Thursday, March 09, 2006


Lemming was less the title of the first film I saw at the French Film Festival last night but more a description of the audience. It was as if we were in the 1940s and at a Chaplin premiere, the amount of laughter was absurd. Since when did the audience at the French Film Festival turn into a bunch of hicks who couldn't keep their mouths shut and know when to laugh?

I was very much looking forward to the movie - the two ultimate Charlottes are enough to have me anticipating for weeks. Charlotte Rampling needs no introduction - Under The Sand is in my top ten, for example, and Charlotte Gainsbourg, who is so graceful and hypnotic and, I say this in the best possible way, with or without her heritage, iconic.

But, I did not like this movie. It was a thriller for the sake of being a thriller. There were no mind fucks, no delicious twists, nothing clever. It was so Harry, He's Here To Help, which I didn't like either (and yes, it's the same director/writers/lead actor team). It had all the usual ingredients: young couple, older couple. Older woman seduces young man, young woman leaves husband for older man. Fine, I love a bit of that. But do it unusually, do it differently. The lemmings in the kitchen, big surprise. The house on the lake, big surprise. "Appelle-moi Alice", big surprise.

To me the movie is a dream they both had, she of him, he of her (and I like that). During the night when I went to the bathroom it hit me that this "model couple" with their good job/house/life had dreamt their nightmare, the nightmare that is the complete reverse of their life. Again, I like this, but I wish the method was that much more clever and unique.


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