this, but apparently these folks don’t watch out for their own.) This isn’t a community with options such as social services; Totone has no income, the dairy collapses without his father’s guidance, and now the young man must care for Claire 24/7.

Jane Austen Wrecked My Life: A gentle homage

Jane Austen Wrecked My Life (2024) • View trailer

3.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for nudity, sexual content and occasional profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.1.25

How can you not adore a film whose protagonist works in a bookstore?

 

And not just any bookstore. Agathe (Camille Rutherford) is one of several employees at France’s fabled Shakespeare & Co. (an actual English-language bookstore opened in 1951, on Paris’ Left Bank). She’s introduced while filing books late one evening, dancing buoyantly to Marie Modiano’s sparkling cover of Peter von Poehl’s “Cry to Me.”

 

During a Jane Austen-style costume ball suffused with Regency-era atmosphere,
Agathe (Camille Rutherford) finds herself unexpectedly attracted to the initially
stuffy Oliver (Charlie Anson)

It soon becomes clear that the bookstore is more “home” to Agathe than the flat she shares with her sister and 8-year-old nephew. Agathe is damaged goods, having failed to recover from the traffic accident that killed both her parents, but left her physically unharmed. She’s shy and withdrawn, bicycles to and from work, and hasn’t had an intimate relationship in two years.

Agathe adores the works of Jane Austen, and is herself a would-be author ... but this, too, is a frustration. Each new effort at a novel yields a few unpromising chapters, and then she stalls.

 

Félix (Pablo Pauly), her best friend and co-worker, is her polar opposite: bold, outgoing and cheerfully promiscuous. He and Agathe flirt constantly, but without significance.

 

“I’m not into Uber sex,” she laments, and — given that her blueprint for romance is found solely within the pages of Austen’s novels — adds that she’s “living in the wrong century.” She compares herself to Anne Elliot, from Austen’s Persuasion, who has “let life pass her by.”

 

Then, one day, literary inspiration strikes from the bottom of a cup of saké. She pounds out a few chapters, but then the well again goes dry. The difference, this time, is that Félix deems those first chapters very promising; he wants to know what happens next ... but Agathe is stuck.

 

Without her knowledge, Félix sends those chapters to England’s Jane Austen Residency, an exclusive annual writers’ workshop. Agathe is accepted, which throws her into a panic; she certainly can’t bicycle that far. Félix won’t let her balk; he hustles her onto a ferry, and she’s met at the other end by the very British Oliver (Charlie Anson), Jane Austen’s great-great-great-nephew, who has been sent to collect her. 

 

Which involves a long drive in his very small sports car.

 

As first encounters go, it’s a disaster. Among his many (apparent) failings, Oliver insists that his great-great-great aunt is “overrated.” 

 

Once at the residency, Agathe is greeted by Oliver’s parents, Beth (Liz Crowther) and Todd (Alan Fairbairn). The former is gracious and bubbly; the latter, sliding into dementia, has a habit of quoting poetry in their lavish estate’s garden ... sans pants.

 

The residency will last a fortnight, during which the attendees are encouraged to write whenever and wherever — within the estate, or on its grounds — the Muse strikes. The workshop will conclude with a lavish, Regency-era ball, after which the writers will read portions of their work aloud.

 

They’re a tiny group. The pompous Olympia (Lola Peploe) arrogantly dismisses Agathe’s belief that “some books become part of our lives,” instead insisting that books aren’t worth a damn unless they elevate consciousness, incite political upheaval, or change the world in some other way. The quieter Chéryl (Annabelle Lengronne) is more accommodating.

 

As the days pass, Agathe frequently sees Olympia and Chéryl hard at work ... while she stares forlornly at her laptop screen.

Freedom: A captivating romp

Freedom (2024) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, but akin to R for violence, nudity, sensuality and profanity

Available via: Amazon Prime

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.10.24

Director Mélanie Laurent’s new film is a cheeky, rollicking crime saga based on actual events that seem impossible to believe.

