Les Imposteurs

This is by far one of my favorite little films, & just yesterday I bought it on DVD for a mere pittance ($6 & change)& settled in happily to enjoy it again. Only once in a blue moon does it turn up on artsy/independent film-type channels, so don't hold your breath looking for it on TV.

Everyone in this film is perfectly cast, & what makes it come together so beautifully is that each character in this piece exhibits faults & foibles, as we all do. It's so refreshing to watch something entertaining where the characters are portrayed as "real" - albeit flawed - people. In addition, the jazz musical score throughout the film fits the mood like a glove.

My favorite not-to-be-missed extremely funny scene? John Malkovich's "Jake", in a moment of depressed exasperation, talking aloud to himself composing his own obituary. I laugh every time I hear it - his delivery is perfect. Another favorite scene, very poignant, is when Mr. Malkovich's "Jake" phones his parents, after an apparently long absence, with the apparent intention of requesting monetary assistance. From the one-sided conversation you hear, you get an automatic insight into "Jake"'s upbringing, & perhaps why he's taken the path he has. Even though short, it's an extremely moving & insightful scene.

This movie is definitely worth renting if you can find it - but for the money, it's also worth adding to one's permanent DVD collection.

It is difficult for me to comprehend why there is only one viewer comment for this film, or why it is rated under a six. If an excellent film is about entertainment, intelligence, great acting and a terrific story with a treasury of clever humor that expounds the deeper meaning of a good relationship between a man and a woman over wealth and selfishly egotistical success, then this is a standout film that achieves a richness of artistic accomplishment that very few films do. No one truly sees the beauty of the bronze statue except the lowly and weathered housekeeper, a financially struggling mute, unable to express the profound feelings that are moving within her in words, but Rudi Davies sure gets it across with her expression and eyes. I had to drive 30 miles to the Cedar Lee Theater, Cleveland's only real art house, during it's original release, but after the film was over I realized it would have been worthwhile if I would have had to walk...some films are just that special

The object in question is a pint-sized Henry Moore statuette, owned by shallow sophisticate Andie McDowell and appraised at $35,000, an amount in many ways even more beautiful to its owner than the item itself. Especially when McDowell and her 'husband' (played to haughty perfection by John Malkovich) find themselves at a fiscal disadvantage while living beyond their means in a posh London hotel. In the vernacular of the upwardly mobile, they aren't 'fluid', and when the statuette disappears they immediately accuse each other of plotting to collect the insurance value. The film is an underhanded, cynical, satirical poke at American materialism, pointless in the end because nothing is resolved. But the plot itself is secondary to the characters (ugly though they are), and rarely have two actors been better suited to their roles: McDowell's poor little rich girl routine is by now second nature, and Malkovich captures all the self-absorbed boredom of the ersatz upper class with his languid voice and steady reptilian gaze.

My review was written In March 1991 after watching the film at a Times Square screening room.

"The Object of Beauty" is a throwback to the romantic comedies of Swinging London cinema, but lacks the punch of the best of that late '60s genre. It has only modest prospects among sophisticated theatrical audiences, with a much better outlook in ancillary exposure.

Following up his "The Sheltering Sky" performance with another drifting character, John Malkovich toplines as a ne'er-do-well holed up in a swank London hotel with his mate Andie MacDowell. Everyone assumes the two of them are married, but MacDowell is still hitched to estranged hubby Peter Riegert.

With amiable comedy situations to sugarcoat the opening reels, not much happens as the duo dine in the hotel's expensive restaurant, Malkovich worries about his broker selling him out on dubious investments and he carefully dodges the hotel manager (Joss Ackland) with inquiries about paying a portion of their bill.

Plot concerns the title object, a small Henry Moore figurine that MacDowell received from Riegert as a present and which Malkovich desperately wants to sell or use for an insurance scam to cover his hotel tab and ongoing business reverses.

Key script contrivance has a deaf-mute maid (Rudi Davies), newly hired at the hotel, becoming obsessed with the Moore sculpture and stealing it for a keepsake. This sets into motion trite complications, notably developing a wedge (as corny as O. Henry's "The Gift of the Magi") between Malkovich and MacDowell as each believes the other has pocketed the $50,000 art work.

A subplot involving Davies and her punk-styled brother strains heavily for pathos. Another unsuccessful side issue is Malkovich's selfish affair with MacDowell's best friend Lolita Davidovich, who makes the most of her one-dimensional part. (She replaced Elizabeth Perkins in the role.)

As in "Sheltering Sky", Malkovich ably brings out the unsympathetic nature of his antihero, but the script doesn't help him much in balancing that with any compelling reason for identification. It's hard to care about someone whose future lies in produce sitting on a dock in Sierra Leone.

The viewer will instantly side with MacDowell, whose natural beauty is augmented here by a feisty violent streak whenever Malkovich steps over the line (which is frequent). In addition to Davidovich, Davies, Ackland, officious hotel dick Bill Paterson and no-nonsense insurance inspector Jack Shepherd turn in pro turns.

Filmmaker Michael Lindsay-Hogg, whose diverse credits range from the Beatles' "Let It Be" to farce ("Nasty Habits"), develops effective individual scenes but fails to create a reason for sustained interest in his characters. Result is a mildly diverting but empty picture. Daid Watkin, whose experience in the genre dates back to Richard Lester's classic "The Knack", has photographed the deceptively carefree setting with aplomb.

This movie disappointed me. It's billed as a 'low key comedy', but ends up being so low key, you wonder (with the exception of a couple of scenes) where the comedy is. Most of my disappointment, however, stems from the script - aside from the chambermaid and her brother, I simply did not care what happened to the characters. The juxtaposition of the two ways of life was excellent - but it's too obvious where the scriptwriter's sympathies lie.