Ozon’s The Crime is Mine

In 1937, Will Hayes of the MPA (as it is now known) approved Wesley Ruggles’ True Confession for release despite its “flippant portrayal of the courts of justice.” If only they could have seen Judge Gustav Rabusett, the dumbest investigating magistrate in all of Paris. He appears in the first French [super-loose] adaptation of George Berr & Louis Verneuil’s play after True Confession and the subsequent American remake Cross My Heart. Rabusett does little to inspire confidence in the French justice system. However, like Roxie Hart in Chicago, Madeleine Verdier knows you cannot buy the kind of publicity a murder trial produces, so when he tries to railroad her for the fatal shooting of a producer, she goes along for the sensationalistic ride in Francois Ozon’s The Crime is Mine, which opens today in New York.

Verdier is a struggling actress. Her roommate Pauline Mauleon is a struggling attorney. When Rabusett fits her for the murder of Montferrand, a dirtbag producer with a notorious casting couch, it serves both their purposes. Verdier had indeed fought off Montferrand’s unwanted advances that fateful day, but she left before he was killed. Like any sensible women living alone in a big city, Verdier and Mauleon keep a gun in their apartment. It happens to be the same caliber that killed Montferrand. Since ballistic science was limited in the 1930s, that was more than good enough for Rabusett.

It works out pretty well for Verdier and Mauleon too. Both become newsreel stars and tabloid sensations when the actress explains how she shot Montferrand to “defend her honor.” Cannily, Mauleon turns the trial into a feminist drama, starring Verdier. Fame soon follows, as well as a fortune (on credit). Yet, the real murderer is still out there, watching as the women reap the rewards of the crime Verdier did not commit.

The source material might be dated, but the way Ozon and co-screenwriter Philippe Piazzo skewer the tabloid media still feels fresh and relevant. The adoring media act more like Verdier and Mauleon’s press agents than investigative journalists. They are not reporting the news, they are picking sides.

Yet, Ozon never blames them for playing the press or the system. In fact, he invites viewers to enjoy watching Verdier and Mauleon get one over. Indeed, it is rather subversively entertaining, thanks to energy and vitality of Nadia Tereszkiewicz and Rebecca Marder as the thesp and the mouthpiece. They are having fun getting away with it and so do viewers—at least until the regally flamboyant Isabelle Huppert throws a monkey wrench in the works, portraying Odette Chaumette, a past-her-prime actress transparently inspired by Sarah Bernhardt.

Ozon’s Double Lover

Considering how prolific Joyce Carol Oates has been over the past thirty-some years, it is surprising there haven’t been twenty of thirty more feature adaptations of her work (but there are a lot of short films listed on her imdb page). Ironically, two of her novels that were adapted here in America were subsequently remade in France. Fittingly, one of those was The Lives of the Twins a doppelganger-themed “women’s suspense” novel written under her trashier pen-name Rosamond Smith. Twins will fascinate, seduce, and generally disregard doctor-patient ethics in François Ozon’s Double Lover (trailer here), which opens on Valentine’s Day.

Dr. Paul Meyer made good progress curing Chloé Fortin’s psychosomatic stomach aches, until he stopped seeing her professionally and started seeing her personally. (They’re French, so apparently that’s okay there.) Fortin is truly mad about Meyer, but as soon as they move in together, she realizes how little she knows about him. For instance, his surname used to be Delord, but he took his mother’s maiden name when his father was unjustly embroiled in a scandal. At least, that is the story he tells when pressed. He still keeps mum on his twin brother Louis Delord, who also happens to be a shrink.

Fortin stumbles on Delord by accident, but she quickly books an appointment. She first goes hoping to get some answers, but keeps returning out of sexual attraction. Delord could indeed be described as Meyer’s “evil twin,” especially considering his even laxer code of conduct regarding patients.

Double Lover can definitely be described as an “erotic thriller,” but it would be a risky choice for Valentine’s date-night. It would be spoilery to explain, but there is some seriously adult subject matter here, way beyond mild steaminess. Eyebrows will be raised. In most other respects, Ozon observes and refines the conventions of psychological thrillers, but he over-relies on dream scenes as a symbolic literary device.

Regardless, master genre cinematographer Manuel Dacosse (Alléluia, Strange Color of You Body’s Tears, The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun) makes it all look like a De Palma movie trying to look like Hitchcock (which is a good thing). As Fortin, Marine Vacth projects enough sexual tension for a dozen Hitchcock heroines. She is not a blonde, but with her brunette bob, she could ironically pass for the younger sister of Isabella Rossellini, who had the analogous role in Lies of the Twins, the previous TV movie adaptation of the Oates/Smith novel.

Dardenne Brothers regular Jérémie Renier is terrific as Meyer and Delord, creating two very distinct personas, while leaving space for our myriad suspicions to grow. Jacqueline Bisset is also excellent as a third-act secret-revealing character. Of course, Ozon has long been one of the best at handling actors, but that is especially so in this case, with nearly everyone having dark sides and dual natures to contend with.

