Théo et Hugo dans le même bateau

I found this movie by chance from a movie magazine. I must say that I was expecting an average movie on gay issues. It was also in Paris and it might be interesting. The movie started with very real scenes from a sex bar in Paris (probably L'Impact). After sex bar scene, movie too all my heart, all my thoughts. As a gay guy who lived in Paris and experienced the similar scenes, I can say that none of movies can depict a love, a romance and a gay life like "Theo and Hugo" depicted. Hesitations between men for a possibility to start an affair, the desire between men, the atmosphere of sex bar, the feelings, walking lonely Paris streets as two guys, stopping in a kebab restaurant (Tarkan's song was in the background), dialogues... unbelievable... It was not like a movie.. it was like a real scenes... If you skip all gay stuff, it is a very beautiful story of a romance... very naive, very innocent...Olivier Ducastel, Jacques Martineau must be congratulated also the players Geoffrey Couët, François Nambot. They all have done a great work. What I lived (incl. HIV+ stuff) when I was in Paris some time ago was exactly was in the movie. No exaggeration, no decoration... the movie streams like La Seine... peacefully, perfectly and glamorously. Thank you guys!

In his Variety review, Jay Weissberg gave this movie a passing comparison to Andrew Haigh's "Weekend," which is easily my favorite homo flick, so I had to give this one a go.

I see the similarity: a first-time encounter leads to sometime more, along, of course, with some inevitable bumps in the relationship road.

The premise of having events unfold in 'real' time is an interesting angle, almost a gimmick, that somehow works, despite a few scenes that seem to last forever: eating a twinkie ("cake") at the ER visit; a much-too-forced conversation with a fellow Metro passenger who can't afford to retire, so she commutes to a hotel housekeeping job every day; the first 18 minutes of orgy at a sex club.

The casting is another interesting angle: the leads aren't typical drop-dead-gorgeous hunks: their bodies, their faces, their *ahem* packages aren't classic attention-getters, but they're real enough, handsome enough, and equipped enough to deliver a "real man in Paris" feel. And Paris, too, certainly feels real enough, despite the early-morning setting which makes the city feel almost deserted. And almost safe to be in, public displays of affection and all.

I was surprised at how well this movie worked.

It will never win awards but it wormed its way into my heart and psyche in a way that not many others have.

Good job, co-directors Ducastel and Martineau.

It works.

French queer filmmakers Olivier Ducastel and Jacques Martineau's seventh feature, Paris 05:59: THÉO & HUGO alludes as much to Agnès Varda's CLEO FROM 5 To 7 in its relation to the real-time plot device, as to Richard Linklater's BEFORE… trilogy, where two individuals are trying to build something intimate and meaningful through small talks in a spontaneously perambulating pace.

But, as a testimonial to the filmmakers true grits, the film takes a bold and sensational initiative to instantaneously put off the prudish and conservative alike, by kicking off the movie with a lurid hardcore sex orgy inside an iridescent bar through the eye of a predator seeking his preys, and then setting its focal point to our two titular protagonists struck by coup de foudre and beginning to consummate their libidinous thrusting in the accompaniment of trippy beats and day-glo lights, but with a consequence, which Ducastel-Martineau duo tactfully explores as the brunt of what happens later that night when they exit together from the bar at 04:47 A.M.

The film does a cracking job in establishing the "sex first, love later" scenario in a post-AIDS 21st century, when carnal impulse receding, the two strangers, both are satisfying with their physical encounter, make tentative steps to know each other from the scratch, and their bonhomie hits a halt when a felix culpa pans out, and the duo must re-connect their rhythm and re-consider their possible future within an approximate one-hour time-line as the film finishes precisely at 06:00.

More often than not, a film hyped by unsimulated sex sequences would suffer from being made light of its less grandstanding elements, for example, Ducastel-Martineau duo's apt punctuation of commentaries concerning those socially marginalized: a hospital devolves the night shift to its distaff employees, homophobia vituperation pelted to the sexuality minority, a Syrian immigrant's perspective on freedom and a senior chambermaid's impromptu babbling (and a resultant blooper for the sharp-eyed), all add a touch of political angel but never overstay their welcome.

The two leads are giving a wholesomely winning and empathetic performance (if it sounds like an understatement after their corporeal sacrifice of leaving nothing to imagination), Geoffrey Couët inhabits a somewhat rustic complexion into Théo's wide-eyed-ness, and François Nambot as Hugo, often takes the lead in their conversation with his youthful urbanity and amiability, a smitten, can-do spirit has no affectation and pretension, which makes the ineffable ending such a boon to be appreciated, not just for their hard-earned chance, but also for Ducastel-Martineau's ingenuity and seeming effortlessness (a keen eye of a nocturnal locus under the unadorned lighting arrangement) of conjuring up something extraordinarily honest, heartfelt and aesthetically arresting out of an ordinary story arc, it is never too soon to signpost this film as the new landmark in today's ever-progressive queer cinema-scape, because the battle hasn't been (completely) won yet.

Hugo (the handsome François Nambot) and Théo (Geoffrey Couët, who has a little of Dirk Bogarde around the eyes) meet, in a highly-explicit fashion, in a French sex club. After they put their clothes back on and head into the Paris night, their conversation about how their sexual encounter had a deeper meaning than would normally, given where it took place, be expected, indicates the start of romance. But that nascent love affair comes under strain when the confession of a mistake by one of the young men prompts a revelation from the other.

Leaving aside a few supporting characters (and plenty of non-speaking though extremely active extras in the club scene), this is pretty much a two-hander film and as such needs good central performances. Both men are competent; although there are times when his delivery is a little wooden, Couët believably handles Théo's sudden mood swings, although I can't help wondering how Nambot, who seems the more accomplished actor, would have played them. Paris by night - even the grottier parts of it in which much of this is set - looks full of character and provides a good backdrop to the young lovers' meandering conversations.

And that opening scene? Well, call me shallow, call me a hypocrite, but I prefer my nudity non-saggy, so it is a relief when the camera focuses on Nambot and Couët - although not hunks, they're definitely better-toned than many of the sex club's patrons! (But personally, if I was going to be filmed completely nude except for my shoes and socks, I'd wear nicer socks.)

The first 20 minutes is pure pornography. It is not done distastefully but it is still pure pornography. While that scene is essential to the entire story, it could have been shortened to a lesser 5 or 10 minutes of lesser explicit sex without jeopardizing the story line. But if you are turned on by gay orgies then you have nothing to complain.

But it is after that marathon sex scene that the film took on a completely substantial value. The performance by the two young actors is good but what makes this a masterpiece is the overall story line and flow. It is a real-time film, meaning the time frame of the story being depicted is the real time frame of the length of the film. It really draws you in - if you allow it to. In typical French fashion, it's the undercurrent tension that grips you rather than anything in-your-face. On a deeper level it reminds me a little of Crime and Punishment (Dostoyevsky), not in the nature of the plot but in the subtle yet strong alternating waves of emotions: between morbid fear and banal carefreeness; between romance and anger; between naive innocence and bitter reality; between hope and despair, all happening with the dark, ordinary yet enigmatically charming Paris, as the stage (you won't see any glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, nor the Sacre Coeur nor the dirty ghettos - you see the real Paris ordinaire). It is a plot that lends itself perfectly to French cinematography and style; a story that screams to be given the very French treatment of film making.