A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Showing posts with label Laurence Briaud. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laurence Briaud. Show all posts

Sunday, January 5, 2020

Ismael's Ghosts (Arnaud Desplechin, 2017)


Ismael's Ghosts (Arnaud Desplechin, 2017)

Cast: Mathieu Amalric, Marion Cotillard, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Louis Garrel, Alba Rohrwacher, Lászlo Szabó, Hippolyte Girardot, Jacques Nolot, Catherine Mouchet, Samir Guesmi. Screenplay: Arnaud Desplechin, Julie Peyr, Léa Mysius. Cinematography: Irina Lubtchansky. Production design: Toma Baqueni. Film editing: Laurence Briaud. Music: Grégoire Hetzel, Mike Kourtzer.

Even people who know Arnaud Despechin's films better than I do seem to agree that Ismael's Ghosts is something of a mess, a series of scenes and incidents that are sometimes brilliant in themselves -- such as the tantrum that the elderly film director Henri Bloom (Lászlo Szabó) throws while boarding a flight to Israel, where he's to receive an award -- but don't cohere enough to make thematic or emotional sense. Just the fact that we have characters named Bloom and Dedalus should be enough to clue us in that we're dealing with a literary imagination as well as a cinematic one: There's also the reappearance of a woman though to be dead whose name is Carlotta, an allusion to Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo (1958). As we sort out the various relationships -- who's married or related to whom -- we also have to figure out what one segment has to do with another -- why, for example, do we sometimes seem to be in the middle of a spy thriller and the next we're examining the love life of a filmmaker? Eventually, we realize that some scenes are from the film Ismaël Vuillard is directing, but what that film has to do with his domestic and creative troubles is another matter. Nevertheless, it's entertaining enough to watch actors like Mathieu Amalric, Marion Cotillard, and Charlotte Gainsbourg do their thing, so if in the end you don't particularly feel compelled to piece it all together, there's still been some well-spent time.

Friday, December 27, 2019

A Christmas Tale (Arnaud Desplechin, 2008)


A Christmas Tale (Arnaud Desplechin, 2008)

Cast: Catherine Deneuve, Jean-Paul Roussillon, Anne Consigny, Mathieu Amalric, Melvil Poupaud, Hippolyte Girardot, Emmanuelle Devos, Chiara Mastroianni, Laurent Capelluto, Émile Berling, Thomas Obled, Clément Obled, François Bertin, Samir Guesmi, Azize Kabouche. Screenplay: Arnaud Desplechin, Emmanuelle Bourdieu. Cinematography: Eric Gautier. Production design: Daniel Bevan. Film editing: Laurence Briaud. Music: Grégoire Hetzel, Mike Kourtzer.

A Christmas Tale is not exactly brimful of seasonal cheer, but it warrants watching at any holiday in which families gather to both celebrate and bicker. The Vuillard clan is somewhat dysfunctional, but they're also French, which means that they smoke, drink, and talk a little too much, and have idiosyncratic ways of showing that they love one another. The matriarch, Junon (who would ever have thought Catherine Deneuve would be cast as matriarch?), has cancer and needs a bone marrow transplant. The task of searching for a donor falls to the patriarch, Abel (and who would have ever thought of bringing together the goddess-like Deneuve and the froglike Jean-Paul Roussillon?), since Junon decides at this moment to leave everything to fate. And since this crisis is coming to a head at Christmastime, it means gathering the family for more than just celebrating a holiday. There are three living children -- the first-born died of cancer as a child -- and they don't entirely get along. Elizabeth, the oldest, has banished the middle child, Henri, from her life. The youngest, Ivan, naturally has to exhibit divided loyalties when the other two get together. Elizabeth and Ivan bring along their spouses and children; Henri, unmarried, brings his latest girlfriend, Faunia, who, being Jewish, has her own slightly distant take on the Christmas festivities. Elizabeth's teenage son, Paul, has recently had a nervous breakdown. He also turns out to be a match for Junon's transplant, as does the black sheep Henri, which sets up even more grounds for dissension, especially given the tension between Henri and Elizabeth. And so, out of all this stew of tensions, director Arnaud Desplechin puts together a fascinating portrait of what it means to be a family. He mingles a variety of filmmaking techniques with a whole range of literary, cinematic, and even musical allusions to give us a multifaceted view of the Vuillards, their past, present, and perhaps future. On second thought, maybe it's best not to watch this anytime near one of your own potentially volatile family gatherings -- it cuts a little too close to home.