My Old Lady houses Gallic charm
The burst bubble that was the U.S. housing market has provided fodder for excellent documentaries (such as the Oscar-winning Inside Job in 2010) and dramas like 99 Homes, which screened at the Toronto International Film Festival to rave reviews. But to get a happy story about mortgages, you have to travel further afield.
In France, homes can be sold as “un viager,” in which the seller gets a lump sum and a monthly stipend from the buyer. The catch is that the seller also gets to remain in the property for the rest of his or her life. The transaction is finalized only when the seller dies. Puts the mort in mortgage, doesn’t it?
The most famous viager agreement began in 1965 between 90-year-old Jeanne Calment and lawyer AndréFrançois Raffray, then 47. He agreed to pay Calment a monthly fee for the rest of her life for her apartment. But he died in 1995, while Calment outlived him by two years, finally dying at the age of 122. (Her longevity record has yet to be broken: The nearest contender is still six years away.)
There’s a touch of that story in Israel Horowitz’s play My Old Lady, which he has adapted into a movie of the same name. Kevin Kline stars as Mathias Gold, a penniless New Yorker who has been left nothing in his estranged father’s will except some French novels and a Paris apartment.
When he shows up to take possession, he finds an elderly English lady, Mathilde Girard (Maggie Smith), living there. He assumes she’s a tenant. She fills him in on la vie de viager. It’s a game of destiny, he learns: If the seller dies quickly, it’s your destiny to replace them. If not, it’s your destiny to pay them to help them live.
Mathilde allows him to stay on for a while as her tenant. When he claims penury, she pockets his watch as collateral. But he’s even more miffed when he discovers her daughter, Chloé (Kristin Scott Thomas), is also living there. From the moment they meet — accidentally in the bathroom, which is never how you want to start a relationship — they rub each other the wrong way.
My Old Lady is Horovitz’s directing debut, unless you count the monologue he shot in 2002 about his reactions to the 9/11 attacks. The 75-yearold brings a light touch to the story, and while the blocking and pacing sometimes betray its theatrical origins, it’s still an enjoyable romp.
The ending, which even those of a nearsighted bent will see coming for some time, may also strike some as a bit too pat. In fact, remembering Kline’s role in A Fish Called Wanda 25 years ago, I rather hoped My Old Lady would turn into a farce in which he tried to bump off poor Madame Girard. But perhaps there’s enough tragedy in real estate these days without adding another fictional level. Might as well finish on a note of joie de viager.