 

Bruno Sulak (Lucas Bravo) and lover Annie (Léa Luce Busato) make a formidable
team, but they soon realize that their luck can't hold out forever.

From the summer of 1978 through the early 1980s, France was captivated by the audacious exploits of “gentleman thief” Bruno Sulak, a former paratrooper with the Foreign Legion, who began his criminal career with a series of daytime supermarket robberies.

He was young and cordial, politely asking each check-out clerk to empty her till, while his partner similarly prompted the manager to empty the safe in the upstairs office. Both Sulak and his colleague brandished guns to show they were serious, but never fired them, or roughed up the citizenry; Sulak made a point of non-violence.

 

Coupled with a “shake up the establishment” air of defiance, Sulak quickly developed a reputation as a “Robin Hood of crime,” and was dubbed a real-life Arsène Lupin.

 

A civil understanding apparently existed between the French gendarmes and such low-level criminals, from the late 1960s to the early ’80s; grudging respect existed on both sides, as long as unspoken boundaries remained in place. This attitude was fueled, in part, by disenchantment with the government, and — during those latter years — public pushback against the pro-capitalist policies of newly elected President François Mitterrand.

 

Indeed, Sulak’s initial robberies were cheered by citizens concerned that the explosive growth of supermarkets would drive beloved family shops out of business.

 

Although Laurent and co-scripter Christophe Deslandes acknowledge being inspired by French author Philippe Jaenada’s 2013 book, Sulak, they’ve taken occasional liberties. Bruno’s “outlaw love” Thalie has been reshaped into Annie Bragnier (Léa Luce Busato, in a stylish big-screen debut), who takes a more active role as getaway driver.

 

But the overall arc of Bruno’s crime career is accurate, and the sensuous interludes with Annie enhance what quickly becomes an energetically frothy romp. There’s also a strong echo of 2002’s Catch Me If You Can, due to Sulak’s cat-and-mouse antics with dogged police inspector George Moréas (Yvan Attal).

The Three Musketeers: Milady — Thoroughly enjoyable

The Three Musketeers: Milady (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, and akin to PG-13 for violence

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

No surprise: The second chapter of French filmmaker Martin Bourboulon’s swashbuckling epic is every bit as entertaining as its predecessor.

 

You'd think he would learn! Milady (Eva Green) once again has D'Artagnan (François Civil)
at her mercy ... although what she intends to do with him, remains an open question.

As director Richard Lester did, back in the 1970s, Bourboulon closed the first half on a (mostly) triumphant note, with the French queen’s reputation preserved, thanks to the heroic efforts of D’Artagnan (François Civil) and his fellow Musketeers; they foiled a nefarious plot by the scheming Cardinal Richelieu (Èric Ruf) and his henchwoman, the malevolent Milady (Eva Green).

Our heroes also thwarted an attempt to assassinate King Louis XIII (Louis Garrel). 

 

But Bourboulon and his co-scripters — Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de La Patellière — couldn’t resist adding a nasty cliffhanger. D’Artagnan, warned that his beloved Constance (Lyna Khoudri) was in danger, was just in time to see her snatched and whisked away in a black coach ... after which he was whacked on the head and left to an uncertain fate.

 

This second chapter picks up immediately thereafter, as D’Artagnan regains consciousness in a wood crate shared with a corpse (yuck!). He overcomes his captors and captures the Comte de Chalais (Patrick Mille), a secondary villain whose role expands in this film. D’Artagnan believes that the Comte has Constance in a prison cell, and instead is surprised to find Milady chained within.

 

In a nod to the old proverb — “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” — the subsequent skirmish finds D’Artagnan and Milady fighting as unlikely allies: an uneasy alliance that Bourboulon continues to exploit as the story progresses.

