Rendez-Vous. 10.

We often applaud artists who begin in medias res; if so, Benoît Jacquot gets a huge hand for beginning his new film literally in the middle of a slap in the face. A first, I think. While this is another of Jacquot's sloppy trifles, The Untouchable (L'intouchable) is nonetheless quite watchable, if only for the stunning, gorgeous and statuesque Isild Le Besco, who appears is in every scene (if not nearly every frame) of this slight though interesting and quite unbelievable film. I use the word "sloppy" not so much to mean "shoddy" or "poor," but rather "careless" and "slapdash." I have my doubt as to whether M Jacquot actually pays all that much attention to what he does visually with a film like this, or with Adolphe, another of his sloppy trifles from 2002.

In his latest to reach our shores, a semi documentary-style look at a young woman who, after discovering that her father (whom she's never met) is from India, treks off to the sub-continent to find him. Once there, in all the crowd scenes, those crowds keep staring at the camera (rather than at Le Besco, which would at least make some sense, given her appearance, so strikingly different from the indigenous population). But Jacquot seems to neither notice nor to care. During the Q&A for Adolphe, held at Rendez-Vous some years ago, I asked the director about a scene midway through the film shot in a bright yellow-orange room that was completely different, color-wise from any other visual in the entire movie. He didn't recall the scene, the room or the color - which shocked the hell out of me. Are sets and colors simply of no concern to him? Well, okay.

All this interests me because I hold this filmmaker in very high esteem when it comes to movies such as Sade, Pas de Scandale or his splendid adaptation of Marivaux's The False Servant. I would hazard a guess that when Jacquot has an intelligent script at hand, one full of ideas and provocations, there is no stopping him. But in between these rarer movies, we must content ourselves with little "exercises" like The Untouchable, which is not necessarily difficult to do, particularly when they star Ms Le Besco, whom I could watch till the cows come home (and probably will, if Jacquot keeps up his current usage of this quite wonderful young actress from Girls Can't Swim, A Tout de Suite and Wild Camp). Strand is releasing this one, so you'll be able to watch, and weigh in, at a later date.

To encounter two French films, one day after the other, that deal with a sister whose twin brother has disappeared and the lack of family communication that this disappearance unearths, is unusual. Given this unlikely happenstance, Don't Worry, I'm Fine (Je vais bien ne t'en fais pas) could not be more different from yesterday's One to Another. The latter is full of nudity and sexual provocation, the former concentrates on family guilt and the nuances of character. Both are worth seeing, despite differing flaws.

As fine as the performances are, as well as the direction by Philippe Lioret (from Olivier Adam's novel and adaptation), Don't Worry, I'm Fine suffers most from a problem of believability, which only grows larger when one starts giving the movie a second thought. Should you be able to see it (currently it has no US distributor), I don't want to disrupt your pleasure by giving anything way. But I doubt you will remain unaware of the several coincidences that begin to pile up toward the conclusion. You may be so won over by the fine job the entire cast has done that you may also be able, as I was, to look past the plotting and the one doozy of a major fact withheld - not only from the heroine but evidently from the entire town.

In the Q&A, director Lioret tried to explain away this believability problem by saying there are examples of this or that or the other thing from real life. No doubt true, but putting these all together into a single film does finally defy belief. And while the audience, myself included, took great pleasure in the movie, many of us were also not buying into it on every level.

We were, however, buying into the acting. Two of the performers, Mélanie Laurent (Days of Glory, The Beat That My Heart Skipped, The Last Day, Embrassez Qui Vous Voudrais) and Kad Merad (The Chorus) - both won deserved Cesars this past year. Equally fine is Isabelle Renauld as mom and even better is Julien Boisellier as the best friend's boyfriend who becomes a major help to the protagonist. Though he's in perfectly fine shape, Boisellier is not the most gorgeous young actor of our time, nor does he have the best body or hugely recognizable or memorable features. Yet every time I have seen him (as the would-be lover in Clara et moi, the vampire hubby in Bloody Mallory, and best of all, the dream "date" of J'me sens pas belle), he's perfect - and different. Here, he makes kindness, vulnerability and decency as sexy and vital as those other macho traits seen in today's action heroes, and he does it in all in a quiet, unassuming manner that belies the accomplishment. Which may account for why Boisellier is not a bigger star. As the French might say, tant pis pour nous.

Posted by dwhudson at March 11, 2007 10:13 PM