Posts Tagged ‘Mathieu Amalric’
Mesrine: Killer Instinct / Public Enemy n°1 **
Inspired by the autobiography of Jacques Mesrine, these films span twenty years in the life of France’s self-styled public enemy number one.
Apparently, Vincent Cassel signed up for the project at an early stage, but as he became unhappy with the direction the script was taking, withdrew. Having replaced director Barbet Schroeder with Jean-François Richet (a man who cites as his inspiration several years spent working in a factory; hot on the tail of his ‘success’ with the Assault on Precinct 13 remake), Cassel returned alongside screenwriter Abdel Raouf Dafri. The latter (clearly quite talented, as writer of the original screenplay for Cannes favourite Un Prophèt) was reticent because of the role the Algerian conflict played in Mesrine’s story. However, these three men went on to develop an interpretation of the material of a depth and scale apparently demanding two films.
Part One goes a little something like this. Mesrine (Cassel) returns from military service in Algeria and gradually resolves to embark upon a life of violent crime. There is some kind of interaction with his parents, his mate, his new boss Guido (a phoned-in Gérard Depardieu), a prostitute, a Spanish girl he falls for, impregnates, moves in with, and swiftly forgets; there are robberies, of homes, of banks, of clubs, with loud noises and blood; there is punishment, and escape from prison, repeated escape from prison; followed by exile to Canada with a new wife and partner in crime. Within an hour, it has become frustrating. Half an hour later, boredom sets in. Any depth to L’instinct de Mort, any connections between events which suggest a meaning, must be painstakingly reconstructed from the fragmented pieces. What was supposed to be a commentary on the amorality of ambition, the thin line between fame and infamy, becomes a garbled struggle to squeeze in more than the film can accommodate. I couldn’t wait for Part Two.
In L’ennemi public n°1, Mesrine continues to rob, abduct, evade, get caught, bust out, again and again. Half an hour in, and I’ve given up hope. What is supposed to keep it fresh is his developing obsession with celebrity and writing his own myth, amongst other methods of challenging his valueless and cyclical existence. And there is something of a physical metamorphosis in Cassel, who grows noticeably fatter as time goes on. Supposedly, Richet shot the film in reverse, enabling Cassel to shed rather then put on the pounds. But Mesrine doesn’t seem to change at all, or at least has no chance to demonstrate through character interaction whatever metamorphosis he has undergone. In fact, whatever character development does take place is instantly forgettable in the face of all that misogyny, crime and fancy dress (the evolution of Mesrine’s costumes, wigs and beards is the best indicator for the passage of time). Opportunities to play Mesrine against foils are squandered (and we cycle through many partners-in-crime with varying degrees of forgettability), with the possible exception of François Besse (the splendid Mathieu Amalric). And by the time the inevitable, rehearsed and long-overdue conclusion comes around, who cares about the death of Mesrine? It’s a race to get out the theatre.
Un conte de Noël ****½
After listening to a delightful interview on Radio 4 with director, the charming Arnauld Desplechin, I decided to see Un conte de Noël. It is a film full of beauty and wit, in which formalist and naturalist tendencies meld to almost somnambulistic effect. The subtlety of Desplechin’s direction (and writing) verges upon poetic – he’s tapping a vast well of meaning in the subtle cracks that run through family relationships. The Vuillard clan share a terribly checkered past, but must reunite at the family pile to celebrate Christmas and orchestrate a life-saving bone-marrow transplant for Catherine Deneuve’s magisterial matriarch, Junon (bringing home the banished, insufferable drunk, Henri).
The performances are phenomenal. It’s hard to pick out any one that stands above the rest, but if I must, Mathieu Amalric as Henri. A mind-blowing performance, though the obvious choice. Anne Consigny is the ideal counterpoint as the Tartuffian banisher Elizabeth, with a captivating screen presence. Of course, there is the fuzzy patriarch by Roussillon, who delivers the one charming character, whose marital patter is unforgettable. You don’t want to leave this family behind. You want to take them with you and continue watching, however unlovable they are. Forget about running time; Desplechin wasn’t lying when he claimed he uses ten ideas whenever he could have used one. This density has the marvelous effect of emulating life, indistinguishably. Empathy? There is someone to empathize with in every scene. Who you choose is down to your character. In this sense, Un Conte de Noël achieves a strange combination of passionate and yet dispassionate portraiture, both involved and balancing at an Archimedean point.
