Masquerade

Masquerade begins with a quote from Somerset Maugham: "The French Riviera is a sunny place for shady people." We later find out the house of Isabelle Adjani's truculent Martha was once owned by the author. Immediate snap to Murray Head's One Night in Bangkok: "Tea, girls, warm, sweet. Some are set up in the Somerset Maugham suite." Great lyrics, but let's move on. Writer/director Nicolas Bedos sets this tale of scammers and dupes (or pigeons) in the stunning south of France, the Riviera that Maugham was so taken with, and to be fair, the scenery competes for star billing. 

Those human stars are suitably glimmering, though, as you've got Adjani alongside François Cluzet and Emmanuel Devos, on the aging side, with Marine Vacth and Pierre Niney representing the youth. All are brilliant, except Niney as the nominal lead, Adrien - he's lacking a bit of grit or charm or something. He's ok, just not quite up to the level of the others. Vacth, as Margot, is electric, especially as she's required to imitate a Brit speaking French at one point; Cluzet is excellent as Simon, a real estate agent dazzled and deceived by Margot; Adjani's Martha diva's all over the shop, in a not so subtle swipe at her usual roles and persona. There's even a scene of her watching one of her old films in nostalgic reverie, said film is used later by Adrien for a more....tumescent reason.

There's loads occurring but I'll attempt to summarise. Adrien was a dancer, possibly on the verge of success, when a motorbike accident scuppered that idea, leading him to take up whoring for older women. His current 'job' is with Martha, whose attitude towards him oscillates between amusement and contempt. Margot is servicing a client as well when she bumps into Adrien at one of Martha's parties. They become close and hatch a plan to fleece certain rich patsies. Help with this task comes in the form of one of Adrien's old customers, Julia (Laura Morante).

The story is presented in the gnarled framing device of a court case - Cluzet is on trial for attempted murder - and this is part of the problem with Masquerade. The writing is just not quite up to the setting or the cast. I don't mind being able to pick the 'twist' early on but the whole thing was bit lacklustre - there's not much sympathy to be had for anyone (except maybe Devos) and you'd be hard pressed to find much inventiveness either. It's all a little old hat.

In saying that, it's a perfectly pleasant way to spend a couple of hours, especially considering the 'shady' talent on show. 

Masquerade is showing at the Alliance Francaise French Film Festival at Palace and Luna cinemas in Perth and all over the country as well.

See also:

Love Me if You Dare (Jeux d'enfants) (2003), directed by Yann Samuel, has a similar central relationship, and this may be counter-cultural, but I found myself remembering Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (1988), directed by Frank Oz.

Ténor

Ténor is a rudimentary 'fish out of water', 'clash of cultures' drama, with French rap and opera representing the opposing lifestyles. I guess its claim to fame is the fact that the lead is Mohammed Belkhir (a.k.a. MB14), a rapper who appeared on the French version of irritating 'talent' show, The Voice. This is his first film but he looks like he's been doing this for yonks, and if it's really him singing, he certainly got some pipes on him. His co-star is the classy Michèle Laroque - she plays Madame Loyseau, the opera tutor who discovers Antione (MB14). 

There's nothing ground-breaking here but Claude Zidi Jr. is only on his third film and he doesn't do too much wrong in the handling of it. The story creaks a bit, especially when Antoine is off-screen, and some of the characters are a bit cliched, in the shape of the tough and thick, yet loving brother, Didier (Guillaume Duhesme) and comic mate sidekick, Elio (Samir Decazza). Antoine is spoilt for choice regarding romance, with soprano toff, Joséphine (Marie Oppert) never really standing a chance against salt of the earth banlieue buddy, Samia (an impressive Maëva El Aroussi). 

The film is at its best when it contrasts the boxing gym rap battles with the high culture of the French Opera. The exterior of the Académie Nationale de Musique is sensational but the interiors are another level. Filthy, dripping opulence that impresses and disgusts at the same time.

The climax is chemically engineered to tweak a tear from the eye and, probably thanks to the choice of Nessun Dorma, a nostalgic reminder of the 1990 World Cup in Italy, it just about scores its goal (I'll leave you to judge whether that 'just about' is used in the British or Australian sense).

Ténor is showing as part of the Alliance Francaise French Film Festival at Palace and Luna Cinemas.

See also:

Filmic ghettoisation of the Parisian burbs may have started with Mathieu Kassovitz's excellent La Haine (1995), and Jacques Audiard's Paris, 13th District (2021) is another fine example of the sub-genre.

Final Cut

Around 15 minutes into this French remake of a Japanese zombie comedy I found myself wondering if this might be the worst film of the year, and even a bit guilty for suggesting Merv see it with me. Imagine my surprise, dear Viz readers, to be happily proven wrong. This is a great lark. The original, One Cut of the Dead, from 2017, seems to be a virtual template, aside from a few clever story angles that connect the two. In a gory nutshell, it concerns a film crew attempting to make a low-budget zombie film in an abandoned events hall, when a bunch of real zombies begin to queer the pitch.

