Cet amour-là

Only France I suspect could produce a fascinating, self-absorbed, libertine, brilliant woman intellectual like Marguerite Duras whose long relationship with a very young and callow Yann Andrea is the subject of director Josee Dayan's "Cet Amour-la."

Born in 1914 in a Vietnam firmly under French control, the young Duras absorbed the often silent influences of the lush and exotic land that she often referenced, in writing and conversation, during her very long life in France. Her first important writings came out during World War II, a difficult time for Duras and her family under the German occupation that saw relatives incarcerated in concentration camps including her husband. He survived - others didn't.

Hardly surprisingly, Duras - always committed to examining social issues - flirted with and joined the French communist party after her country was liberated by the U.S. With a few other intellectuals who brought a brilliant honesty to their view of life she abandoned the false prophets after about five years. She always, however, mirrored issues of social justice through the prism of her writings which largely reflected her own experiences and values.

The belle of a postwar literary establishment that offered avant-garde writing to a country that in two world wars had seen demographic decimation and international humiliation, Duras tackled every theme and every subject while pursuing a somewhat hedonistic lifestyle (including a very celebrated menage-a-trois). By the time she met Yann, such exploits were interred in the mists of her memory.

Based on Yann Andrea's novel, the film starts with his meeting Duras after long writing to her, poetically expressing his admiration (and, undoubtedly, ambition to follow in her literary footsteps). Played by Aymeric Demarigny, the young (in his twenties) Yann is invited to Duras's apartment by the seaside.

A mutual attraction develops as Duras, in a role only Jeanne Moreau could bring to life, accepts the young man as her muse, amanuensis and lover. He moves in. As a couple, they argue, make up and often engage in whimsical pursuits (her attempt to teach him to drive, for example) in which the generational gap melts away. This was no short relationship - the couple was together from 1980 to Duras's 1986 death.

In the film and perhaps in real life (this is, after all, the surviving lover's tale of a relationship of near mythical proportions in literary circles) Yann brings certain gifts that spur the aging author's writing. Unfortunately he also brings bottles of red wine which set the alcoholic Duras back into the drinking she apparently had escaped from earlier.

An affair between a woman in her eighth decade and a man in his third - an American film would highlight exploitation, perhaps sex served up as bizarre. With actresses in their thirties now appealing to directors to find roles for "older" women it's doubtful many film makers here could portray a relationship such as Yann and Duras's with unflinching honesty, subordinating the sexual aspects to the more interesting core interdependence that Jeanne Moreau gives life to here.

Demarigny's excellent portrayal notwithstanding, this is Moreau's film, a triumphant demonstration of the depths of her acting AND a statement about her own innate vitality and sexuality. She must care deeply about Duras.

A slow moving film that will reward second viewings, it isn't for everyone. Duras isn't that widely read in the U.S. and I suspect many won't even recognize her name. Still, the intimate and often rambunctious Duras/Andrea relationship can stand independent of any knowledge of the protagonists' real lives.

Nicely filmed in a verdant France.

8/10.

The idea of a love affair between a woman in her sixties and seventies would have never been the subject of a film in America. It takes a lot of bravery on the part of the director, Josee Dayan, to bring this story to life, as it most have been the case when Hal Ashby gave us his take in the same subject with Harold and Maude.

Certain parts of Marguerite Duras' life were not well known to this viewer; her alcoholism, for example, comes across as a surprise. But it is her involvement with a young man that could have easily been her grandchild that must have come as a total revelation to a lot of viewers of this film.

Thankfully, it is done in a very subdued manner. Nothing shocks in this December-January relationship. The only thing I had trouble with is the claustrophobic atmosphere of the film, darkly photographed and lighted that uses mainly interiors as the principal sets.

Jeanne Moreau has been making films forever, or so it seems. Watching her on screen, the real Marguerite Duras comes out quite clearly. We can swear what we are watching is happening. Ms. Moreau's transformation into the character she is portraying is quite uncanny. It comes as an advantage to this actress the fact she has never undergone an operation to transform her into a much younger looking woman.

The young lover's part in this story is much of an enigma. This Yann must have been attracted to Duras by his admiration to her work, rather than by her looks, which, of course, would not seem possible since Ms. Duras is at the end of her life and the young man has not lived his. Aymeric Demarigny is adequate in the part.

It is without a doubt a Jeanne Moreau signature film because of her dominance of every aspect of it.

This is a film for francophiles, mainly, to enjoy.

This film tells what I gather is the true story of the relationship between the French author (and screenwriter, director, and even composer) Marguerite Duras and a much younger man, Yann Andréa, based on his novel. Many people wrote to her, but Yann's frequent letters stood out. After some time, he went to meet her, and ended up living with her. She was a woman of extreme and rapid mood swings, and yet somehow Yann is able to weather these storms.

Marguerite is played exquisitely by Jeanne Moreau. There was one particular transition that she made from one emotion to another, using only her facial expression, that simply blew me away, and the film is well worth seeing just based on the strength of her performance. From what I can tell on IMDb, Jeanne Moreau has actually worked in films with the character she is playing here, which gives additional credibility to her portrayal.

Seen at the San Francisco International Film Festival on 4/28/2002.

I saw this movie in 2003 in my adopted hometown of new york city , what a wonderful movie is ,i love the music , the acting special of the wonderful Jeanne Moreau , she is an icon of acting ,, beauty , and much more is no other actress in this world that can play this part as perfect as Jeanne Moreau did , she knew Margarita Duras ,she was a friend and for her it was a very special part , i love the movie from the beginning to the end is a most for everyone , Moreau has done many wonderful movies but this one touch me in this movie she is older and not as erotic or sensual as she was but still have it, Marguerite is played exquisitely by Jeanne Moreau

When a Cahiers du cinema interviewer suggested Jeanne Moreau's acquaintance with Marguerite Duras might have aided her interpretation, she interrupted: "Je n'ai pas pensé à elle une seconde. Jamais!" She continued (still in French): "All the people I've played, the second I hear 'Action' and the camera rolls, I forget them." Watching "Cet Amour-là," I often felt she was walking through it as herself. While enormously respectful of her talent and the roles, I'd never found her attractive. That down-turned mouth effected a sort of death mask that sent a chill, especially as I'm one of those mad souls who never wants to die, or think about it. I've probably read additional, beyond-Truffaut's-intent, irony into Jules' and Jim's pursuit as a result. She certainly came across as wiser, and perhaps therefore nearer to death, than either of them. The amazing thing about "Cet Amour..." is how likable Moreau is, the sad mouth diminished amidst a complex of folds and wrinkles. I'm way younger, but could easily imagine this old woman nodding off on my shoulder, lending me a bit of her serenity. That's the essence of the film: an intensely comfortable and comforting Jeanne Moreau. It's no more necessary for us to channel Duras than it was for Moreau to do it to play her. And Moreau's voice, of course. Here are three older female voices I've always found so calmingly complex, that I listen instantly, doesn't matter what they have to say: KPFA's Judith Stone, Helen Caldicott (always meaning to alarm but a soothing purr nonetheless), the present-day Maryann Faithful. Add the present-day Moreau, even if only when she's speaking French. Calmingly complex in voice and image: Moreau may be better than the film, but she is the film. Regardless of anyone's intent, the film is about her.