Man muss mich nicht lieben

Jean-Claude climbs the stairs of an old building, steps are heavy as if carrying that heavy routine and a few past burdens. An African woman opens the door and realizes her resident ways are numbered, tears are her only signs of protest. Jean-Claude delivers a few comforting words but we gather it's the way he usually handles those who don't insult him from the get-go.

Cut to the title: "Not Here to Be Loved".

Indeed, he's a bailiff. Thirty years of professional neutrality kept all the overwhelming frustrations of his life from showing in his stern face. Patrick Chesnais rarely smiles and yet this is not a one-note performance but a variety of emotions contained in one expression built as a rempart against depression. Only during his solitary moments does he steam off a few tantrums. The man refuses to appear vulnerable, not out of false pride but to preserve himself from a breakdown that would make his life edifice collapse.

This is my sixth Stéphane Brizé film and the first without Vincent Lindon, but if Lindon plays a proletarian as convincingly as a CEO, there's something in Chesnais' measured expressions and not-too handsome looks that brings something unique about his character. He exudes authority and severity in a way that places him both as the operator and victim of his emotions. Brizé shows the man interacting with his father and his son, so witnessing the chain of command hints at a need for love he never dares admit.

His father is a grumpy man played by George Wilson, one of the retirement home employees tells Jean-Claude he made a young nurse weep. The man is perpetually dissatisfied with his son despite him being the only one to visit him. Even bringing him another brand of chocolate infuriates him, that they taste better is beside the point. It's a love-and-hate relationship whose only tender moment occurs when Jean-Claude gets in the car and his father peeps at him. Out of misguided pride, the father also never displays loves and would go as far as telling his son he threw his youth tennis trophies.

Pride has spared the son (Cyril Couton) but for the worst. He joined his father's office and proves that self-confidence isn't hereditary. We gather that the son lived in the towering shadow of a father and admired him in a submissive, spineless way. This is a family gangrened by toxic fear of disappointing and where soft feelings are signs of weaknesses. The result is cold and neutral relationships with anger as the only sincere emotion. Neither Jean-Claude or his father are here to be loved while the son fears not to be loved at all.

But Jean-Claude has heart problems, real ones. His doctor (Stéphan Wojtowicz) recommends to start exercising but tennis is out of question. It leads up to that facing building where he kept peeping over tango lessons. Jean-Claude starts dancing and if his heart isn't there, it doesn't matter, it's never been anywhere anyway. He meets Françoise (Anne Consigny), a beautiful and younger woman, courted (harassed actually) by a trainee (Olivier Claverie). Ironically, it's Jean-Claude's quiet mind-his-own-business demeanor that catches her eye. They meet regularly, one night he drives her home and the ice doesn't take much time to melt. Why should a taciturn be disagreeable?

Brizé has an economy of scenes that always pays off. His process consists of shooting as many little scenes as the script provides to get a better range of selection: each scene says something about someone, that says something about another. The glimpses we get on Françoise' life are insightful: she lives with her fiancé, the archetypal frustrated teacher with artistic dreams (Lionel Abelanski). He doesn't care about tango lessons (actually rehearsals for their marriage) and emotionally slides over a cycle of inspiration and self-deprecation. He's the quintessential self-centered schmuck who can't love for he can't even like himself..

Françoise seems like the opposite of Jean-Claude: open, smiling but she's entrapped in an ersatz of happiness, she can communicate with her sister or mother but only within their approval. The mother enjoys her position as a wedding planner and the sister warns her against that fling with Jean-Claude. The perfect man doesn't exist so better stick to a nice guy, buy a house, have children and then allow yourself a few adventures (as she did). It's a cynical view supported by a few family scenes where Françoise can't find her place in the masquerade. Incapable to disguise her feelings, maybe she found in tango an antidote against emotional numbness.

The film is the story of two outcasts who find in each other an oasis where they can be themselves without it being a social burden. As the story flows, many characters such as the father, the son, even the secretary (Anne Benoit) reveal deeper truths that converge toward one idea: the illusion of love leads to self-hating, the illusion of stability to mental instability, and the illusion of strength hide the weakest hearts. I hate to admit that I related a lot to the son and the fiancé but the film taught me that not desperately trying to be loved can be the best way to truly earn it... in a scene where the African woman is forced to leave, Jean-Claude dryly rebuffs two security guys who kept laughing. It's one thing not to be loved, but the point is not to be hated.

I called Brizé the French Ken Loach but I'm starting to admire his wit and sincerity for his less 'social' films, I wouldn't call him the French Mike Leigh, but a director whose magic is to shoot realistic slices of life to better highlight the illusions hidden beneath and paint something as complex as 'human contact' whether at work, or family, or love... That he wrote the film with a woman (Juliette Salles) might indicate that writing about love is like love itself, or tango: better at two.

Although this is only his second feature film one thing is sure about Stéphane Brizé : he is an auteur. Just consider the following similarities between "Le Bleu des Villes" and "Je ne suis pas là pour être aimé" : both Solange and Jean-Claude practice an unrewarding job (meter maid ; law officer), they both suffer from the situation without managing to express it clearly, both try after a while to change their lives, one through singing the other through dancing and find a new meaning to their lives. Other common points are Brizé's minimalist style, the heartfelt tone of his two films, the propensity to urge the viewer to never say die and to shape their own lives, a touch of humor and a wonderful knack for choosing the perfect actors.

