Gans’ Beauty and the Beast

Disney dearly hopes you will not see this French adaptation of the fairy definitively penned by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont, because just about any competitive live action film will suffer in comparison. Of course, there is already the Jean Cocteau masterpiece and Disney’s own exceptional animated feature. However, for pure visual spectacle, it will be hard to equal Christophe Gans’ Beauty and the Beast (trailer here), which opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

The story is still a fairy tale, suitable for a mother to tell as a bedtime story for her two rapt children in the film’s framing device. Belle is also still the beauty and consequently the apple of her merchant father’s eye. Sadly, all of the old man’s ships are lost at sea, forcing his family into provincial poverty. Yet, clean country living agrees with Belle (but not so much with her five entitled siblings).

Returning home from an ill-fated attempt to recoup his fortune, the merchant takes shelter in an ominous castle. He eats well before helping himself to some luxurious gifts for his shallow older daughters and finally a rose for Belle—the only gift she requested. His unseen host takes exception to this. That would be the Beast. As punishment for his desecration, the beast sentences the merchant to death, giving him one final day to make his farewells. However, the noble Belle returns in his place before the distraught father can stop her.

Of course, the Beast is not about to kill such a fair maiden. Instead, he provides some lovely gowns for her to wear at their awkward formal dinners. Viewers basically know where things go from here, but instead of the arrogant Gaston, it will be Perducas, her wastrel brother’s cutthroat underworld creditor, who will come barging in uninvited.

This time around, we also get more of the Beast’s backstory, which surprisingly pay-offs with third act call-backs. It is a richly archetypal narrative, but Belle’s love for the Beast blossoms way faster than Gans and co-screenwriter Sandra Vo-Anh duly establish. Of course, we know it will happen, so apparently they decided to let us fill in the blanks.

Regardless, this Beauty and the Beast is a majestic triumph of vision and art direction. The sets, trappings, and costumes are wonderfully lush and detailed. Although the vibe is suitably gothic, there is a touch of Dali in production designer Thierry Flamand’s work, especially when it comes to the giant statues. The visual effects are also first rate, as when those giant statues attack.

Vincent Cassel is appropriately fierce and feral as the beast, while Léa Seydoux scratches out some direct and engaging emotional moments, which is a challenge for a little miss perfect like Belle. The venerable André Dussollier does his thing once again, further classing up the joint as the merchant. However, Eduardo Noriega nearly steals the show masticating the scenery with villainous glee as Perducas. He also nicely plays with and off Myriam Charleins as Perducas’ mysterious tarot-reading lover and co-conspirator.

Some of Belle’s siblings are a bit shticky, but in general the ensemble acquits itself quite well. Nevertheless, the real star of this B&B is the arresting fantasy world Gans creates. He even gives us a passel of animation-augmented Beagles, so good luck topping that Bill Condon and the rest of the Disney team. Highly recommended for all fans of fairy tale and fantasy cinema, Gans’ Beauty and the Beast opens this Friday (9/23) in Los Angeles, at the Laemmle Monica Film Center.

French Rendezvous ’16: 21 Nights with Pattie

Actor André Dussollier clearly bears a strong resemblance to French Nobel Laureate J.M.G. Le Clézio. Hopefully, the novelist also has a healthy sense of humor. Otherwise, he might not appreciate the way his name is dropped in Arnaud & Jean-Marie Larrieu’s 21 Nights with Pattie (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Long estranged from her hippy advocate mother, “Zaza,” Caroline Montez has come to tend to the final arrangements. It turns out the locals in the southern village absolutely adored the free-spirited intellectual, but they will not let her passing stifle their summer festivities. Pattie, Zaza’s friend and pseudo-assistant, tries to take Montez under her wing, telling the younger woman some extraordinarily intimate and often comically graphic details about her sexual dealings with the men of the district. This is supposed to loosen Montez up, but initially it has quite the opposite effect. However, she is rather charmed by an elderly gentleman who prefers to be simply known as “Jean,” whom she presumes to be Le Clézio.

Unfortunately, as soon as he arrives, her mother’s body disappears under mysterious circumstances, which seems to distress Jean even more than her. The local gendarme may have an explanation. He is convinced Zaza’s body was stolen by a necrophiliac or a spurned lover, for unnatural purposes. In fact, a notorious necrophiliac matching Jean’s description had been reported in neighboring jurisdictions. That is all pretty troubling, but it is not enough to interrupt the flow of summer wine.