Honestly, DL is almost too risqué and risk-taking for its own good, but Ozon drenches his excesses in style. This could well be too much for 50 Shades to handle, because it makes it look like the smarmy cheese that it is. Recommended for patrons who like their French psycho-sexual thrillers on the wild side, but sure to generate mixed responses with the rest of us, Double Lover opens this Wednesday (2/14) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.

Ozon’s Frantz

Adrien Rivoire and Frantz Hoffmeister were practically like the Crittenden siblings in the American Civil War. The two friends were as close as brothers, yet the Frenchman and German wound up on opposite sides of World War I. The former survived, but the latter did not. Yet, Rivoire’s unexpected presence becomes strangely comforting to Hoffmeister’s parents and his fiancée in François Ozon’s Frantz (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

She almost became Anna Hoffmeister, but she lives with her intended in-laws anyway, like a dutiful widow. She is rather surprised to spy a stranger leaving flowers at Frantz’s grave, especially when he turns out to be French. Oddly, she had never heard of her not quite husband’s close friend from Paris, but she is moved by his genuine grief. At first, Hoffmeister’s father is standoffish, but soon the entire family takes consolation from Rivoire’s fond remembrances.

Inevitably, Anna’s relationship with Rivoire becomes heavier and more emotionally complex. Yet, she also starts to suspect he harbors a secret, which he does, but the press notes duly entreats us not to reveal it.

Frantz is billed as a loose riff on Ernst Lubitsch’s Broken Lullaby that also shares similarities with a certain Daniel Vigne film, but Ozon takes it in a completely different direction. Arguably, nothing works out according to our hopes and expectations at the midway point, yet there is an elegant perfection to its ultimate conclusion. Like the best films, Frantz satisfies while it surprises.

Although not exactly an unknown quantity, Paula Beer (a good German name if ever there was one) is a true revelation in Frantz. She convincingly portrays Anna’s lingering sorrow, but that is just the tip of the iceberg. It is a subtle but wide-ranging performance that touches on the full gamut of human feeling. Pierre Niney (one of the dueling Yves Saint Laurents) plays Rivoire with great sensitivity, as well as the conspicuous Frenchness the role demands, while Ernst Stötzner and Marie Gruber further reinforce the film’s elegiac sophistication as the dignified and grief-stricken Doktor and Magda Hoffmeister.

Ozon is an unusually prolific and generally reliable filmmaker, but Frantz represents one of his most assured works. It ranks with his masterful In the House, which was released four full years ago. It is also incredibly striking, thanks to Pascal Marti’s luminous black-and-white cinematography, which justly won this year’s César Award. Very highly recommended, Frantz opens tomorrow (3/15) in New York, at Film Forum.

Ozon’s In the House

Germain did not become a teacher to coddle teenagers’ self-esteem.  He wanted to teach great French literature.  That probably sounds nobler than it is in practice.  In fact, the after-school tutoring he offers a talented pupil lead to unlikely scandal in François Ozon’s In the House (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Germain begins the new academic year with his usual pessimism, but Claude Garcia’s first composition catches him off guard.  It displays a voyeuristic fascination and caustic condescension toward his classmate, Rapha Artole, and the lad’s family.  It also happens to be well written: B+.  Using his natural talent for mathematics, Garcia insinuates himself into the Artole household as Rapha Junior’s trig study partner.  After each visit, he writes what he claims are non-fiction accounts of the Artoles, but Germain analyzes as if they are part of a developing story.

It is hard to tell just how much of Garcia’s forays into the Artole house are truth or fiction, because the whole point is to keep the audience guessing.  Ozon masterfully adapts Juan Mayorga’s play, toying with truth and reality in nearly every scene, yet keeping the film firmly rooted in its characters and their relationships. At times, it comes across like a comedy in the Annie Hall tradition, but it becomes steadily darker as the psychological gamesmanship intensifies.

Germain is the sort of arrogantly urbane character Fabrice Luchini was born to play.  Perfectly exhibiting the cutting wit of a failed novelist, he could be the high-handed French cousin of Fraser Crane.  Yet, it is really up to Ernst Umhauer’s Garcia to make it all work.  He is convincingly creepy as the young master manipulator, but he also memorably expresses Garcia’s youthful insecurities at key moments.

The brilliant teacher-student tandem is backed-up by a big name French cast, including Emmanuelle Seigner, Mrs. Roman Polanski, playing against type as Rapha’s mother.  A desperate housewife of an entirely different sort, she is surprisingly earthy and vulnerable.  In contrast, Kristin Scott Thomas elevates the role of Germain’s gallerist wife Jeanne above a mere I-told-you-so commentator with her elegance and sly screen presence.  Whenever you see KST on-screen you know you are in for something smart and sophisticated.

