Tribeca ’18: The Night Eats the World

It is based on a French novel written by Martin Page under the pen name Pit Agarmen, but it is clearly constructed over the foundation of Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend. Sam, a French musician, will barricade himself in a tony apartment when a zombie apocalypse sweeps through Paris, but as he battles loneliness and hunger, he comes to realize he is the freak amid this new world of the feral undead in Dominique Rocher’s The Night Eats the World (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

You could argue Sam is fortunate to be shy and have a low tolerance for alcohol, or perhaps the exact opposite. Either way, he survives the initial wave of the zombie outbreak, because he fell asleep in a tucked away back room during his ex-girlfriend’s hipster party. Most of the zombies have been there and gone, so he fortifies a particularly nice flat in her building and digs in.

Resigning himself to the new order, Sam does his best to forage for canned goods and clear the other flats of zombies. Much like Robert Neville in I Am Legend, Sam seeks companionship with a pet, but in this case, it is a cat—and Rocher and his co-screenwriters give their relationship a subversive twist. For most of the film, his only company is Alfred, an infected tenant trapped in the building’s retro wrought-iron elevator, until the exiled Iranian actress Golshifteh Farahani makes a cameo appearance.

There are so many similarities between Night Eats and I Am Legend, both the novel and its earlier film adaptations, Rocher really should have included some sort of hat-tip, such as a Matheson movie poster. Of course, Neville was fighting vampires in Matheson’s source novel, albeit very zombie-like vampires, so Night Eats should be off the hook for any potential litigation. There is also a pronounced Gallic vibe to Rocher’s film. For instance, when Sam passes the time by constructing some Rube Goldberg like musical constructions (which actually produces some groovy sounds), the vibe is almost Tati-esque.

As Sam, Anders Danielsen Lie does heroic work, withstanding the rigor and scrutiny that comes with being on-screen nearly every second of the way. One look at his tortured countenance tells us he is a quiet on the outside but roiling on the inside kind of guy. The always striking Farahani is also deeply haunting as the mysterious Sarah. However, the wonderfully eccentric Denis Lavant (Monsieur Oscar from Holy Motors) supplies the film’s indelibly memorable and most likely iconic performance as the infected and immobilized Alfred, who just might possibly be lucid at some level deep down in his diseased psyche.

These are real zombies, who are always looking to chomp down on the infected. Rocher’s approach is admittedly more stylish and cerebral than many zombie films, but he still embraces the core principles of the genre. Rocher also composes some eerie visuals of the de-populated Parisian neighborhood and the ferocious swarms of zombie masses. Despite a relative paucity of gore, Walking Dead fans should be able to relate and approve. Enthusiastically recommended, Night Eats the World screens again today (4/22), tomorrow (4/23), and Friday (4/27), as part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Côté’s Boris Without Béatrice

Boris Malinsky is Russian-born, but he is now sufficiently Canadian to give the Anglo Prime Minister the stink eye for his iffy French. Malinsky is a hard man and a difficult man, but he might change his ways for the sake of his spiritually ailing wife in Denis Côté’s Boris Without Béatrice (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York at the Anthology Film Archives.

If you think Malinsky’s chrome dome looks imperious, wait till you see how he acts when a sales clerk asks for his email address. He is a successful factory owner, but his manner and bearing are supposed to bring to mind Tom Wolfe’s Masters of the Universe. Malinsky finds himself in a rather awkward position now that his cabinet minister wife Béatrice has slipped into a state of catatonic depression. He has taken a leave of absence to care for her, but he has mostly concentrated on his interests, including an extramarital affair with Helga, an employee. However, he is about to get a wake-up call.

The mystery man billed as “l'Inconnu” or “the Unknown” and later called “Mr. Lewis” will call Malinsky to a late-night meeting in the local quarry to deliver or stern warning. His pride and self-centered behavior have caused Béatrice’s malady, so he must repent and reform now or risk losing her forever. Malinsky is not inclined to be bullied, but l’Inconnu is highly convincingly, like a cross between the Ghost of Christmas Present and Quilty from Kubrick’s Lolita or Monsieur Oscar from Holy Motors, which would make sense, since he is played Denis Lavant.

Lavant manages to be both impish and demonic, especially while regaling the Malinsky family with the myth of Tantalus, which seems an unduly harsh analogue to impose on Malinsky. Whether or not he redeems himself, James Hyndman’s super performance as Malinsky certainly redeems the film. While he can be caustically droll in a way the Dowager Countess from Downton Abbey would appreciate, he is also quite poignant when portraying Malinsky’s attempts to reconcile with his entitled left-wing activist daughter and his emotionally distant mother.

Côté is not interested in spoon-feeding his audience, but the film is weirdly compelling, if viewers can handle a little ambiguity here and some of the surreal there. Admirers of Lavant will not be disappointed, but it is Hyndman who really makes the audience sit up and take notice. Recommended for fans of Côté, Carax, and Gondry, Boris Without Béatrice opens tomorrow (9/8) in New York, at the Anthology Film Archives.