Double Life, Starring Javicia Leslie

Compared to the other attorneys in this film, Assistant DA Mark Setter was relatively upright and ethical. He was only cheating on his wife. In contrast, his colleagues’ corruption is undermining public safety. Unfortunately, Setter is also one who gets murdered, on the eve of his biggest trial. His demise will also be the awkward catalyst bringing together his wife and secret hook-up (words like “mistress” or “lover” would probably overstate the depth of their relationship) in Martin Wood’s Double Life, which releases this Friday in theaters and on VOD.

Sharon Setter thought her husband was on his way back from the office when he placed that final fateful call, but he has really returning from Jo Creuzot’s place. Regardless, Ms. Setter hears it all when he is driven off the road to his death. She quickly tires of the smarmy sympathy and fake solicitousness of her late husband’s colleagues, but Creuzot seems refreshingly down-to-earth.

She introduces herself as the manager of Setter’s favorite courthouse tavern, whom he helped with some legal difficulties, but the truth will come out eventually. When it does, it is sure to complicate the two women’s amateur sleuthing efforts to solve Setter’s murder—not that is much of a mystery. A blind alpaca could figure out who in the small cast of characters is guilty, by virtue of their blatantly suspicious behavior.

Honestly, most episodes of Barnaby Jones are more intricately plotted than Double Life. There is no question Michael Hurst & Chris Sivertson’s screenplay is better suited to Lifetime than a ticket-selling movie theater. The only conceivable commercial justification for its studio distribution would be the post-Arrowverse starring role for former Batwoman Javicia Leslie, but even that seems like a stretch.

Still, as Creuzot, she has the strongest screen presence and shows off some decent chops, in the otherwise unremarkable action scenes. Supposedly, Creuzot’s ex before Setter was a security specialist, who taught her Krav Maga and left behind some convenient surveillance devices (because apparently that sort of equipment isn’t very expensive).

A White, White Day, from Iceland

Iceland is only five hours by air from North America, but its closest neighbors are Greenland and the Faroe Islands. Their most recent international Oscar suggests the national temperament is as stone-faced and glacial as their geography. The slow burn is about as slow and reserved as it gets in screenwriter-director Hlynur Palmason’s A White, White Day, which opens virtually today in major markets.

Palmason does not do a lot of explaining, but it is clear Ingimundur still deeply mourns his late wife, who died prematurely in an auto accident, caused by the damp and misty climate. It appears the police chief has stepped down to some extent, but he still regularly puts in time at the station. He also attends regularly mandated counseling sessions, but his lack of enthusiasm is clearly evident. The saving grace of his life is Salka, the granddaughter he adores (for whom he shares day-to-day up-bringing responsibilities, due to yet another family tragedy).

Then one day he stumbles across evidence his beloved wife was having an affair. It really bothers Ingimundur, because it confirms suspicions that he tried to ignore at the time. As he grows increasingly preoccupied with her infidelity, the senior policeman starts stalking her presumed lover and exhibiting markedly more aggressive behavior.

White, White has been pitched as a thriller, but viewers will be forgiven if they just don’t see it that way. Palmason’s meticulousness and austere discipline are impressive, but also exhausting. There a lot of scenes focusing on people (often Ingimundur) sitting in a parked car, quietly brooding—a whole lot.

Basically, White, White lives by Palmason’s aesthetic and dies by Palmason’s aesthetic. The performance of veteran Icelandic actor Ingvar Sigurdsson is truly masterful, but there are limits to how far he can pull the audience through such a frosty viewing experience. In a weird way, he is also undermined by recent events, because one of his big eruptions comes during a video-conference meeting. Instead of being shocked, a lot of viewers are likely to think: “yeah, that was me during my 3:00.”