Directed (and adapted) by Michel Hazanavicius, of The Artist fame, this opened the Cannes Film Festival in May 2022. It stars one of my favourite actors, Roman Duris as Remi, the director, and Bérénice Bejo as Nadia, who has a fantastic reason for giving up acting. Their daughter, Romy, is played by the actual director's daughter, Simone Hazanavicius (also step-daughter of Bejo, it's all getting a little too meta). The film is comprised of three distinct sections, and the satisfaction lies in our blooming realisation as they unpeel from each other. It's pretty hard to pull off farce, but Hazanavicius (and fair dues must also go to the original writers, Shin'ichirô Ueda and Ryoichi Wada) does a sterling job, replete with blood, vomit and shite. 

The supporting cast are economically illustrated, each one important in the wash-up. The boorish young twat, Raphaël (Finnegan Oldfield) grates against 'unprofessionalism' while name dropping Lars (von Trier) and spouting Godard-ian anti-capitalism axioms. His co-lead, Ava (Matilda Lutz) is a self-absorbed, preening cover model, and the camera op, Phillipe (Grégory Rolland) teeters on the edge of sobriety most of the time. Raphaël Quenard, as choleric sound guy, Jonathan, and Jean-Pascal Zadi, as gormless musician, Fatih provide extra-value chuckles. Also, keep an eye out for arch-nutjob, Quentin Dupieux (director of Deerskin) in a small cameo.

The triumph of Final Cut is that it manages to hold the attention just enough in that crud-awful first act to justify the terrific U-turn it takes later. It all makes sense if you stick it out. This is ballsy film-making, with some fantastic lines and fun peeks behind the curtain. There's even time for a sweet family moment towards the end (though, somewhat realistically, Romy's adoration is tempered just a smidge). Wonderful craic. 

Final Cut is screening as part of the Alliance Francaise French Film Festival at Palace and Luna Cinemas.

See also: 

There's a bit of Tarantino's Jackie Brown (1997) to this, and you can't go past Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead (2004) for zom-rom-coms.

Living

Quiet dignity radiates from this moving remake of Kurosawa's Ikiru and it has the recognisable stamp of Kazuo Ishiguro all over it. This acclaimed (Nobel Prize-winning, even) novelist has previous with Merchant/Ivory fare - he wrote the screenplay for The White Countess and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala adapted his great novel, The Remains of the Day - and Living isn't too far removed from the style of these Brit heavyweights. The focus is on stuffy Mr. Williams, played with fierce introspection by Bill Nighy. As much as we all want him to crack out some semi-drunken wittery, he holds himself in check, and it's probably his most mannered, yet natural performance. He's tip-top in this.

Set in early 1950s London, Ishiguro and director, Oliver Hermanus show Williams as a buttoned-up, broadsheet reading, Fortnum & Mason frequenting gentleman - in fact, he confesses that a gentleman was all he ever aspired to be. His confidante takes the form of a young clerk at his office, Miss Harris (the excellent Aimee Lou Wood). She's one of only two non-prats who work there, the other being the impressionable Wakeling, played neatly by Alex Sharp. The rest of the cast is filled with your rent-a-pom staples, best of these being Tom Burke and Adrian Rawlins, in vastly different roles (Burke seems to be channeling Orson Welles as if he'd somehow pitched up in Brighton).

Following a bit of bad news from the GP, Williams bunks off work with the intention of popping his clogs, but realises he'd rather not, thanks very much. On an aimless meander back in London he runs into Miss Harris and this encounter leads him to the decision that being so close to death he'd best get on with a spot of living. Central to this goal is the plight of a group of local women and their hopes of getting a playground built on a rubble-filled bombsite, a desperate reminder of the blitz. The retrospective scenes of Williams pushing this plan through the bureaucratic rings of the London City council are both maddening and satisfying.

This is a melancholic film, with an outsider's look at post-war London. Similar to how Tomas Alfredson turned his gaze on Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Hermanus gives us a film filled with the atmosphere of a time and place, unflustered by any perceived local bias. There are scenes that plod a bit, and moments that appear pretty unlikely (see the train discussion about Williams) but taken as a mood piece about grabbing your chance before it's too late, this works as well as you'd want. Add in the fact that it's always a treat to watch Bill Nighy and that's a fair cop for me.

Living is now showing at Luna and Palace cinemas.

See also: Going with the Ishiguro connection, you can't go wrong with either of The Remains of the Day (1993), directed by James Ivory, or Never Let Me Go (2010), directed by Mark Romanek.

The Blue Caftan

Here's a delicately turned out drama about love and repression in a Moroccan medina. Director and co-writer, Maryam Touzani keeps a steady pace, not slow, but nothing's going to waste here. Every scene, every glance, every sigh, every mandarin seems utterly crucial to the story. 