Only the French could get away with a light rom com in which the practice of necrophilia plays such a pivotal role. Frankly, nobody seems to be all that shocked by the notion, except Montez. Leaving that aside, 21 Nights is a rather droll rom-com, with a devilish desire to shock, but not disgust.

Karin Viard is wonderfully earthy and animated as the oblivious Pattie, while Isabelle Carré plays off her well enough as the repressed Montez. The crafty old veteran Dussollier is indeed a good sport as the gentleman who is either Le Clézio or an infamous pervert (presumably Montez and the gendarme cannot both be right). Denis Lavant periodically pops up to deliver a few minutes of lunacy as André, the village’s incomprehensible horndog. In contrast, Laurent Poitrenaux adds some mature charm as the more-complex-than-he-initially-appears gendarme. Unfortunately, Sergi López is largely wasted as Montez’s sexually frustrated Catalan husband.

You wouldn’t think it would fit the breezy southern provincial ambience, but Nicolas Repac’s electronic blues soundtrack really gives the film a distinctive vibe. The Larrieu brothers add a touch of supernatural mysticism, but the pleasures of Pattie are mostly quite terrestrial in nature. It is all rather amusing and really only slightly naughty, in a way Francophiles will appreciate. Recommended as an indulgent confection, 21 Nights with Pattie screens at the Walter Reade this Friday (3/11) and Saturday (3/12), as part of Rendezvous with French Cinema.

French Rendezvous ’16: The Great Game

It is a real mystery how French publishers stay in business, considering the ugly covers they insist on designing for books. Pierre Blum’s latest title is as drab as anything else on the shelves, but what’s inside is incendiary. Technically, it was a ghost-writing job, but all of France’s insiders seem to know it was his work. That most definitely has dangerous implications for the gloomy former radical in Nicolas Pariser’s The Great Game (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Blum had one critically acclaimed novel before turning into a loser. He churned out a few articles here and there before completely packing it in. However, he once had close ties to a number a leftist radicals, which is why the sly old power broker Joseph Paskin arranges to “accidentally” meet him one night. To discredit the new, overly-ambitious Interior Minister, Paskin wants Blum to write a revolutionary manifesto to be released under the name of a notorious radical who was deported twenty years ago. He knows Blum is just the disillusioned leftist to channel his old comrade’ voice.

Frankly, Blum was never much of a believer. His activism was always more of a social thing and he has become distinctly anti-social. Unfortunately, once the ghost-written volume releases, Paskin’s rivals react with swift severity. Thugs attack Blum at his ex-wife’s gallery and Paskin’s right-hand man is murdered in a hit-and-run. With his shadowy patron in hiding, Blum takes refuge at the very hippy-dippy commune he knows is due to be raided as part of the Minister’s show of force against extremists.

The Great Game completely represents French political preconceptions that consider the right to be ruthlessly Machiavellian and the left to be infantile fools, which is totally ridiculous, right? In any event, Pariser has at them both. Essentially, the events that unfold are part of a covert civil war within the French center-right, but there is no question Paskin the conservative fixer gone off-the-reservation is the most fun to spend time with.

It is all due to the wonderfully sinister élan of the great André Dussollier, who looks like he is having a ball as the manipulative Paskin. When he is on-screen, the film hums and zings. When Melvil Poupaud is brooding on his own as the depressive Blum, not so much. It is even more awkward when he starts putting the moves on Laura Haydon, the considerably younger anarchist vouching for him at the commune. She is rather blandly played by Clémence Poésy, who co-starred in the Harry Potter franchise, but is much more likely to be recognized for her appearance in the Greek experimental short, The Capsule.

One of the delicious ironies of The Great Game is that it is the ethical ambiguous Paskin who gets Blum to re-engage with life. Dussollier certainly is a persuasive presence in the film, that’s for sure. Watching him scheme is delightfully entertaining. Recommended for his charm and Pariser’s aptly convoluted plot twists, The Great Game screens this Friday (3/4) and Saturday (3/5) at the Walter Reade, as part of this year’s Rendezvous with French Cinema.