5 to 7: The Rules of Infidelity, According to the French

The French are so sophisticated about love and sex. Wannabe literary hipsters are so not. Yet, for reasons bafflingly obscure, a retired French model picks an aspiring New Yorker short story writer for her evening dalliances. They can only meet for two hours in the early evening because according to French tradition that is the time when husbands and wives might be indisposed without arousing suspicion. Of course, her unlikely lover has trouble with their arrangement because he is so hopelessly bourgeoisie. There is culture clash on the Upper Eastside in Victor Levin’s 5 to 7 (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

It is pretty clear from his constant bittersweet narration, if Brian Bloom ever made it as writer, it is because he had his heart ripped out and stomped on. The glamorous Arielle looks like the perfect woman to do it. Much to Bloom shock (and the audience’s disbelief), the slightly older French woman is receptive when he awkwardly approaches he outside the St. Regis. She rather enjoys his earnest geekiness and recommends he meet her again the following week at the same time and place. That would be after five, of course. She makes no secret of her marriage, but stresses they must follow the rules.

We eventually learn Bloom was raised Jewish, but he is more uptight about this sort of thing than a repressed Protestant with body issues. Just having some ships-in-the-night fun is beyond him, but Arielle’s charm and beauty have him bewitched. She even introduces him to her gracious editor at FSG (you won’t find any Harlequin drones at their shindigs). Although it is unfathomable for the audience, everyone believes in Bloom’s potential, but he jeopardizes everything by falling in love with Arielle.

On the one hand, Levin captures a vivid sense of why New York is such an alluring city in the first place. When he goes for pure elegance and ambiance, 5 to 7 is rather entertaining like a one night assignation, heavy on champagne and light on consequences. Unfortunately, Bloom’s narration will have viewers pulling their hair out and his dialogue often sounds like it was written with a laugh track in mind. As it happens, Levin has extensive television credits with shows like Mad About You and Dream On.

According to imdb, less than ten years separate co-leads Anton Yelchin and Bérénice Marlohe, but he looks about fourteen years old and she looks incredible. James Bond had good reason to be upset when Javier Bardem killed her character in Skyfall. She is trés charmant and makes her scenes with Yelchin work, despite the glib, sitcommy banter he is stuck with. As the suave Valéry, Lambert Wilson makes Charles Boyer look like Walter Brennan, but he is also shockingly compelling when defending the rules and rituals required to keep up appearances. However, when Glenn Close and Frank Langella show up as Bloom’s bickering parents, we find ourselves expecting the laugh track to kick in again.

Levin is clearly aiming for old fashioned romance and the exquisite regret of love lost. We could use more of that sort of vibe in films today, but 5 to 7 would have worked better if he kept it simpler, straighter, and quieter. It should play quite well on television, but for those craving a decidedly nostalgic rom com, 5 to 7 opens tomorrow (4/3) in New York, at the IFC Center.

Pretty Rosebud: Traditional Families & Strange Bedfellows

Cecilia “Sissy” Santos is a political consultant who feels deeply guilty when she succumbs to adulterous temptation. Yes, that sounds far-fetched, but if you can accept it, there are merits to be found in Oscar Torre’s Pretty Rosebud (trailer here), written by and starring his real life wife Chuti Tiu, which opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

Apparently, Santos works for a combination boutique PR agency and political consulting firm, but its not clear what they do during odd numbered years. Regardless, she at least has a going career with opportunities for advancement. That is more than her lay-about husband Phil can say. He resents his wife’s status as the sole breadwinner, but he refuses to even consider anything less than his previous gig. In all honesty, his ambition has dried up and his sex drive essentially followed with it.

However, Sissy Santos has this boxing trainer (conveniently played by Torre, who looks the part). She regrets it afterward, but of course her husband is still his same insufferably entitled self. Time spent with her traditional Filipino family does not help much either, especially when they complain about her golden boy brother’s divorced Anglo girlfriend. To make matters worse, she has plenty of candidates for further adultery at work, including the congressional nominee, whose campaign she is assigned to.

Tiu might be writing from a Filipina perspective, but the issues Santos wrestles with should resonate with audiences from diverse ethnic backgrounds, with old school parents. Arguably, she really stacks the deck against dumb old Phil, but her scenes with the family’s Catholic priest are surprisingly well written and more than fair to the priest. In fact, the good Father just might have some helpful, nonjudgmental counsel to offer.