 

Both actors have fun with this prickly dynamic. Although still impetuous and reckless, Civil’s D’Artagnan no longer is as foolish or callow; he doesn’t trust Milady ... but she’s so damn seductive, that his guard frequently drops. Green, in turn, positively delights in her character’s shameless malice; she’s every inch a black widow spider waiting eagerly to ensnare and devour hapless prey.

 

Green’s eyes sparkle with cold, cunning evil: the pluperfect villain we love to hate.

 

(The writers attempt to justify Milady’s behavior by adding references to abusive treatment by men earlier in her life, but that’s an eyebrow-lift. Go with the obvious: She’s bad because she enjoys it.)

 

Ernest & Celestine: A Trip to Gibberitia — An adorable charmer

Ernest & Celestine: A Trip to Gibberitia (2022) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated; suitable for all ages

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.29.24

Back in early 2014, I was totally enchanted by the Belgian/French/Luxembourgian co-production of Ernest & Celestine, a darling little film that had debuted in its native countries two years earlier, but saw no exposure in the States — aside from a few film festivals — until home video release in June 2014.

 

The mysterious, jasked Mifasol refuses to abide by Gibberitia's repressive law against
music, much to the annoyance of the bear police patrol.

Thankfully, a decade later, film distribution options have changed dramatically. As a result, the equally captivating Ernest & Celestine: A Trip to Gibberitia is readily available via numerous video-on-demand services.

This sequel once again boasts the lush, hand-drawn watercolor beauty of early Disney animated films and the more recent efforts of Hayao Miyazaki, albeit in a gentler manner. Animation director Davy Durand and his team focus more on character; settings — building interiors, cityscapes — are simpler, often fading into the background.

 

As before, this saga is faithful to the look and atmosphere of the two dozen-plus children’s books published by Belgian author/illustrator Monique Martin, employing the nom de plume Gabrielle Vincent, derived from the first names of her grandparents. She concocted gentle adventures for best friends Celestine, a scrappy little mouse, and Ernest, a grumpy bear musician.

 

The franchise this time has been taken over by directors Julien Chheng and Jean-Christopher Roger, working with an original script by Guillaume Mautalent, Sébastien Oursel and Jean Regnaud, from an idea by Agnès Bidaud and Didier Brunner. (If this sounds like too many cooks in the kitchen, we’ll get back to that.)

 

The story begins on an exciting day, as Ernest (voiced by Andrew Kishino) wakens from his long winter hibernation. Celestine (Ashley Boettcher), thrilled to have her boon companion back, gets too excited and accidentally damages his beloved Stradibearius violin. He’s dismayed; she’s absolutely crushed (and nothing is more heartbreaking than Celestine looking and sounding forlorn).

 

The only person capable of repairing the violin is its maker, Octavious, who resides in Ernest’s homeland of Gibberitia. When Ernest inexplicably refuses to make that trip, Celestine — battered violin in its case — impulsively begins the journey without him.

 

That rouses Ernest, because he knows the route can be dangerous. Once reunited, the pair board a skyway that takes them into the heart of Gibberitia, which he has described as a magical place full of music and art. But their arrival in the town square is oddly quiet ... too quiet. Ernest’s attempt to play an accordion attracts a squad of angry bear police, who tell them that — according to Ernestov’s Law — all forms of music have been banned for many years.

 

(In a droll touch, pretty much every statement in Gibberitia ends in “-ov.”)

The Crime Is Mine: A frothy period romp

The Crime Is Mine (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Unrated, equivalent to PG-13 for sexual candor and brief nudity 

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD options

By Derrick Bang

This is way too much fun.

 

Director François Ozon’s frothy period farce is many things: an homage to 1930s Hollywood screwball comedies, and a canny nod to the tempestuous cinema transition from silents to talkies, along with a cheeky soupçon of contemporary gender issues.

 

Crafty attorney Pauline Mauléon (Rebecca Marder, right) isn't about to let best friend
Madeleine Verdier (Nadia Tereszkiewicz) be convicted of a crime she didn't
commit ... or did she?

Oh, and it’s also a murder mystery.

