Bancs publics (Versailles rive droite) (2009)
Directed by Bruno Podalydès

Film Review

With Bancs publics (Versailles rive droite), director Bruno Podalydès rounds off a slightly unhinged trilogy of films located in the upmarket Parisian suburb of Versailles.  After the deliriously funny short Versailles Rive-Gauche (1992) and its entertaining follow-up Dieu seul me voit (1998), this third helping of Podalydès madness offers a deluge of madcap humour, this time served up by such a long roll-call of famous French and Belgian actors that you end up thinking Versailles is inhabited only by celebrities.  Assuming you don't fall into a deep coma in the course of the outrageously long opening credits sequence, in which swathes of famous names are presented to you like bait to an unsuspecting fish, the film is almost guaranteed to make you laugh, although really good gags are few and far between and much of the humour collapses in shame before reaching anything even vaguely resembling a punchline, despite the obvious enthusiasm of the A-list line-up.

The film begins on a promising note with a messy avalanche of office-based-humour which looks as if it is going to make some profound statements on the vacuity of modern living but in fact ends without saying much about anything.  Podalydès keeps things chugging along by constantly throwing familiar faces at us, often at the most unexpected moments.  A door opens and Thierry Lhermitte suddenly appears, says a few witty words, and then disappears, never to be seen again (much like his career).  Josiane Balasko grabs the lion's share of the spectator's attention; the rest have to make do with cursory glances as they are rolled out in front of the camera like exhibits in a never-ending carnival.  Podalydès's brother Denis, a welcome habitué in his films, appears briefly, whetting our appetite for what is by far the most substantial part of the film, the third act, set in a modern DIY store.

Before we get to the film's pièce de résistance, however, we have to sit through its sagging middle portion, which is basically just an excuse for Podalydès to plonk a group of famous actors in a public park and tell them to be silly.  Anyone hoping to go on respecting such distinguished actors as Mathieu Amalric and Nicole Garcia would be best to fast-forward past this bit, because it does them no favours whatever and soon becomes excruciatingly tedious.  All is redeemed (well almost) when Podalydès takes us into DIY hell for the film's best portion, which douses us with a stream of jokes that range from the sublime (Catherine Deneuve emotionally devastated by the loss of her wooden doll's house) to the ridiculous (a gag involving a drill that is worthy of Buster Keaton). 

Next, Olivier Gourmet and Denis Podalydès go head-to-head to see who can be the world's worst shop assistant, as a stream of shoppers (who include Benoît Poelvoorde and Michael Lonsdale) wreak havoc about them.  After this lively round of mayhem, it's back to the office for a rather pointless coda in which Pierre Arditi and Hippolyte Girardot's dancing skills are horribly exposed (actors really should stick to what they know best...).  Anyone expecting Bancs publics to be vintage Podalydès is likely to be disappointed by this rambling, self-assembly comedy, but overall it manages to score reasonably on the entertainment stakes, although what it is all meant to be about is anyone's guess.  If the film has a deeper meaning, it is incredibly well hidden.

Film Synopsis

From the office where she works, in the heart of Versailles, Lucie cannot help noticing a large black banner with the words "Man Alone" hanging from a window of the building opposite.  Uncertain whether it is a sick joke or a desperate cry for help, Lucie enlists her friends' help in solving the mystery...