Patrick Chesnais gives a model performance as Jean-Claude, suggesting his weariness, his suppressed dissatisfaction first, then his discovery of warmer world without changing his face expressions much. I keep wondering how he can achieve such efficiency doing so little. Anne Consigny, his partner, a theater and TV actress I didn't know before, blew me away : she can convey all the emotions in the world through her expressive look, her beautiful face and her irresistible smile. Take care Patrick, I fell in love with her too! Let's not forget Geoges Wilson who manages to make his grumpy character hateable and finally pathetic and Cyril Couton, a young actor that Stéphane Brizé also made me discover, moving in the role of Jean-Claude's withdrawn plant-loving son.

I'm now looking forward to seeing Stéphane Brizé's next movie. I simply hope he will need less than six years to be able to collect the money necessary to make it.

Stéphane Brizé's Not Here to Be Loved /Je ne suis pas là pour être aimé is the mournful character study of an aging, divorced court bailiff (a hussier de justice) who hand-delivers eviction notices and requisitions property -- a distasteful job and business passed on by his father which he understandably hates -- and on weekends goes to a retirement home where his father -- the dad from hell, whom it's utterly impossible to please -- makes cruel remarks to him. Life has little to offer the dour and unsmiling Jean-Claude till he starts going across the street from his office to attend a tango class (first glimpsed enticingly from afar like the dance studio in Almodóvar's Talk to Me). There he meets and starts seeing a much younger woman.

At his first class, he's approached by another student, Francoise (Anne Consigny), not because she's attracted to him but because his mother babysat for her when she was little. She's supposed to be marrying a schoolteacher named Thierry (Lionel Abelanski) whom she's already living with, not altogether happily. He has taken off half a year to write a book and does nothing but complain about how badly it's going. Francoise is obviously as displeased with Thierry as Jean-Claude is with his entire life. Both suffer with what the French call "mal de vie." Francoise and Jean-Claude are both bottled up and with their awkward silences they send confused signals to each other.

The movie isn't a happy ride but develops conviction and a subtle life-affirming feel thanks to the nuanced performance of sad-faced Patrick Chesnais – which got him nominated for a Best Actor César last year. Perhaps one of the reasons the French can make a film like this is their well-established willingness to see aging, unhandsome men as potentially attractive to the likes of Emmanuelle Béart and Catherine Deneuve. Chesnais has a kind of dignity that neither his deeply lined face nor his hangdog manner can erase. Anne Consigny is subtle as the lady friend, and longtime veteran film actor George Wilson is formidable as the hateful and ultimately pathetic father. Minimalist and depressing this film is, but not boring, because director and cast wring the ultimate riches from every moment.

There is much subtlety and humanity in this film, whose minimal plot and minimalist style give the actors and their characters maximum room for development within a narrow but compellingly real range of emotion. But for some the result may be a bit overshadowed by other treatments of shut-down male characters like Daniel Auteuil's violin-maker in Claude Sautet's luminous Un coeur en hiver. It seems possible that indeed this film in the series will not be picked up for US distribution because it's so downbeat. If so, a pity, because this movie is not only a subtle character study but one that's very French.

(Shown as part of the Rendez-Vous with French Cinema in New York's Lincoln Center in March 2006; Je ne suis pas là pour être aimé opened in Paris October 12, 2005.)

What I loved most about this film is its silence. Usually big love stories are loud, passionate, desperate and over the top. But this film shows that big emotions don't have to be loud and sometimes silence and a little, tender touch between two people can be more intensive than screaming passion.

What I also love about this film that it doesn't only focus on the two protagonists and their love story but also takes care of other characters and their touching stories.

Most of all this is a film about people who are stuck with their lives and desperate to change them but too shy to do so. Thank God they find a helping hand that invites them to tango and together they dance into a brighter future. :)

A wonderful film and a simply beautiful love story. Outstanding performances by the two protagonists as well as the rest of the cast.

This film might almost be called 'Not Here to be Watched', it is so intimate. One feels intrusive as a viewer. Anne Consigny is entrancing as the quiet, thoughtful girl who not only says little but moves few facial muscles, other than to smile engagingly most of the time. One can't take one's eyes off her. She has that 'something special' which cannot be quantified or defined, but you just have to keep staring at her, as if she were a new species, suddenly discovered, of unknown habits, who might do or say anything but never does. This quiet, brooding film carries introspection and intimacy to new cinematic extremes, and invents a higher definition for 'subtlety'. The characters are deeply depressed and wholly incapable of expressing themselves, so that this is a not a film to watch if you are feeling down. On the other hand, manic depressives might be cheered up by it, because they would see that there can after all be communication between moles in adjoining tunnels. The tango provides the medium for this cheek to cheek resonance which transcends speech. Patrick Chesnais and Georges Wilson as his father are superbly inarticulate, having both mastered the art of non-communication. This film is deeply sensitive, in the same way that small mammals are: it blinks its eyes wonderingly as we shine light into its face: 'Am I really on camera?' Yes. And you are doing really well. A wonderful wallow in disabled humanity with suppressed needs. Although I felt sorry for the characters, I wanted to kick them in the backsides and make them snap out of it and 'get a life', preferably each other's.