Rendez-Vous ’25: The Second Act

Is it personal for these characters, or do the thesps playing them just hate their screenplay? Maybe it’s a little of both. Either way, it will be a rocky stop-and-start shoot in Quentin Dupieux’s The Second Act, which screens during this year’s Rendez-Vous with French Cinema.

Guillaume Tardieu does not think much of the man dating his daughter and he likes the actor playing him even less. He makes that clear whenever he breaks character, which is often. He is relatively okay with Florence Drucker, who plays his daughter, probably because she is a pretty big star. Regardless, he is much more interested in the upcoming Paul Thomas Anderson he claims he just signed onto.

Second Actis sort of meta, but much less so than many of Dupieux’s previous films. Reality and the film production are supposed to blend together as the actors break character and the fourth wall. However, it is way too easy to tell who is talking, actor or character. That means no bending of minds, let alone blowing them. It all just plays out like an extremely uncomfortable “making of” feature.

Rodin: The Sculptor of Balzac and the Lover of Claudel

Here in New York, both the Met and the MoMA have casts of Auguste Rodin’s Monument to Balzac. It must be among the few common pieces held in both collections, but it makes sense both museums would want it. It is commonly referred to as the first truly modern sculpture, but the contemporary reaction was far less laudatory. The evolution of the iconic work becomes the central narrative line of Jacques Doillon’s Rodin (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

In 1880, Rodin is already recognized in many quarters as a master, but not by French society universally. Life is not bad. He has received a game-changing commission in The Gates of Hell and his relationship with his protégé-lover Camille Claudel has not turned completely toxic yet. Unfortunately, that will change in a few short years. Rodin will also receive the Balzac commission that will inspire and frustrate him for years to come.

Claudel has been the subject of two previous films, Bruno Nuytten’s 1986 Camille Claudel, starring Isabelle Adjani and Bruno Dumont’s Camille Claudel,1915, starring Juliette Binoche, so it is time Rodin got some equal time. Although Vincent Lindon hardly portrays him as a saint, Doillon’s screenplay clearly suggests Claudel was severely emotionally disturbed and Rodin went to considerable lengths to support her. Meanwhile, the philistines kept hounding him for a conventionally idolized statue of Balzac.

Lindon is quite forceful as Rodin, nicely conveying both his rough-hewn working-class roots and his artistic sensibilities (for lack of a better term). Initially, he looks rather craggy for a forty-year-old, but people aged quicker in the 19th Century. He also develops some rather complicated but surprisingly warm chemistry with Séverine Caneele as his rustic common law wife, Rose Beuret. Contemporary critics might find her simple devotion troubling, but it is historically accurate (and again, the 19^th Century was an entirely different era, especially for a middle-aged woman with limited resources). Likewise, Claudel gets no PR favors from Doillon’s treatment. Izïa Higelin is an underwhelming screen presence opposite Lindon—and inevitable comparisons to Adjani and Binoche will not do her any favors either.

There are some beautiful moments in Rodin, such as his lunch with his Modernist colleagues, in which he bucks up the spirits of a dejected Cézanne, briefly but memorably played by Arthur Nauzyciel. However, there is no getting around the stately slowness of Doillon’s pacing. If you want to soak up the details of Rodin’s meticulously recreated studio than this film will be your heart’s desire, but if you want brisk scandal, go back to Nuytten. (Also, at the risk of sounding like a goody-two-shoes, there is a ridiculously gratuitous sex scene, but perhaps it helps maintain Doillon’s provocative reputation.)

Regardless, Doillon’s Rodin will give most viewers a greater appreciation of the vision and sweat equity that went into the artist’s remarkable body of work, which cinematographer Christophe Beaucarne often frames in suitably dramatic ways. Recommended for serious admirers of the artist and lead actor, Rodin opens this Friday (6/1) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.

SFIFF ’16: The White Knights

The line between humanitarianism and human trafficking is hardly what you would call “fine.” there is a big, fat demarcation there. Yet somehow the NGO Zoe’s Ark still had trouble keeping on the right side. Their “enthusiastic” efforts to place orphans with French families remains controversial in both Chad and France. Their fictional analog, Move for People, will get some of benefit of the doubt. Even so, the paving on road to Hell is still the same as it ever was. Even if they had good intentions, they certainly make an appalling mess of things in Joachim Lafosse’s The White Knights (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 San Francisco International Film Festival.

When Move for People’s Jacques Arnault arrives in-country, his top priorities are “acquiring” orphans five-years-old or younger from the surrounding village chiefs and securing air transportation out of the country. It almost seems like he foresees a need to leave in a hurry. Nevertheless, he has approved the presence of an embedded journalist to document their work. Of course, he neglected to tell her the organization is facing an official investigation in France. That little tidbit she learns from her editor after settling in at the NGO’s compound.

The irony (really, one of several) is Arnault’s scheme would not be so bad if the chief’s more scrupulously followed their instructions. Unfortunately, we soon suspect many parents have been convinced to give up their children so they can receive medical treatment and an education, with the expectation they can readily be visited.

