Die Vorleserin

There's more than a little touch of Pirandello in the night about this entry in which a young woman, Constance, is not only reading a book entitled The Reader, to her husband in bed but also projects herself on to the eponymous character, Marie, and acts out either her own (Constance) fantasies or those of the fictional Marie or a combination of both. Given the task of carrying the film Miou-Miou is more than up to it and freshness is added by both the location, Arles, albeit little more than the picturesque narrow streets traversed by Marie between gigs, and the supporting cast, relatively unknown outside France though certainly well respected - especially Brigitte Catillon and Patrick Chesnais - within it. It's unquestionably a film that will divide opinion between those who will surrender to its whimsy, offbeat charm and dialogue and those who will denounce it as soft-porn with a press agent. As for me, I love Brigitte Catillon in anything.

A woman in bed starts to read a story to her husband about a woman who visits people and reads to them... Confused? You needn't be. Despite some unusual links between reality and fantasy, this is easy to follow and engaging.

It's inventive without being in love with itself. The staging is fantastic without feeling contrived. It's made with the kind of lightness of touch you need for this kind of film and isn't the kind of thing I've seen coming out of America for some time.

This isn't your usual comedy or romance. It is very French. I don't mean this as an insult. There is fantastic set design, some lovely comic moments and a lilting feel to the music.

Probably not for everybody but if you like a subtle, gently funny, literate and unconventional film then watch this.

The basic virtue of this beautiful film is to preserve and use, in beautiful manner, all the flavors of the novel. The second, no doubts, Miou - Miou. But she can not be exactly surprising. A film about books and the adventures having the books as seeds. More precise, a film about freedom.

Our heroine Constance (played by Miou-Miou in yet another role where she seems to play the same character as always...herself) turns her passion for literature into an exciting and profitable "profession". Her little newspaper advertisement eventually brings her a variety of eccentric clients who take advantage of this young woman's services (literally). Hired to read to the disabled, the elderly and the bored, Constance creates, fulfills and participates in her employers' fantasies and peculiar dreams. Warned by the clerk who helped her with the initial advertisement not to be surprised if her ventures yield complications and trouble, Constance seems to not only meet the challenge, but to enjoy the sense of danger and surprise.

The degree of tolerance and acceptance of human sexuality displayed in this film may appear over-the-top to viewers unfamiliar with French culture, and French society's extremely liberal social mores. This film was produced in the 1980s, not the 60s (you'd never know it). The "anything goes" mentality is likely to perplex the average viewer, and it may even offend some. The twisted freshness and daring situations eventually seem gratuitous. We "get it" pretty early on, yet the soft-core peep show continues throughout the film. The intertwining of actual literary passages and storyline are fascinating. Unfortunately my fascination with this film ends there.

Even the most ardent bibliophiles have to set aside their books when the theater lights go down, but this playful French import at least offers some consolation, in a sense attempting to approximate with the written word what Juzo Itami did with noodles and egg yolk in 'Tampopo'. One of the joys of a good book is of course the vicarious thrill of escapism, something Miou-Miou discovers firsthand while reading Raymond Jean's novel (of the same name as the film) and imagining herself as its protagonist: a professional reader who finds her choice of books somehow reflecting the idiosyncrasies of each client. This is clearly a film working on several levels at once, but a refresher course in European literature may be required to fully appreciate it. The visual scheme is offbeat and arresting, bringing the pages of each selected novel to colorful life, but the script is perhaps too infatuated with its own love of language, creating an elegant and infuriating puzzle where the patterns of each separate piece are more attractive than the finished picture.