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It begins with the typical strong aspects of a traditionally staid French film, but it has an unfillable void for matters outside of their domesticity that the focus can never grab a firm grasp of. There is so little going on outside of their testudineous bonding that the core feels hollow, and by the end of the film, any real sense of accomplishment is too miniscule and jejune. Given the openness of the space, it still contains an air of self-importance that is so weighty that even the likes of such a talented actor as Bacri cannot withstand caving from the pressure. (A similarly stiff dance number to match Charlotte Rampling’s in Swimming Pool does nothing to alleviate his general crankiness and transition.) And his counterpart, Émilie Dequenne, does nothing to back up the praise she received for Rosetta, still causing me to wonder — what’s it all about? With Catherine Breillat.

[See it if you must.]

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originally posted: 05/05/04 19:07:00
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