There is plenty of blame to go around in this ripped-from-the-headlines morality play, starting with the NGO, but also including the chiefs and villagers, as well as the journalist who largely succumbs to Arnault’s gruff charm. He is played by Vincent Lindon, so it is hard to judge her too harshly. What is really shocking is how true-to-life the narrative is. Frankly, White Knights could be used as an infomercial for Guidestar and other non-profit watchdogs.

Lindon does his thing, blustering and bullying those who start to doubt, while tearing up when talking to prospective adoptive parents on the phone. The duality of his persona well suits Lafosse’s equivocal tone. Even when the bottom completely falls out of Move for People’s scheme, it is still hard to judge their intentions with certainty.

White Knights is the sort of ensemble piece that is best served by actors blending in rather than standing out. In that respect, it is remarkable to see Louise Bourgoin (so glamorous in The Girl from Monaco) disappear into the role of Laura Turine, Arnault’s ardent worker bee deputy. However, Reda Kateb brings some edge as their fixer, Xavier Lipert.

Even with the prominent names attached to White Knights, its jaundiced view of NGO do-goodery will not likely endear it critics and art-house programmers. It is just too subtle and challenging. Indeed, there is absolutely nothing simplistic about it. Recommended for Francophiles and internationalist skeptics, White Knights screens tomorrow (4/25), Wednesday (4/27), and Friday (4/29), as part of this year’s SFIFF.

Augstine: Dr. Charcot’s Kind of Dangerous Method

Freud was deeply influenced by his former teacher, Jean-Martin Charcot, even naming his son after the French neurologist.  What did Charcot’s patients think of the man dubbed the “Napoleon of Neuroses?”  That is the whole revisionist question asked throughout Alice Winocour’s Augustine (trailer here), which opens this Friday at Film Forum.

Little is known about the mysterious young servant girl called “Augustine,” beyond the fact she was “hysterical.” That was the official blanket term covering a wide range of neurological and psychological disorders.  In Belle Époque France, it was considered almost entirely a female phenomenon—hence Dr. Charcot’s clinic exclusively catered to women.

Augustine is mostly likely suffering from some form of schizophrenia.  Viewers soon suspect good old fashioned Victorian repression is complicating her diagnosis.  Unfortunately, there are no strict Freudians in the house.  However, Dr. Charcot might have an inkling of what troubles the woman.  Through hypnosis he recreates her spectacular fits during his regular public lecture series.  Obviously, this is wildly inappropriate according to contemporary standards of medical ethics.  While they were considered good public relations outreach for Dr. Charcot’s research at the time, Winocour unambiguously and repeatedly emphasizes their exploitative aspects.

Essentially, Winocour’s Augustine plays like a feminist variation on Truffaut’s The Wild Child, driving home its points at every possible opportunity.  Yes, Charcot is using Augustine.  We so get it.  When Augustine starts using her femininity jujitsu-like against Charcot, the film finally jumps le shark.

For all its psychosexual power games, Augustine is bizarrely slow going.  Winocour nicely sets the scene, but is content to leave viewers stewing in it.  Arguably, Vincent Lindon’s performance as Dr. Charcot is too good for Winocour’s purposes, subtly expressing the doubts and misgivings that humanize the Emperor of hysteria.  Conversely, Soko (evidently well known within the French electronica scene) brings a rather pedestrian presence to the film as the ostensible wild child title character.  We never get a sense of danger from her, only an exterior twitchiness, even during her big moments of empowerment.

Costume designer Pascaline Chavanne and production designer Arnaud De Moléron’s team nicely recreate the period details, but Winocour never delves below the surface level.  As a result, Augustine is conspicuously manipulative, stacking the deck in plain viewer sight.  While the subject matter is intriguing, the execution lacks nuance and verve.  For diehard Francophiles, it opens this Friday (5/17) in New York at Film Forum.

French Rendezvous ’12: Pater

The French president and his prospective prime minister are moonlighting as their own videographers. They will probably be the only French workers who still have jobs if their ideologically-driven economic plans are passed. At least they enjoy talking about it in Alain Cavalier’s Pater (trailer here), which screens during this year’s Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Alain Cavalier and Vincent Lindon play themselves playing a crafty old president and the socialist industrialist he recruits as his heir apparent. The president is about to announce a major initiative to cap salaries nationally at fifteen times the minimum wage. His new PM is the perfect man to sell it, because he voluntarily set a ten-fold ceiling at his own factory. In fact, the preference for ten versus fifteen will become a major source of tension between the soon to become rivals. Yet, they can still find time to discuss clothes and savor some truffles together.

Evidently, the best case the leading lights of French cinema can make for socialism is the perceived appeal of symmetry. We have a minimum wage, so why not a maximum they frequently argue. The potential impact on French capital formation worries them not. Still, they might as well put their economy on ice. With Germany bailing out every EU country that comes calling, there is no sense in any European working a real job.

The elegant luxury of Lindon and Cavalier’s world might be interpreted as an ironic commentary on their limousine socialism, but it is not clear Pater is that self-aware. Rather, it appears more interested in playing “are-we-in-character-or-are-we-not” games with viewers. Still, Lindon and Cavalier are clearly comfortable playing off each other, showing flashes of wit here and there.