The result is joyously entertaining, thanks both to a sharp script by Ozon and Philippe Piazzo — adapting Georges Berr and Louis Verneuil’s 1934 play, Mon Crime — and effervescent performances by the entire cast. Traces of the original stage production are evident (which must’ve been a hoot, back in the day), but the presentation never feels cramped; Ozon, production designer Jean Rabasse and cinematographer Manual Dacosse “open up” the story in a manner that’s far more cinema than theater.

 

The setting is Paris, the year 1935. Struggling actress Madeleine Verdier (Nadia Tereszkeiwicz) and best friend Pauline Mauléon (Rebecca Marder), an unemployed lawyer, share a cramped flat and owe 3,000 francs in five months’ back rent. Their oafish landlord, Pistole (Franck De Lapersonne), seems willing to take it out in trade, but — harumph! — Madeleine and Pauline aren’t that sort of gals.

 

While Pauline verbally jousts with Pistole, Madeleine is in trouble elsewhere; we see her hastily depart the lavish estate of famed theater producer Montferrand (Jean-Christophe Bouvet). She’s disheveled and clearly distraught. Upon returning to their flat, she tearfully explains that Montferrand offered her a bit part only if she’d become his mistress; we she refused, he tried to rape her, and she fled.

 

Madeleine’s longtime boyfriend André Bonnard (Édouart Sulpice) shows up — he’s heir to the Bonnard Tire corporation — but is scarcely a comfort. 400,000 francs in debt, thanks to bad luck at the horse track, the only “solution” offered by his father (André Dussollier) is an arranged marriage with Berthe Courteil, which — conveniently — will pump millions of francs into the ailing Bonnard factory operation.

 

But that’s okay, André insists, to the shattered Madeleine; we’ll still see each other for at least one meal per day ... as my mistress. (The cad! The bounder!)

 

Enter police Inspector Brun (Régis Laspalés), who arrives with the news that Montferrand has been found dead, murdered by a single gunshot ... and isn’t it rather suspicious, that Madeleine owns a gun with one chamber fired? 

 

Mais non, the young woman insists. But then, after an unsatisfied Brun departs, Pauline takes her friend aside ... and a plan is hatched.

The Three Musketeers: D'Artagnan — Energetic swash and buckle

The Three Musketeers: D'Artagnan (2023) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Not rated, but akin to PG-13 for violence and brief nudity

Available via: Amazon Prime and other VOD outlets

By Derrick Bang

There’s plenty to enjoy in this sumptuous, old-school adaptation of Dumas’ 1844 novel.

 

That said, Dumas purists might get cranky, because scripters Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de La Patelliére have taken serious liberties with the author’s book.

 

The musketeers — from left, Athos (Vincent Cassel), Aramis (Romain Duris) and
Porthos (Pio Marmaï) — are amused to discover that brash young D'Artagnan
(François Civil, back to camera) has arranged to duel all three of them ...
at hourly intervals.

I was surprised to discover that this rip-snortin’ saga hasn’t been filmed in its native country since a 1959 TV movie with Jean-Paul Belmondo, starring as D’Artagnan. During that time, Hollywood gave us no fewer than four big-screen versions, most notably director Richard Lester’s two-parter in 1973 and ’74 (which, it must be mentioned, followed Dumas’ novel very faithfully).

Director Martin Bourboulon and his writers mimicked that two-part template with their new Gallic adaptation; both halves debuted in France last year, and “Part 1” just hit video-on-demand in the States, with (I hope) the conclusion following soon.

 

The year is 1627, and France is a bitterly divided country. King Louis XIII (Louis Garrel) and his wife, Anne of Austria (Vicky Krieps), have yet to produce an heir, placing the monarchy in peril. Protestant separatists, supported by England, wish to establish their own state; this enrages the king’s Catholic advisors.

 

Louis is cautious, though, not wanting to provoke a civil war ... but his younger brother Gaston, Duke of Orléans (Julien Frison), believes they should attack the Protestant rebels at their stronghold in La Rochelle.

