Film Review
After making a slew of documentaries since the late 1980s, José Alcala
directed his first fictional feature,
Alex, in 2005. Although
this film was well-received, it wasn't until 2011 that he released his next
fictional work, an innovative and compelling entry in the thriller line,
Coup d'éclat (2011), which
gave its leading lady Catherine Frot ample chance to widen her dramatic repertoire.
Eight years on, Frot and Alcala team up again for an altogether different
kind of film, an exuberant mainstream comedy, aided and abetted by two other
much-loved
monstres sacrés of French cinema, Daniel Auteuil
and Bernard Le Coq.
Filmed in picturesque Montpellier in the sunny south of France,
Qui m'aime
me suive! (a.k.a.
Just the Three of Us) looks like the result
of a spectacularly nasty collision between the worlds of Marcel Pagnol and
François Truffaut. The plot owes a great deal to Pagnol's
La Femme du boulanger,
and the love triangle trappings are basically
Jules et Jim reworked for the present
Zimmer-frame generation. This makes the film far more appealing and
interesting than it actually is. The fact that Alcala's sources of
inspiration are so readily apparent reveals a disconcerting dearth of original
thinking on his part. Not only is his third feature painfully derivative,
it is also unbearably crass, and we can take no pleasure whatsoever in watching
three talented performers busting their collective guts trying to redeem
a comedy that is so transparently beyond salvation.
Problem number one is that at no point does Alcala gives us any occasion
to sympathise with his principal characters. Auteuil is a miserable,
mean-spirited wife-beating egoist of the worst kind; Frot is a muddle-headed
old woman (a kind of Miss Marple on steroids) who, after putting up with
her loathsome husband for thirty years, suddenly gets it into her head to
go AWOL without really knowing what she wants; Le Coq is merely Le Coq, the
hyper-attractive, deliciously smooth counterpoint to the quick-tempered bully
Auteuil. All three characters belong to the May '68 generation which
believed it could change the world, but only ended up becoming willing adherents
of a complacent planet-wrecking bourgeois consumer class. None of the
three characters has any depth, not one of them endears him- or herself to
us. All that we see is three actors performing way below their best
in a desperate attempt to conceal what is too all apparent - that this is
the worst film that any of them has so far appeared in.
In his previous two films, Alcala proved himself to be a more than competent
director of actors. Here, his direction is so light-touch that it is
totally undetectable
. We've already had
ample opportunity over the past few decades to witness Auteuil's habit of
going way over the top when presented with a bad script, but even Frot -
an actress who has rarely disappointed so far - seems to lose her bearings
in this no-holds-barred fiasco. Overplaying comedy is never a good
idea, and Frot demonstrates this repeatedly as she goes from one histrionic
outburst to another, spectacularly failing to extract even the slightest
whiff of a laugh from the crass cliché sodden script that she foolishly
signed up to.
And what, you may ask, led an actor of Le Coq's standing to agree to lend
his talents to this leaking whoopee cushion of a disaster? Compromising
photographs or a well-stuffed brown envelope exchanging hands after dark
may have been a motivating factor. The film's title
Qui m'aime me
suive! - which translates as 'The one who loves me follows me' proves
to be a challenge that is cruelly apposite. A botched comedy of this
level of ineptitude is only likely to arouse a sympathetic response from
a handful of hardened masochists - hardly a mass following.
© James Travers 2019
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