While their story of the protégé challenging his political mentor should have great dramatic potential, the film’s largely two-handed improvisational format is unable to flesh out the meat on its bare bones. Indeed, Pater is more like a theater piece in need of a rigorous work-shopping than a fully conceived and realized film.

In a way, Pater is like the French arthouse version of the movies Burt Reynolds and Dom DeLuise made together, in which everyone works very hard trying to show the audience what a good time everyone had making the picture. Rather slight but quite self-satisfied, Pater can be safely skipped at this year’s Rendezvous with French Cinema. For those looking for a quick fix of smug French in-jokes, it screens tonight (3/3) at BAM and tomorrow (3/4) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Parent-Teacher Associating: Mademoiselle Chambon

In general, the French excel at infidelity. There are exceptions though. When a rough-hewn married construction worker falls for his son’s teacher, it lead to pain and confusion for them both in Stéphane Brizé’s Mademoiselle Chambon (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Jean is not a smooth talker. A contractor, he works with his hands rather than words. As a result, he is surprised when his son’s teacher, Mademoiselle Chambon, asks him to address the class on their monthly career day. Though they do not have much to say to each other, there are definitely the subtle stirrings of attraction between them. Those vague temptations become much more pronounced when Mlle. hires Jean to replace her drafty windows. It is consummated with achingly poignancy when he convinces the teacher to play her violin for him at the end of the job. Though chaste, their encounter is so intimate it is tantamount to betrayal.

Frankly, Chambon should have ended at this point. Though the cast is uniformly excellent throughout the film, Brizé’s handling of their “courtship” is so powerful the more conventional infidelity drama that follows seems like a let-down. Had that made it a short subject rather than a feature, then so be it.

Still, the cast brings their characters to life with exquisite sensitivity. The casting of real life exes Vincent Lindon and Sandrine Kiberlain as the potential illicit lovers surely raised eyebrows in France. However, they have the perfectly physicality for their roles (him hulking but hesitant and her fragile yet mature) as well as an undeniable chemistry together.

Exhibiting remarkable patience, Brizé lets each scene unfold with unhurried grace. The stark romanticism is brilliantly enhanced by the music, both licensed classical recordings and the violin of Ayako Tanaka (whose work significantly contributes to the film’s melancholy ambiance). Yet, Brizé is also just as effective in his use of silence. Indeed, it is a finely tuned production that looks and sounds quite striking.

Impressionistic and fatalistic, Chambon is perhaps a victim of its early success conveying the quiet yearning and uncertainty of its leads. Though it loses some of its potency once it settles into a familiar story arc, it remains an elegant examination of emotional betrayal. A film for mature adults (in the best sense of the word), Chambon opens tomorrow (5/28) at the Cinema Village.

Rendezvous ’10: Welcome

It looks like Sarkozy is in for the “W” treatment from French filmmakers. Though not singled out for personal censure, Philippe Lioret’s latest film is decidedly unsubtle in its withering assessment of Sarkozy-era France. Evidently, it is particularly scandalous that the government has the gall (Gaul) to enforce its own immigration laws. Indeed, subtlety is in short supply in Lioret’s oh-so ironically titled Welcome (trailer here), which screens during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s 2010 Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Bilal is miserable in France. He wants to be in England where the love of his life legally immigrated with her parents. He has come all the way from Kurdistan to Calais, but cannot get across the Channel, though certainly not for a lack of trying. Time is ticking too. For some bizarre reason, her father is less than thrilled with the prospect of his daughter marrying an unskilled illegal alien and is doing his best to prevent Bilal from communicating with her. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so he signs up for swimming lessons at the local rec center.

Simon is also miserable in France. The love of his life just served him divorce papers. A former national champion, he now teaches swimming lessons to kids when not moping around inconsolably. When he takes on Bilal as a student, he strongly discourages the Kurdish youth from tackling the Channel. Still, something about Bilal’s romantic ardor touches the older man. In no time at all, Simon has moved Bilal into his apartment, incurring the wrath of the government.

Vincent Lindon gives an achingly humane performance as Simon, but unfortunately it is in the service of a clumsily didactic film. Still, when not making the same points over and over, Welcome has some nice scenes between Lindon and Audrey Dana as his ex Marion that actually ring true. We do get a sense of the shared history and flawed chemistry between them. Unfortunately, Bilal and his fellow countrymen have little personality, essentially serving as props in Welcome’s morality play.

To its credit, Welcome acknowledges the brutality of Saddam Hussein and his regime, at least to a limited extent. During an attempt to stowaway on a lorry bound for Britain, Bilal is unable to keep a bag over his head because it brings back vivid sense memories of Saddam’s torture chambers. Still, the tenor of the film is far from pro-war. Rather it is an overwrought condemnation of a supposedly Fascist state apparatus that heartlessly prosecutes those tolerant enough to shelter illegals like Bilal.

If viewers try to anticipate the most manipulative possible plot developments at each turn, they will never be surprised by Welcome. This film has a point to make and it is not about to let us forget it, drowning out two very well turned performances in the process. It screens today (3/12) and next Sunday (3/21) at the Walter Reade Theater and tomorrow (3/13) at the IFC Film Center.