French Film Festival a feast for the eyes and senses
I loathe subtitled films. At least, that’s what I used to think until I watched, almost back-to-back, a slew of incredible films coming to us in this year’s Alliance Francaise French Film Festival. Now the worst thing I have to say about subtitled French films is that I only have room to recommend five to you here.
BPM
Director Robin Campillo says he had to wait nearly 20 years to revisit his time as an HIV activist in 1990s Paris, it was too painful a memory for him to draw on sooner. It’s not surprising. There’s a scene in Campillo’s 90s-set HIV activism memoir BPM that might haunt me for the rest of my life. Sean (Nahuel Pe´ rez Biscayart) – a young, vibrant HIV activist – has died. His body is laid out, dressed by his mother and his lover Nathan (Arnaud Valois), in a bedroom while next door, his friends have gathered to support one another, remember Sean and – most importantly – celebrate the fact they are still alive.
Campillo’s film, shot documentary-style, is no nostalgia fest. The fact it’s set some 20 years ago is incidental – it could be today, it certainly feels urgent enough to be today. It’s a celebration of living in defiance of death.
Redoubtable
If you only see one film in the French film festival this year, make it this. Oscar award-winning director Michel Hazanavicius’ (The Artist) deft and hilarious skewering of French cinema’s sacred icon: Jean-Luc Godard. Following the New Wave auteur as he fails to come to terms with the poor reception of his cinematic political manifesto, La Chinoise; the looming irrelevance of getting old; and his new, ultra chic 17-year-old wife, La Redoubtable paints la nouvelle vague’s golden boy as a self absorbed, self sabotaging jerk. And it’s hilarious.
More concerned with always wearing a good pair of dark glasses than the feelings and needs of his friends and family, Godard cuts a pitiable figure, but thanks to Louis Garrel’s affectionate performance there’s something compelling about his sauntering yet inevitable downfall.
Imitating the legendary director’s style almost to a fault, Hazanavicius isn’t above skewering himself a little too: the scene where Godard decries the French film-makers’ obsession with pointless nudity in their films – delivered buck naked while brushing his teeth – is worth the price of admission alone.
See You Up There
I don’t know why Albert Dupontel’s moving World War I spectacle – based on the popular French novel of the same name – has been panned by critics for not being French enough. What could be more French than a rip-roaring farce that relies heavily on physical gags, mime and a deep sense of pathos?
When Edward Pericourt (Dupontel) saves Albert Maillard’s (Nahuel Perez-Biscayart) life on the battlefield, an embittered Maillard seeks revenge on society. Together they mount a monumental scam to expose the nation’s hypocrisy and misguided hero worship. That Dupontel managed to steer this Hollywoodsized special effects monster at the same time as portraying the heartbreakingly sympathetic Pericourt, is a stunning feat of film-making.
Reminiscent of French semifantasy classics A Very Long Engagement and Adele Blac-Sec, See You Up There is furious, frenetic frolic of a film, a treat for the eyes as well as the soul.
Aurore
Menopause is an inescapable, difficult, sometimes painful fact of life for women. It’s also good for a laugh, in Blandine Lenoir’s coming-of-third-age film, Aurore.
Aurore (a luminous Agnes Jaoui) is dealing with empty-nest syndrome and constant hot flashes. Add to that a cocky, ageist boss and the reappearance of a long-lost love, and it’s almost more than a grandmother-to-be can bear. After weathering 50 springs, Aurore is made of tough stuff, but is she tough enough?
Lenoir’s not having any of the idea that women seem to disappear from cinema when they hit their 30s. Putting the realities of middle age front and centre, her charming comedy invites us to look at ‘‘The Change’’ as a positive thing – as gaining the power of no longer giving a hoot, rather than losing something. It’s a powerful message embodied with compassion and love by Jaoui, the perfect muse of middle-age.
Ismael’s Ghosts
Reviews will harp on about the taut, complex visual storytelling, the brave use – and abuse – of time, the crafty weaving of genre and literary films styles in Arnaud Desplechin’s Ismael’s Ghosts, but forget all that stuff.
See it for the sheer pleasure of being utterly bamboozled while having a great time at the movies.
Ismael (Mathieu Amalric) is a troubled film-maker whose young wife walked out on him 20 years before. When she suddenly turns up during the production of a film about his similarly absent – and significantly more successful – brother, it sends Ismael into a shame spiral he can’t escape. In typical French style, the love of a good woman halts the director’s descent – and more importantly, gets the production back on track.
Sure, you’ll walk out wondering what the hell you just watched, but you’ll be laughing as you do, swooning over Marion Cotillard’s living spectre Carlotta, and cheering for the triumph of staid, sensible, but loving Sylvia (Charlotte Gainsbourg).
❚ Between March 1 and April
18, this year’s Alliance Francaise French Film Festival will visit Auckland, Christchurch, Wellington, New Plymouth, Nelson, Tauranga, Timaru, Havelock North, Dunedin, Hamilton, Arrowtown, Palmerston North and Akaroa. For more information, see frenchfilmfestival.co.nz