Ozon has similar credibility.  Frankly, it is remarkable how postmodern In the House is on the page, yet how absorbing it is on the screen.  Masterly controlling the mood and thoroughly undercutting one viewer assumption after another, Ozon wraps it all up in a note of near perfection.  Very highly recommended for fans of French cinema and KST, In the House opens this Friday (4/19) in New York at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema.

Ozon’s Potiche

There have not been a lot of films made about umbrellas, but it makes sense to cast Catherine Deneuve in each and every one of them. Indeed, François Ozon tries to recreate some of the spirit of Jacques Demy’s The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (right, good luck with that). Still, he achieves an engaging retro-1970’s vibe in his period battle of the sexes and classes, Potiche (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Deneuve’s Suzanne Pujol is the “Potiche,” or trophy wife in American parlance. As the daughter of her husband’s umbrella factory owner boss, she was also something of the brass ring for Robert. Now he runs the factory with an iron fist. If he wants an opinion from his workers, he’ll give it to them. All Robert Pujol is missing is the big Monopoly Man cigar.

Not surprisingly, Pujol clashes frequently with Babin, the Communist mayor and MP for the district. It is not just a matter of ideology though. Babin has a bit of history with his wife. Wound way too tight, Pujol finally has that big Fred Sanford heart attack. With hubby laid up, Madame Pujol takes the factory reins, using the more cooperative methods of her fondly remembered father. She also has an in for dealing with the workers’ unofficial rep, Babin. Frankly, it all works much too well for her husband’s liking. Family drama ensues.

Potiche is probably the lightest, frothiest excursion into class warfare one will see on-screen for foreseeable future. The film nails the disco-dancing tracksuit-wearing 1970’s ambiance and it is always worth the price of admission to watch to legendary pros like Deneuve and Gérard Depardieu circle each other flirtatiously (but if you’ve seen him lately, you know she has her work cut out for her). Unfortunately, Fabrice Luchini is not able to counterbalance (don’t go there) Depardieu, as the rather clichéd and deliberately unlikable Pujol. By playing favorites on behalf of the leftist mayor, Ozon’s skews the film a bit too much for its own good. After all, the whole point seems to be only Suzanne Pujol has the wisdom and grace to chart a Harold Macmillan-esque middle way between the extremes represented by both men.

Still, Deneuve and Depardieu are not legends for nothing. Their “if only” romantic chemistry works on a smartly adult level. You also have to love the groovy umbrellas designed by Pujol’s searching-for-himself son Laurent (these are for you Cherbourg fans). A light and pleasant outing for two of France’s biggest stars (but hardly a treatise on industrial organization), Potiche should satisfy Francophiles when it opens this Friday (3/25) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Ozon’s Hideaway

It is hard to be a single mother-to-be, even in France. Being a recovering heroin addict does not help either. At least the previously waifish Mousse has been provided a cozy beach house by a vaguely-established benefactor. She also has the support of the recently deceased father’s attentive younger brother Paul. Circumstances will definitely force a flexible approach to family and parenthood in François Ozon’s latest French import, Hideaway (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Though he dies about five minutes into Hideaway, elder brother Louis continues to exert an influence on the film’s characters, first and foremost through the baby growing inside Mousse. Having had issues with his severe mother that will remain forever unresolved, the family (meaning the matriarch) does not want to deal with his black sheep heir. The abortion services of their doctor are offered, but Mousse decides to have her child in seclusion.

She only keeps in contact with Paul, the nonthreatening but decidedly sexually active gay brother, whom she allows to crash with her before he leaves for a Spanish holiday. Not surprisingly, there is a bit of tension in the air when Paul first arrives, but they quickly grow accustomed to each other. Of course, the methadone guzzling Mousse still has issues of her own to work out, spurring her to precipitate annoying little dramas with the easy-going brother at regular intervals.

There were no prosthetics employed in Hideaway. Evidently quite persuasive, Ozon did indeed convince Isabelle Carré to take the rather demanding lead role of Mousse while six months pregnant. As a result, she is obviously convincing, but her character remains more than a bit of a cipher throughout the film. She chose life for her baby after very nearly extinguishing her own. Yet, her instincts and attitudes towards motherhood remain uncertain. Indeed, part Hideaway’s intention seems to be an exploration of how the characters around Mousse react to her, ranging from the solicitousness of Paul and his new lover to the creepy advances of a pregnancy fetishist.

Ozon helms with a sensitive touch, memorably using an original piece composed by Louis-Ronan Choisy, a French pop-star making his film acting debut as Paul. He might actually be too likable as the stereotypically kindhearted brother. Despite his limited dialogue and screen time, Melvil Poupaud still creates a strong sense of character as the ill-fated Louis. However, squeamish viewers should be warned—his early scenes of heroin-shooter are a bit disturbing. They constitute quite a cautionary message, though.

In a way, Hideaway might make an appropriate double feature with Christophe Honoré’s Making Plans for Léna, but definitely not on Mother’s Day. Subtler and more emotionally reserved, it is a deliberately cold, well executed morality play. It opens tomorrow (9/10) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.