Film Review
Revenge is a dish best served cold. Directors Christophe Ali and
Nicolas Bonilauri take this old adage a little too literally with their
psychological thriller
La Volante,
in which a terrifyingly unhinged Nathalie Baye goes on a calculated killing
spree almost ten years after losing her beloved son in a road
accident. Ali and Bonilauri have a penchant for far-fetched
scenarios, witnessed by their previous two films
Le Rat (2001) and
Camping
sauvage (2005), but their third feature strains credulity to
breaking point and is all the more enjoyable for doing so. It may
not have been intended as such, but
La
Volante ends up as a gloriously over-the-top black comedy, with
Nathalie Baye positively revelling in the part of a sly granny version
of Norman Bates, who might well be the reincarnation of Elizabeth
Báthory and Niccolò Machiavelli combined.
The astute will notice some similarities with Safy Nebbou's
L'Empreinte
(2004), a similar kind of cuckoo-in-the-nest thriller which shares the
central plot device of a mother resorting to extreme measures to find a
son to replace the one who was killed in a road accident.
Nebbou's film benefits from more fully developed characters and a far
more believable premise. By contrast,
La Volante is more a case of style
over substance, too concerned with its artful baroque visuals, Grand
Guignol excesses and recurring Hitchcockian allusions (
Psycho,
Marnie and
Frenzy are none-too-subtly
referenced) to bother with a trifling thing like
characterisation. This is ultimately where the film falls down -
we end up sympathising with Baye's character not because we share her
pain but because every other character in the film is so wet, gormless
or weird. We can hardly wait for Baye to get on with her
campaign of carnage and start filleting the faceless non-entities that she has set
her mind on destroying.
The ludicrous script is certainly the film's Achilles heel, but in
spite of this
La Volante
manages to be an engaging and rewarding thriller, even if (a) the
outcome is apparent as soon as poor unsuspecting Malik Zidi ends up
with Baye as his domineering secretary and (b) Baye's attempts to force
her way into Zidi's personal life are about as subtle and transparent
as America's efforts to force regime change on Iraq in 2003 (albeit
with slightly less collateral damage). Nicolas Massart's
photography and some eerily oppressive set design (apparently inspired
by Kubrick's
The Shining) lend a distinctly
creepy atmosphere to the film, which Jérôme Lemonnier's
Hitchcockian score services admirably.
However, the film's main saving grace is Nathalie Baye looking
surprisingly at ease in the kind of role she has never been given
before. In recent years, cinema has pretty well restricted the
actress to playing her usual amiable self, growing old gracefully in
good-natured comedies tailored to her personality. It's as much
a treat for her fans as it doubtless was for herself to see her cast
so egregiously against type in this quirky thriller, although you wonder how she can
possibly top this. Nathalie Baye is the new bad girl of French
cinema - and not before time. Wouldn't you just love to see her
in a French remake of
The Anniversary?
© James Travers 2015
The above content is owned by frenchfilms.org and must not be copied.
Film Synopsis
Thomas is driving his wife to hospital to give birth when he knocks
down and kills a young man in the road. The latter's mother,
Marie-France, is unable to get over this tragedy. Nine years
later, she becomes Thomas's personal secretary without him knowing who
she is. In next to no time Marie-France has gained the confidence
of Thomas's son Léo and his widowed father Éric, and
whilst Marie-France's sudden presence in his life initially disconcerts
him, Thomas, a struggling single parent, soon becomes totally dependent
on her. This is exactly what Marie-France had intended. Now
that she has succeeded in inveigling her way into Thomas's life she can
put into action her murderous plan of revenge...
© James Travers
The above content is owned by frenchfilms.org and must not be copied.