For all its outward sobriety, this is quite a seditious film. It concerns a married couple trying to maintain the relevance of their caftan store in the face of 'modern' advances in technology, like....sewing machines. Halim is a traditional maalem (master), attempting to keep the caftan stitching art of his father alive. Mina is the face and brain of the business, it's her idea to bring in an apprentice for Halim. Youssef is a much younger, attractive bloke, whose inexperience is balanced by his eagerness. 

The wrinkle in the tale is that Halim is (likely always has been) gay, and the secrecy is clearly weighing on him. He also, very obviously loves his wife, who is doing her best to hold the lie. When Halim find himself drawn to Youssef, his guilt at these feelings is only exacerbated by the fact that Mina is suffering with some medical issues, in fact, probably dying. Some of these moments are proper gut punches and the film's climactic gesture is a great piece of cinema.

Lubna Azabal and Saleh Bakri, as Mina and Halim, are fantastic. They sell their relationship really well, and the third wheel of Youseff (Ayoub Missouri) seems like an unwanted distraction until things run deeper. The fourth character is the impressive blue caftan of the title. The significance of this item of clothing is unpicked late in the film but it acts as a touchstone, its importance growing throughout.

Considering homosexuality is criminalised in Morocco, even just making the film was a pretty brave effort by Touzani and her cast and crew. There are also slight digs at the uber-male, ultra-religious Moroccan society. Mina and Halim visit a café where she is the only woman to be seen. Later, they bemoan the austere funeral parade of a once lively local woman. But it's the final subversive flourish that makes this a first-rate emotional protest film.

The Blue Caftan screened as part of the Perth Festival at the Somerville Auditorium at UWA from March 20 - 26, and will screen at Luna from Mar 30.

See also: The dedication to craft put me in mind of another top notch film about a fashion creator, Paul Thomas Anderson's Phantom Thread (2017), but I got the itchiest hint of a fine book by Orhan Pamuk called My Name is Red (1998)

Empire of Light

Empire of Light, Sam Mendes's follow-up to the excellent 1917, is a low-key, very British attempt at covering a whole range of weighty themes and not quite nailing any of them. This isn't to say it's a bad film, despite the critical shoeing it's copped since release. It just seems slightly misguided. For instance, there are two main characters - Olivia Colman's Hilary, and Micheal Ward's Stephen (three if you count the gorgeous cinema itself) - but the film doesn't quite know when or where to shine its beam of light.

The Hilary section lands with a climactic flourish, but this happens about halfway through. Stephen's strand picks up from there and threatens to jumpstart with some character building (ex-girlfriend, mother) but then Hilary re-appears, soon followed by a National Front mob to add some tension and violence. The film juggles three main themes; mental health, racism and the power of cinema, and, unsurprisingly, only one of these is played for nostalgia. Hilary is suffering from schizophrenia, which is alluded to at the start via a lithium prescription, and yet her blossoming relationship with Stephen appears to be helping. Stephen, though, is a young black man, and hence, has his own troubles in Thatcher's England of the early 80s. 

Colman is great, she almost has a monopoly on the quivering, about-to-weep facial expression, but she does this kind of thing extremely well. Considering she rose to prominence with Mitchell and Webb in Peep Show, her range is pretty astounding. Ward carries himself well, in a slightly too faultless part, and Toby Jones plays his awkwardly wise, shambler role to perfection. Colin Firth storms in and wanders out without breaking a sweat (expect maybe in the hand shandy scene) and I thought Tom Brooke was nicely sympathetic as a member of the Empire Cinema staff.

The biggest plus for this film nerd was the cinema building, including Jones's projection booth. Mendes hired the supreme Roger Deakins again to shoot and they decked out an existing building in Margate to stand in for the fictional Empire. Margate was a favourite haunt of another magician of light, JWM Turner, and Deakins's visuals of the seaside and surrounds share some of the master's soft diffusion.

The films shown at the Empire throughout 1980 and 81 are notable in their reflecting of the story beats. The Richard Pryor/Gene Wilder prison comedy, Stir Crazy is followed by Chariots of Fire, then Raging Bull, and finally Being There. I won't elaborate on this, but I felt there was a reason for each one (though they could have just been historically accurate screening dates). Hilary's penchant for reciting poetry was a bit naff, even though I quite liked a couple of them, specifically one by Phillip Larkin that speaks to the film's message (see below). The veiled assertion that 'the movies' may have an affect on Hilary's mental state, where lithium failed, is admirable, though dubious. A cure for boredom, surely, but a cure for schizophrenia?  

Ultimately, this is a film that means well but has muddled the telling a bit, especially in the central relationship. I can't help thinking that if Stephen had been older, things may have made more sense, but perhaps I'm being ageist. A valiant effort.

Empire of Light is now showing at Luna and Palace Cinemas.

See also:

Mike Leigh set a lot of Mr. Turner (2014) in Margate, and there are flashes of Cinema Paradiso (1988), directed by Giuseppe Tornatore.

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Phillip Larkin (1967)