 

Waiting in the wings: Cardinal Richelieu (Èric Ruf), playing a nefarious long game with the expectation of seizing power himself. To that end, he has enlisted the aid of the villainous Milady de Winter (Eva Green, sublimely evil), to set a crafty plan in motion.

 

All of this is backdrop, as young D’Artagnan (François Civil) leaves his Gascony homeland in order to join the ranks of the King’s Musketeers in Paris. While en route, D’Artagnan unwittingly stumbles on an attempt by ruffians to kidnap a young noblewoman, Isabelle de Valcour (Charlotte Ranson). Alas, the kidnappers succeed, and D’Artagnan’s attempt at chivalry nearly proves fatal.

 

Standing nearby, Milady smiles in satisfaction.

 

Longtime fans will recognize what comes next. D’Artagnan arrives in Paris, garners an encouraging audience with Captain de Tréville (Marc Barbé), and then manages to insult — in quick succession — musketeers Athos (Vincent Cassel), Porthos (Pio Marmaï) and Aramis (Romain Duris). They demand satisfaction via duels in the nearby woods; D’Artagnan rashly books them at hourly intervals ... much to their amusement, when all three arrive together.

 

But Richelieu has outlawed dueling, and a sizeable regiment of his guards arrive, with the intention of arresting the quartet. What follows is the first of the film’s energetically choreographed, hell-for-leather skirmishes; it’s exhilarating, messy and rather brutal, which follows Bourboulon’s insistence on a period-accurate dark and gritty environment. (Clearly, these guys don’t bathe very often.)

 

Another nice touch: Civil’s D’Artagnan goes all-in during this fight, and — toward the end — looks and moves like a man at the verge of total exhaustion.

The Takedown: Take it back

The Takedown (2022) • View trailer

Two stars (out of five). Rated TV-MA, for violence, gore, profanity and graphic nudity

Available via: Netflix

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 5.13.22

It’s comforting to know that French buddy cop dramedies can be every bit as silly and preposterous, as many of those made here in the States.

 

Having learned that a vicious killer works for a mysterious protection agency known as
Securitec, our unlikely heroes — from left, François (Laurent Lafitte), Alice (Izïa
Higelin) and Ousmane (Omar Sy) — debate their next move.

(That said, I’d hate to think director Louis Leterrier and writer Stéphane Kazandijian crafted this flashy nonsense with American audiences in mind.)

To the degree that it succeeds at all, The Takedown is a textbook case of star charisma over thin material. Omar Sy, recently seen in the far superior TV miniseries Lupin, lights up the screen here as Ousmane Diakité, a reckless, take-charge detective in Paris’ Police Criminal Division.

 

Even when spouting the most wincingly awful one-liners — Kazandijian feeds him plenty of those — Sy’s broad grin, mischievous gaze and loping, well-toned physique make him utterly irresistible.

 

The same cannot be said of Laurent Lafitte’s portrayal of François Monge, an insufferably narcissistic and condescending detective in the Judicial District. François is the epitome of an arrested adolescent: childish, petulant, arrogant, determined to have the last word, and convinced that he’s the smartest person in the room (to the aghast disbelief of everybody else in the room).

 

Ousmane and François once were partners in the Criminal Division; indeed, this film is a sequel to 2012’s equally clumsy On the Other Side of the Tracks. (One wonders about that lengthy gap; I suspect this new film is prompted mostly by Sy’s rapid rise to fame during the previous decade.)

 

Following a ludicrous perp collar that takes place during a cage boxing match, and establishes Ousmane’s tendency toward bull-headed brawling, he’s summoned to the scene of a rather grisly crime: the severed upper half of a male body, jammed between two cars of a passenger train. This discovery is made by François, who is at the station by chance.