Obviously, Rosebud was conceived as a showcase for Tiu (a former Miss Illinois), but she proves to be equal to the challenge of carrying the picture. She is a striking presence, but the maturity tempering her sexuality is something you almost never see on film. It is a bold, vulnerably exposed performance. While Torre has limited screen time as Alejandro the trainer, he helps generate the necessary heat to set in motion all the subsequent conflicts. Richard Yniguez’s Father Antonio also nicely bolsters the film’s forgiving tone. In contrast, Kipp Shiotani certainly makes viewers contemptuous of Phil, which seems to be his assignment, while the Santos parents are mostly played as broad, churchy stereotypes.

Rosebud is a small intimate film, but it juggles some heavy themes relatively dexterously. If nothing else, the gym scenes ought to convince DirecTV they need Tiu and Torre for the next season of Kingdom. Recommended for those who appreciate a frank, women’s POV adultery drama, Pretty Rosebud opens this Friday (1/16) in Los Angeles at the Arena Cinema.

Slamdance on the Road: Cheatin’

Those who write about film ignore the scrappy Slamdance Film Festival at their mortal peril. Sure, it takes place during another big film event that is fun to cover, but Slamdance has had its share of breakout hits as well. Filmmakers who launched their careers there include small cult figures like Christopher Nolan (Following) and Oren Peli (that’s right, Paranormal Activity). Bill Plympton was already an established name with a sizable following when he brought his latest hand-drawn animated feature to this year’s Slamdance, but he seemed to dig the laid back-just folks vibe. Given its freshness and subsequent success on the festival circuit (including Fantasia), Plympton’s Cheatin’ (trailer here) is a fitting alumnus film to help celebrate Slamdance’s twentieth anniversary with a special Slamdance On The Road screening in Salt Lake City.

Jake and Ella have animated bodies that put Jessica Rabbit to shame. When they first meet, the romantic sparks immediately start to fly. Before long, they are a passionate and committed couple. Unfortunately, the lust they inspire in others will lead to trouble. When Jake spurns the advances of a temptress-floozy, she returns with fraudulent evidence of Ella’s supposed infidelity. Devastated by the phony revelation, Jake embarks on a binge of cheap assignations, openly inviting Ella’s suspicions. However, she discovers a way to thwart his vengeful libido with the help of a seedy magician and his fantastical invention.

Although Cheatin’ ventures into genre territory during the third act, it is really grounded in universal themes, like love and sex and how they work with and against each other. Stylistically, it is Plympton’s most ambitious film yet, strikingly incorporating elements of watercolor. Almost completely free of dialogue, he tells the story entirely through visual means, like a far trippier version of The Artist.

The resulting vibe is quite distinctive. The early scenes have a Continental flavor, evoking Toulouse-Lautrec and Chekhovian heroines, while the middle section has the Americana feel of Hopper paintings, Our Town, and James Cain (Jake’s lonely looking filling station is a perfect example). Of course, Plympton’s still incorporates plenty of surreal flights of fancy, as his fans would hope, but the fundamental romanticism keeps it comparatively restrained.

Cheatin’ looks terrific—even elegant at times. Plympton’s frequent musical collaborator Nicole Renaud also really helps set the mood with her lush magpie score, freely repurposing bits and pieces borrowed from classic opera and tango. Fully Oscar qualified, it could be a dark horse contender. Recommended for adult animation fans, Cheatin’ screens this coming Wednesday (9/10) at the Tower Theatre in Salt Lake, as part of Slamdance On The Road.

The Garrels’ Jealousy

We expect the French to be very insouciant about trifles like infidelity and divorce, but the Garrels know better. The reigning first family of French cinema has long plumbed their very personal history for artistic inspiration. After thoroughly examining his tempestuous relationship with 1960s icon Nico, Philippe Garrel puts his late actor father Maurice Garrel on the cinematic pop-psychology couch, casting his son Louis as his grandfather. It is definitely a family affair. In fact, some of the father-and-son’s best work together coalesced in the senior Garrel’s Jealousy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Known simply as “Louis,” Louis Garrel’s protagonist is leaving his wife and daughter for his sultry lover Claudia, much as his real life grandfather did. The former cad will try to turn over a new leaf, striving to be a faithful lover and attentive father to his young daughter, Charlotte. Indeed, one should not impose slavish one-for-one symbolism on Jealousy, lest Charlotte be taken for an analog of the filmmaker himself.

