cskoog

O dear, I have to write ten lines about this pseudo-indie movie instead of just warning you off the overwhelmingly positive reception it has garnered among those apparently besotted by its smugly conceptual cleverness. Yes it has a 'guest' appearance by Annete Bening (though that whole part has no real function in the film), and the principal actors are just fine in their puppet-like roles. But there is a problem that makes it all into some kind of queasy, warped, tract: Once entering the realm of magical realism, it is essential to play by the rules, which this film does not do. The writer, who is supposed to be a very good writer, does not behave towards the character he creates as a good writer would. This figures, really, for it betrays a misunderstanding of literary creation that is reflected in the writing of the movie too. The whole thing is merely a construct, and further cheapened by the hypocritical grinding of too familiar axes, as well as a stupid supposedly sweetly paradoxical ending. Beware Hollywood in indie clothing.

This is a much better film than has been generally recognized. Props to Tatou for choosing this project. It is not a romantic comedy, though there are many occasions for laughter. It is about love and loss, grief and healing. Maybe even more, it is about our culture, whose pervasive artificiality and interpersonal politics need to make real things seem weird and out of place. There is a Bergmanesque (eg: 'Swedish') subsurface to this light-footed film. As you watch it, consider the fates Tatou's character avoids by rejecting each invitation to 'normalcy'...

The film is beautifully shot, colored, and lit. The script is marvelously economical: every line is necessary. Finally, the music is ideal for allowing the intentions of the filmmaker to sink in.

This is the work of a mature storyteller who understands how to use film and music to lead the viewer into unusual and surprising places. There is much to delight an audience here, from subtle crossings and recrossings of genre boundaries, to moments of humor of an almost metaphysical dimension, to serious offerings of perspective on time, mortality, and history. I enjoyed particularly the way the filmmaker genially hoodwinks the viewer step by step into assenting to a story that becomes increasingly less predictable at the same time that its dependence on a sort of half-magical realism becomes more and more firmly established. The film does have an evident homoerotic subtext, and perhaps cultural 'flavor', but in a way that (for a change) does not limit its appeal. Rather, it reaches toward a kind universality that puts it in company with works of art that are for everyone whose heart and mind are in working order.