 

Their reunion is prickly. Ousmane, now a captain, outranks François, a lieutenant who has repeatedly failed the captain’s exam, and been denied his frequent requests for transfer. No doubt remembering that his former friend is more liability than colleague, Ousmane would prefer to politely wave farewell … particularly when they learn that the victim’s lower half has been found alongside the tracks in a small town in Southeastern France.

 

Ah, but François isn’t about to put up with that.

 

(How many dozens — scores! — of times, have we seen the subsequent sequence? “You’re not coming, and that’s final,” intones Person A to Person B, after which we smash-cut to the two of them traveling side by side, a resigned expression on Person A’s face. Leterrier and Kazandijian do nothing to make it fresh here.)

Non-Fiction: Not worth reading

Non-Fiction (2018) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rated R, for sexual candor, nudity and profanity
By Derrick Bang

The whimsical poster art implies that writer/director Olivier Assayas’ new film is some sort of bed-swapping romantic comedy.

Don’t be suckered.

During a brief break from her busy shooting schedule as the star of a television cop show,
Selena (Juliette Binoche) enjoys a quick lunch with her lover, notorious author
Léonard Spiegel (Vincent Macaigne).

While it’s true that most of these narcissistic characters are sleeping with each other, lovers of reading, bookstores and informed knowledge will be horrified. Non-Fiction isn’t the slightest bit amusing; Assayas’ script is a grim, cynical and thoroughly depressing harangue on the pending destruction of traditional publishing, at the hands of know-nothing Internet trolls whose notion of “cultural history” dates back roughly 15 minutes.

This dreary sentiment aside, the film is deadly dull: way beyond boring. This is an interminable talking-heads experience, with the five primary characters repeatedly arguing that things — in this case, art — needs to change in order to remain the same. Which is to say that the pervasive dumbing-down of the written word is necessary, if it’s to survive at all.

Lengthy conversations — whether between just two people, or six — are littered with arrogant judgments and sarcastic one-liners: Informed criticism is worthless in a world guided by 280-character tweets. All politicians are venal hypocrites interested in nothing but money and fame. Libraries are doomed, and therefore a waste of space. TV shows are meant to be binged, not savored. Fewer people read less every year. And my favorite: “People say art is corrupt, thus worthless, so it should be free.”

Mind you, some of these observations are undeniably true (which is even more depressing). But Assayas doesn’t have his characters argue these issues as a means of thought-provoking socio-economic debate; all this jibber-jabber is mere window-dressing — no more meaningful than the bullshit “discussions” held by half-drunk bar patrons — while these insufferably smug men and women try to make virtues of their moral failings.

The libidinous heart of this roundelay is Léonard Spiegel (Vincent Macaigne), a notorious author who delights in his scruffy bohemian mannerisms, and whose fame is built upon a series of cruel “auto-fiction” novels that are graphic, thinly disguised accounts of his own extra-marital flings. He cares not a jot that his previous lovers are humiliated after recognizing themselves in all but name, and are further embarrassed when such notoriety goes public.

Léonard is married to Valérie (Nora Hamzawi), a vaguely defined political consultant who — at first blush — seems coldly indifferent to her husband. But this is before we’ve gotten to know Léonard; it quickly becomes obvious that he doesn’t deserve her. Valérie is much too decent for him.

(Actually, we soon wonder how the whiny, sleazy Léonard ever could have had such an apparently voluminous string of lovers. The perks of being French, I guess.)

Ernest & Celestine: A magical ode to friendship

Ernest & Celestine (2012) • View trailer 
Five stars. Rating: Suitable for all ages, despite the ludicrous PG rating for "scary moments"
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.28.14

“Adorable” can’t convey my depth of feeling for this enchanting little film.

Indeed, mere words seem wholly insufficient.

Once Celestine, left, and Ernest get over their mutual distrust, an increasingly devoted
friendship blooms. But it's also a forbidden relationship in a land where the distinct
communities of mice and bears fear each other, and therefore matters are certain to
take an unfortunate turn.