In terms of narrative, Jealousy is a simple story of a relationship that starts out full of passion and hope, but eventually turns sour. The differences between Louis and Claudia are not immediately apparent, but they prove too profound to withstand the test of time. Although they are both stage actors, she has not worked in years, whereas he constantly takes low-to-no paying gigs. Despite the occasional flirtation, he takes his commitment to Claudia seriously, whereas she adopts an attitude of what-he-doesn’t-know-can’t-hurt-him.

Jealousy is an intimate film, in the Cassavetes sense, but it is stylish and accessible. It might also represent Louis Garrel’s finest screen turn to date. Frankly, in past outings, he has perhaps tried too hard, projecting a cloyingly boyish persona (as in Love Songs and Making Plans for Lena). However, there is nothing twee or affected about his work in Jealousy—no sheepish invitation to ruffle his locks. It is a more mature, Zen-like performance that pulls us into the character’s life, engendering understanding and even sympathy. Although he did not try to play his grandfather outright, he presumably had more to draw upon from personal experience than had he portrayed some distant literary or historical figure.

Anna Mouglalis (the better of the competing Chanels in Coco Channel & Igor Stravinsky) also fleshes out some surprisingly deep dimensions in the impulsive Claudia. It is a bold, earthy turn that impresses. Yet nobody can match young Olga Milshtein as the precociously wise and winning Charlotte. Completing the Garrel family quota, Louis’s sister Esther Garrel brings some verve and energy as his on-screen namesake sibling.

Willy Kurant’s black-and-white cinematography arrestingly heightens the on-screen emotional conflict. It is a lovely picture that evokes the filmmaker’s earlier pictures, like Emergency Kisses, but it feels considerably less self-conscious. Philippe Garrel’s films may still be an acquired taste, but Jealousy is the right thin edge of the wedge to start with. Recommended for those who appreciate French post-Wave auteurs and chamber drama in general, Jealousy opens this Friday (8/15) in New York at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center.

Tribeca ’14: Bright Days Ahead

Caroline looks considerably younger than her husband Philippe, but he still practices dentistry, whereas she has retired. That means she has time on her hands. Much to her surprise, she will find things to do at an upscale senior center that happens to employ a much younger but surprisingly receptive personal computing teacher. Fanny Ardant takes a diva turn in Marion Vernoux’s adultery drama Bright Days Ahead (trailer here), which screened during the 2014 Tribeca Film Festival.

Caroline is not adapting well to retirement. When her grown daughters buy her a trial membership at the Bright Days Ahead senior’s club, she nearly has a fit. You can hardly blame her—a name like that sounds like some sort of rehab clinic. Reluctantly, she starts going to Julien’s computer classes when their home PC goes on the Fritz. Before long, some cougar-himbo hanky-panky commences.  Unfortunately, her increasing recklessness leads to inevitable exposure.

Even with the not exactly jaw-dropping age difference between the not-so secret lovers, Bright is a pretty standard exercise in cinematic infidelity. Yes, Ardant still has it, but what distinguishes Vernoux’s otherwise conventional screenplay (co-written with Fanny Chesnel) are a handful of blisteringly honest scenes and a quiet gut-check performance from Patrick Chesnais as the wronged husband.

Philippe is indeed wronged, a fact that Vernoux and Chesnel do nothing to water-down. Refusing to be conveniently submissive, he is a dignified yet emotionally messy rebuke to the of pat empowerment themes often bandied about by adulterous wife movies. Similarly, Caroline goes into the affair remarkably clear-headed, even helping Julien keep up appearances with his younger lovers. However, you might have to be a sixty-some year old French woman to appreciate the charms of Laurent Lafitte’s Julien.

Without question, it is the veterans Ardant and Chesnais who make Bright work to the extent it does, particularly in their scenes together. Rather undistinguished looking, it still has enough incisive moments that pop to make the whole worthwhile. Recommended for Francophiles, Bright Days Ahead has already opened in New York at the Quad Cinema, following its American premiere at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival. It also screens this Sunday (5/4) at the Montclair Film Film Festival in Jersey.

