Los destinos sentimentales

The story of a man (a very good performance by Charles Berling) over a 30 year period, starting at the beginning of the 20th century. It explores what matters to him -- the women in his life, his morality, and later his porcelain factory.

It poses some important questions; how does one balance morality, passion and being an artist? And when is the pursuit of perfection a vice or a virtue?

There are flaws; some interesting plot lines are simply dropped, and other less interesting ones get more time than they need. Isabelle Huppert, while always good is surprisingly a bit one-note, and Emmanuelle Beart can't really pull off being an old lady.

But this ultimately felt like more than the sum of its parts. By the end I felt moved and thoughtful, and it's 3 hour length, while deliberate, was never boring.

Critics were very divided - some coldly dismissed it as dull and seemed angry at Assayas for betraying his earlier hipper, more energetic films (I'm just impressed by his range), while others, like me, were really taken in by the Dickensian sweep.

Having just yawned through three hours of "Les Destinees Sentimentales" I find myself asking yet again, "Whatever has happened to French cinema?" Time was in the '60's and '70's when it was one of the most fertile sources in the world with masterworks such as Chabrol's "Le Boucher" and Goretta's "La Dentelliere" appearing with amazing frequency to say nothing about little gems such as Alain Dhouailly's "Inutile Envoyer Photo" about which I can find nothing on this database. There was even "Permis de Conduire", a delightful trifle about a man trying to pass his driving test which seems to have passed unnoticed, but which, had it been made in the UK, would no doubt have brought forth the sort of accolades we used to give to such films as "Genevieve"; in actual fact I thought the French film so much better. In France Andre Techine seems to be the only director doing worthwhile things these days - if readers know of others I would be glad to hear of them. For the rest, two genres seem to predominate, inconsequential stories of everyday human relationships a la Eric Rohmer, but without that master's sophistication and subtlety, and period literary adaptations which seem to have a statutory length of at least three hours. In this latter category comes "Les Destinees Sentimentales" a dreary saga of a family running a porcelain factory that starts at the beginning of the 20th century moving forward to the period between the two World Wars. It mainly deals with marital and business ups and downs. With the one exception of an estranged wife magnificently played by Isabelle Huppert, the rest are singularly boring company. Even the central character. a Protestant cleric who abandons his calling, seems incapable of conveying the suffering of spiritual doubt in the way that Gunnar Bjornstrand so memorably achieved in Bergman's "Winter Light". In the end it all seems such a waste of effort by a youngish director, Olivier Assayas, who is clearly not without talent. Early on there is a ballroom scene that has that excitment of movement often to be found in the best of Scorsese. If he were to choose his subject matter more carefully there is the ability there to make a really good film. I have to admit that this is the only Assayas film I have seen so he may well have done this already. Again I would appreciate hearing from readers on this point.

The film was sensitive, but disappointing.

It was over-extended and in spite of the elements to a period flick being present -- set in a small village, a devoutly Protestant porcelain empire in Limoges, the Swiss Alps, and World War I -- it lacked the period movie breadth like how the Italian's would do it.

Not even the beauty of Béart nor the shaky camera technique used throughout the movie could hold our attention for such a long time.

Oh well, this was Olivier Assayas' first period film, a departure from his contemporary works.

That's a valid excuse for the film, I guess.

This exquisite three hour film, set in France, begins at 1900 and ends around 1930, covering in the way three decades in the life of an idealistic man, Jean Barnery, who, although began as an protestant priest, ended up becoming an industrialist in his family porcelain factory. Through the life of a complex character, a full web of compromises, illusions, deceptions, tragedies, and mistakes emerges, capturing accurately the conflictual transformations of the era as a relation to the hero's personal journey. Despite its novelistic structure that sometimes diminishes its dramatic power through big time lapses, the film manages to retain its own life and conviction through careful development of its main ideas that pervade the whole story: The unavoidable compromises, the vicissitudes of life, the difficulty in applying your ideals, the emotional fulfillment and the problems of commitment, the futility of things. Easy answers are not provided, sometimes questions are more important. Exquisitely directed by the talented Olivier Assayas, and wonderfully performed (Emanuelle Beart and Charles Berling give subtle and nuanced performances, capturing perfectly the transitions in their characters' emotional state) the film, contrary to other period pieces, never lags despite the length. A must see for people interested in a serious piece of filmmaking.

Chardonne's novel is a masterfully written tale about two characters as they spiral through and explore love as life's most essential element. The director captured it beautifully as a tone, a feeling, and as an overall impression of how the characters react to their journey. Unfortunately, he left out the milestones, those transitions a character makes, inwardly, as outward events bear in on them. The audience is asked to make gigantic leaps of logic as the character's trust in and dependence on Love changes, evolves with age. Mind you this is a three hour epic, so it is not for want of time that the production misses the mark, only the screenwriter's discipline, and here, again, the director got involved where he ought not be.