Despite being one of the 2013 Academy Awards nominees for best animated feature, Ernest & Celestine remains virtually unknown to American viewers, aside from the lucky few who may have caught it at a film festival. Frankly, this film’s obscurity is tragic ... and typical of an emerging pattern in this Oscar category.

For the past several years, since the rising popularity of animated films has prompted a corresponding abundance of nominees, some of them have raised puzzled eyebrows. While the animation branch’s nominating members are to be congratulated for citing entries from outside the United States, that generosity of spirit hasn’t been embraced by American movie distributors ... nor by mainstream American viewers who, already reluctant to subject themselves to live-action foreign films, apparently are even less willing to watch animated foreign films.

Thus, a frustrating pattern has emerged, particularly for dedicated Oscar fans wanting to catch as many nominees as possible, prior to the annual awards ceremony. That has become quite difficult — even impossible — with the animated features, since some of them don’t get released here in the States until weeks after the Oscars.

Back in 2009, the French/Belgian/Irish The Secret of Kells didn’t garner American distribution until mid-March ... and then availability was spotty, at best. In 2011, the same was true of Chico & Rita (Spain and the UK) and A Cat in Paris (France, Switzerland, Belgium and the Netherlands).

Never heard of any of them? I’m not surprised. Saturation-booked, high-profile domestic entries from Pixar, Disney and DreamWorks steal all the media focus.

But being louder and more ubiquitous doesn’t make them better than their overlooked and under-appreciated peers.

This year, that same fate has befallen superstar Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki’s The Wind Rises and the French/Belgian co-production of Ernest & Celestine. Miyazaki’s film, at least, is being released in our market today; Oscar stalwarts have roughly 48 hours to catch it before Sunday’s awards broadcast.

Amour: Dull, dreary and beyond endurance

Amour (2012) • View trailer 
Two stars. Rating: PG-13, for dramatic intensity, painful intimacy, brief profanity and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.8.13

However impressive Emmanuelle Riva’s starring role in Amour — and her work transcends mere words such as brave and raw — the film itself is a colossal yawn.

The moment comes without warning: Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant) suddenly
discovers that his wife isn't present in her own skin, as if her soul has been
extinguished. Moments later, she's back, unaware that anything is wrong ... but this
initial stroke is merely the first indication that her body will, in time, betray her in the
cruelest way possible.

At all times, and in every possible way, writer/director Michael Haneke refuses to grant access to these characters; they’re little more than two-dimensional ciphers. Dialogue is sparse, Haneke often preferring the intimate intensity of searching gazes amplified by extreme close-ups. He and cinematographer Darius Khondji also favor faraway compositions, with people occupying only a small portion of an otherwise quiet and static room.

Haneke holds, at great length, on the most mundane behavior — unpacking groceries, donning clothing, eating meals — to a point well beyond aggravation. This really isn’t a film, or a least not a narrative in the conventional sense: more a lengthy tone poem or mood piece.

The wafer-thin story could be scrawled on a postcard: Retired music teachers Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant) and Anne (Riva) are enjoying their twilight years in a spacious city apartment laden with culture: books, music, a piano. She suffers a sudden stroke, then in time endures a second, much more crippling one; she declines before her husband’s eyes. And ours.

He insists on caring for her, coping as best he can. Which, ultimately, isn’t too well.

That’s all, folks.

So yes, fine: Haneke’s emphasis on the routine and commonplace underscores the degree to which Anne finds it harder and harder to accomplish any of the thousand-and-one little tasks that we take for granted each day. Dressing, eating, moving across a room. Going to the bathroom.

Their refined artistic tastes aside, Georges and Anne are rendered “ordinary” by Haneke’s detached approach. Strokes are equal-opportunity: They can hit anybody, at any time, and life changes in an eyeblink. Thanks to Riva’s wholly realistic transformation, as Anne slides further away from her “normal” life, we can’t help reflecting on that silent prayer: There, but for the grace of God, goes my partner. My child.

Myself.