NYAFF ’13: Rigodon

If fame is an aphrodisiac, this married former reality show contestant has made the most of his third place finish.  He has had much less success monetizing his fifteen minutes, but to be fair, he has been rather busy juggling all his action on the side.  Karma will do as it does in Erik Matti’s very adult drama Rigodon (trailer here), which screens tonight during the eagerly awaited 2013 edition of the New York Asian Film Festival.

Clearly, the American-born Riki Torres appreciates voluptuous women.  He is married to the wildly insecure Regina (Reg) and picks up the rebounding professional Sarah Dilag in a club.  Torres plays it cool though, manipulating Dilag into making all the first moves.  Their illicit affair quickly gets hot and heavy, but his acting career remains as cool as Vanilla Ice.  Deeply in debt to loan sharks, Torres promises his wife a big break is just around the corner.  Yet, despite his love for their young daughter Pammy, he allows his domestic life to crater. Meanwhile, his secret life with Dilag becomes more demanding.

In the Philippines, Rigodon was hailed as the return of the erotic drama. You might be surprised to hear they ever went away, even in the predominantly Catholic country (which brought the world Hubad a few years ago).  Regardless, Rigodon holds up its end with some of the frankest sex scenes viewers will see while still feeling confident they are in a festival-worthy film. 

Matti’s vibe of detached foreboding and Ricardo Buhay III’s sensitively framed cinematography largely offset the film’s potential sensationalism.  The primary cast also manages to make the characters convincingly flawed but messily human.  Obviously the camera loves one-time rock drummer Yan Concepcion, but she is also quite impressive portraying Dilag’s evolution from innocence to obsession.  Likewise, Max Eigenmann’s work as the wronged wife is quite powerful.  Even John James Uy taps into something tragically human and almost sympathetic in the caddish Torres.

Taking its title from a traditional dance, Rigodon is a stylish but mostly restrained examination of infidelity that saves all the melodrama for the final ten minutes.  If Michael Mann were to remake an Adrian Lynne film in Manila it might look a lot like this.  There is a great deal of honesty in the film and also quite a bit of nudity.  Recommended for adult adults, Rigodon screens with Matti’s creepy little short, Vesusius (which kind of-sort of suggests you had better pay attention to what the Church has to say about apparitions), later tonight (6/29) at the Walter Reade Theater, as part of the 2013 NYAFF’s special focus, Manila Chronicles: The New Filipino Cinema.

Premiere Brazil! ’12: I’d Receive the Worst News from Your Beautiful Lips

Cheating with a minister’s wife is like asking for divine payback.  The preacher might be a bit of an environmental rabble-rouser, but the other man is still in for a heap of trouble, albeit of a decidedly worldly variety, in Beto Brant & Renato Ciasca’s I’d Receive the Worst News from Your Beautiful Lips (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2012 Premiere Brazil!, now running at MoMA.

In provincial Amazonia, there is not much to do besides clear-cutting rainforest and having illicit affairs.  Two hot-blooded outsiders like Cauby and Lavinia are better suited to the latter.  He is a photographer wandering the region, picking up freelance gigs taking mug-shots and snooping through keyholes for the local scandal sheet.  She is the wife of tree-hugging Christian Ernani.  Though she desires her fevered assignations with the increasingly obsessed Cauby, she still feels affection and a debt of gratitude to her ardent but somewhat older husband.  Secrecy is therefore important, but there is nothing harder to maintain in a small town.

Lips (if ever a title merited abbreviation, if would be Brant and Ciasca’s adaptation of Marçal Aquino’s novel) changes genres faster than the Amazonian weather turns.  It starts out like a Brazilian Red Shoe Diary, segues into a Body Heat noir thriller, finally ending with melodrama worthy of a telenovela.  It is actually reasonably competent observing the conventions of all three, but only truly masters the softcore eroticism of the first act.

Indeed, Lips is definitely a film for those who appreciate a relatively classy looking love scene.  However, the sympathetic portrayal of the Evangelical Ernani is a pleasant surprise, regardless of his outspokenly green sermons.  There is nothing hypocritical or unseemly about him.  In fact, he emerges as an almost saintly figure in the film’s distracting flashback scenes.

As Cauby and Lavinia, Gustavo Machado and Camila Pitanga are perfectly credible throwing themselves at each other and are more or less passable as the film progresses into darker territory.  Arguably, ZéCarlos Machado’s work as Ernani is the film’s most nuanced and intriguing, but there are also several small but colorful supporting performances that give Lips character.

Of course, setting looms large in Lips.  Viewers can just feel the humid sultriness as Cauby and  Lavinia commune with nature or prowl through their nocturnal world.  Cinematographer Lula Araújo gives it all a silky sheen appropriate to the over-the-top on-screen passion.  While Lips’ final act is an extended let down, the entire film is certainly evocative and never really dull.   A visually appealing production, Lips should fit the bill for those who enjoy steamy cinema with a veneer of art-house sophistication.  Obviously not for general audiences, Lips screens tomorrow (7/15) and Tuesday, July 24^th, as this year’s Premiere Brazil! continues at MoMA.  Viewer discretion is advised.

Davies Adapts Rattigan: The Deep Blue Sea

It seems unfathomable in hindsight, but after leading the United Kingdom through its darkest hour, the British electorate turned out Prime Minister Winston Churchill. Of course, Sir Winston would eventually return to Number 10. For one raffish ex-RAF pilot, the Second World War represented his finest hour and his post-war prospects are rather anemic. A married woman has grand ambitions to make a future with him, but it is not be in Terence Davies’ adaptation of Terrence Rattigan’s The Deep Blue Sea (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Hester Collyer is married to Sir William Collyer, a man of means and position. She is forty years old in an era when forty was considerably older than it is now. Perhaps she should be grateful for her comfortable life, but she is eager to chuck it away for Freddie Page. He cut quite the heroic figure during the war and Collyer still sees it in him.

For a brief period, everything is lovely between them. However, Page is quickly put off by the intensity of her ardor. It is all rather tacky to a hedonist like him. After his passive-aggressive contempt drives her to attempt suicide, Page has had enough. However, Collyer is not ready to let him go.

Arguably, nobody has a better feel for the post-war milieu than Davies. He and cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister (whose credits include AMC’s The Prisoner reboot) create the dark malaise-ridden British equivalent of a series of Norman Rockwell paintings. It is a world of drab browns and soft incandescent lighting that invites nostalgia for an era of pessimism.

The problem with Sea is that Simon Russell Beale’s Sir William comes across as such a dashed decent fellow (though his mother is another story altogether) and Tim Hiddleston’s Page is so churlish, it is hard to believe the adulterous wife is not considerably more torn between the two. Furthermore, it is a bit hard to believe Rachel Weisz’s Collyer cannot envision other options besides those two, even during a time of pronounced economic recession.

Even if the melodrama does not quite click, Davies pulls viewers along forcefully, largely with his masterful use of music. He stages two scenes of communal pub singing that brilliantly convey the solidarity it instilled in most working class patrons, as well as the loneliness and alienation it engendered with those who felt they were on the outside looking in. Indeed, there is no missing the prominently mixed music, including Jo Stafford’s early 1950’s rendition of “You Belong to Me” and Samuel Barber’s elegiac Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, which serves as the film’s primary soundtrack.

Davies anchors Sea so effectively in its time and place, viewers will come to understand how their social environment bred their hang-ups and forgive accordingly. Still, their indulgent brooding will try contemporary sensibilities (and intellectually seem somewhat out of place in such a period of reduced expectations and compromise). A handsome and wearying film, Sea is recommended for admirers of the Merchant-Ivory canon when it opens this Friday (3/23) in New York at the Paris Theatre and the Angelika Film Center.

Happy, Happy: Domestic Bliss in Norway

Even by Scandinavian standards, Kaja’s provincial home is cold, snowy, and remote. It ought to be conducive for some quality time with her husband Eirik, but he is not interested in her anymore. Fortunately, one of their new neighbors is. It is a case of adultery Norwegian-style in Anne Sweitsky’s Happy, Happy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Elisabeth and Sigve look like the perfect couple to Kaja. Sophisticated city professionals with an adopted Ethiopian son, they seem to have it all, even singing talent. However, their marriage is going through a rocky patch. Resolving to get past her “brief, meaningless” affair, they have moved out to nowheresville, where there will be no distractions as they work to rebuild their relationship, or not. There is Kaja though, who idolizes Elisabeth, and is delighted when Sigve appreciates her attentions.

Before long, Kaja and Sigve are carrying on rather openly in front of the kids, while Elisabeth is shifting into serious ice-shrew mode. As for Eirik, he is also interested in the new neighbors, but not in a way that would maintain the expected symmetry, if you follow.

Actually, it is not quite as naughty as it all might sound, though Happy’s very cool French one-sheet faithfully captures a memorable episode. Essentially, Sewitsky presents two couples as they struggle to decide whether their marriages are worth saving, in rather dramedic fashion. However, her scenes with the two young sons engaged in a long-running racially-charged game of “slave,” are pointlessly provocative, pushing all sorts of hot buttons, but never paying off in any meaningful way. Still, the odd Nordic-country-chorale music (including “Careless Love”) helps lighten the mood, setting an effectively eccentric atmosphere.

Somehow, Agnes Kittelsen is both creepy and endearing as the compulsively eager to please Kaja. Maibritt Saerens also brings genuine human dimensions to the sharp-elbowed Elisabeth. The guys (adults and kids) on the other hand, are a rather dull, colorless lot.

Surprisingly, Happy does not exactly wrap everything up neatly and tidily, though it definitely ends on what is intended to be a crowd pleasing note. Indeed, its optimistic messiness serves it well. While a mixed bag, it is overall a pleasant if not essential viewing experience. Recommended for those who prefer their international cinema on the quirky side, Happy opens this Friday (9/16) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Romanian Infidelity: Tuesday, After Christmas

A big beefy guy, Paul Hanganu does not exactly look irresistible, yet he has both a wife and a young professional mistress. Frankly, he ought to consider himself lucky to have just one of them. We can say this with certainty thanks to the long, revealing nude scene that opens Radu Muntean’s Tuesday, After Christmas (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday at Film Forum.

A reasonably successful banker, Paul is fairly good about sharing family duties with his wife Adriana. It is he who escorts their young daughter Mara to her attractive pediatric dentist. As a result, Paul and the younger Raluca do indeed strike up an affair. She has been largely content as the other woman, but when Adriana impulsively decides to accompany them for an appointment it proves to be a destabilizing event. Paul will have to choose between his wife and his mistress—a decision that will directly affect his plans for that titular Tuesday.

Helming Tuesday with all due deliberation, Muntean’s approach is clearly compatible with the aesthetics of the so-called Romanian New Wave. In fact, his deceptively simple story of infidelity particularly lends itself to a style that privileges intimacy over action. In truth, Tuesday is defined and distinguished by a handful of masterful scenes marked by Muntean’s long continuous shots. As the film opens, Mundean half seduces us with Paul and Raluca’s naked forms (she is in great shape, him not so much), only to de-romanticize their assignation, ultimately grounding viewers in all their imperfections. Conversely, uncomfortable hardly does justice to the awkward dynamic when Adriana invites herself along to Raluca’s office. However, her response to Paul’s eventual confession scorches with honesty.

Like so many recent cinema exports from Romania, there is simply no denying the demanding nature of Tuesday. It is definitely a film for grown-ups as well (truly its original festival poster did not mislead). However, patrons with a respectable attention span will be rewarded with some exceptional performances. As the wronged Adriana, Mirela Oprisor is totally convincing and absolutely devastating. Though her role is less showy, Maria Popistasu makes the reserved Raluca a believably fully dimensional human figure. However, Mimi Branescu’s big unfaithful lug should have had more of an edge. Instead, he seems desperate for everyone to like him, which will not be happening.

Individual scenes of Tuesday will sear themselves into viewers’ memory, while some of the connective tissue in between will remind them of the unhurried pacing of the Romanian Wave. Still, altogether it is a brutally honest, well turned work. A far more accessible Romanian import than the forthcoming Aurora, Tuesday is definitely recommended to mature cineastes when it opens this Wednesday (5/25) at Film Forum.