I re e la regina

Rois et Reine starts and ends with an audio feast of divinely beautiful unplugged "Moon River". In between, it offers the richest content that I remember in any film that I've seen.

Use of two parallel, initially apparently unrelated story lines is a favourite structure for movie makers. One that immediately comes to mind is Le Huitieme Jour. In Rois et Reine, one thread is Nora, a beautiful art gallery director struggling with a terminally ill father and a fatherless son Elias. The other thread is Ismael, a viola player taken into a psychiatric ward through strange circumstances. However, it does not take long (relative to the two-and-a-half-hour film) to get to the convergence point where the audience are privy to the fact that Nora and Ismael had lived together for seven years during which Nora's son developed a devoting affection for and attachment to Ismael (which, incidentally, reminds me of a similar relationship in Love Actually, in a character played by Liam Neeson).

But this is only the bare beginning. The sprawling story surrounding these two main characters commands the viewers' every attention, and this film really deserves several viewing.

I wouldn't attempt to go into all the details of the many characters, sub-plots and sub-texts. Briefly, the central story is Nora's relationships with three men, Elias's father who was shot under suspicious circumstances, Ismael who became Elias's de facto father and the man she is now going to marry but is not really certain if she truly loves or not. While those relationships are touched on lightly, some through flashbacks, her relationship with her father Louis and sister Chloe receive sharper focus, with twists and turns leading to some rather devastating revelations towards the end.

With Ismael's family (and there are quite a few members) the circumstances are very different, but equally intriguing. While there is also conflict, and this one centres around the issue of adoption and estate, the mood in one of wry humour. Family matters aside, there is also another dimension, the psychiatric ward, where Ismael interacts with no less than three psychiatrists (one played by Catherine Deneuve) as well as a women fellow-patient Arielle with whom he develops a close relationship that continues after their discharge.

And don't be mislead into thinking that quantity will compromise quality. The entire film is throbbing with energy, telling the story in so many different ways, in so many changing moods, which, however, never feels disjointed. Similarly, the deft use of background music brings you delight in every turn.

I have only touched on the bare surface of this absorbing film. Among the many fascinating aspects of the film is the development of the two main characters and a common characteristic: both are vain and arrogant. Yet, the interesting thing is that they are not portrayed in that light at all. It's through the description by other characters that this comes to light, and then we are compelled to look behind the surface to understand.

The audience will find that there are many scenes, from devastatingly emotional to hilariously noire, that they will remember long afterwards. If I were to pick a most memorable one, however, it will be the last scene, between Ismael and Elias, and I think many who have seen the film will agree. A masterful piece of auteurist work, Rois et Reine is a film that will be a crime to miss.

How do you create a follow up to the two masterpieces that were "Comment je me suis disputé" and "Ester Kahn" (we won't talk about the dull "Léo... en jouant Dans la compagnie des hommes") ? You just listen to what your heart has to say, however hard and difficult it might be, and make no compromises. You don't fear to be misunderstood. You care about the audience but do not let them influence your work. You're a genius but you still have doubts, and these doubts make your art even better. "Rois et Reine" ("Kings and Queen"), Arnaud Desplechin's latest film, lasts 2h40mn and, in spite of its length and its harsh contents, is utterly entertaining, fascinating, moving and even funny. It does not fear to be (often) irritating and boring : the burlesque moments, for instance, are quite annoying, but then again, that's a personal point of view. The thing is, the storyline about Nora's relationship with her father and her ex boyfriend and her son, and then again Ismael's relationship with Nora's son and with his family are so powerful, they don't need more. Unfortunately, Desplechin is often reluctant to cut deep in his movie and as a result, "Rois et Reine" sometimes looks like a long, long ride. Add to that some unfortunate flash backs burdened by bad acting (the character of Pierre) and boy does the movie sound dull at times. Emmanuelle Devos and Mathieu Amalric, finding here the roles of a lifetime, are absolutely fascinating. When in the end, Nora discovers the secret pages of her father's diary, or when Ismael spends an afternoon with Nora's son, it's devastating. I've rarely seen a movie that translates human emotions so beautifully. Just for that, "Rois et reine" is a must see.

There is SO much going on in this film, but it has rhythm, pace, a great soundtrack, and enjoyable, charismatic performances, that kept me engaged from the word go. The editing owes something to 60s Godard - lots of jump cuts in the dialogue scenes - and 80s Rohmer - anguished 30 somethings worrying about true love - and possibly, in its tour de force final sequence, a reference to La Jetee, which is also of course about memory, fate, and mortality. And then there is the rather bizarre Audrey reference which opens the film: as Nora steps out of a black car, clutching her morning coffee, clothed in black, her hair wound up on her head, the strains of Monn River sound. So far, so post-modern. This is is a film that is freighted with filmic, literary, theatrical (esp Shakespeare and the Tempest) and artistic allusions, but that uses these in service of a specific point: that these cultural references and allusions make the web of our being - that art is how we communicate to each other (notice that all the characters communicate through art - the gift Nora gives her father, the music Ismael dances to, the book the father writes - even the 'murder scene' is filmed through a highly stylised mise-en-scene): that 'artifice' can reveal the deepest and most moving of human emotions. It is a beautiful film that will move you and make you leave the cinema feeling transported. And Deneuve is just great! I love the bit where Ismael asks her if anyone has ever told her she's beautiful, and she gives a slight twist of her lips, sighs, and says, yes, she has heard that before. Just because something has become cliché, doesn't mean it's not true.

"Kings and Queen (Rois et reine)" is a deceptively beautiful looking exploration of the differences between appearances and substance.

Our first impressions of each parallel character who seems to have no relation with any other character undergo a complete turn-around by the time we have finished circling around them in time and space at the end of the film, especially as we begin to realize they are unreliable, self-serving narrators of their own experiences.

Each person is part of a very modern blended family, both by genetics and selection, and faces the most quotidian of life cycle decisions -- life, birth, marriage, paying bills, parent/child responsibilities, Laingian sanity and particularly death -- and makes a different choice how to handle them, whether active or passive, peremptorily or as fate.

But each choice leads them to the next unexpected plateau of choices with guilt hanging on each move. For each, doing the right thing means something completely different as each responds differently to an emotional and physical crisis.

Though psychoanalysis is drolly mocked as just another philosophy, each character may be eccentric or seriously crazy and undergoes Freudian traumatizations by family in casually cruel ways that alternate between funny and shocking (and sometimes absurd).

Director/co-writer Arnaud Desplechin revels in the diversity of his characters, so that as their orbits collide they can hardly communicate because their frames of reference are so different.

The acting brilliantly matches the unexpected revelations that flash back to let us know how each character got to be this person and the transformations to where they are going. Emmanuelle Devos as "Nora" lusciously fills the screen even as we find that her nonchalant beauty masks the devastation she leaves in her wake as it helps her use others for her selfish needs.

Desplechin has frequently cited Woody Allen as an influence (and "Seinfeld"), and Mathieu Amalric's Ismaël is a tribute to that talkative, intellectual Jewish persona and Philip Roth is mentioned as well, though this character is much more up on hip pop music and surprisingly matures as he gains far more humanity than his New York inspirations.

The film is long and slow, but curiosity about how each character got to where the film started is involving.

It's impossible to keep up with all the erudite references to poetry (Desplechin says the title comes from a chess metaphor in a French poem: "King without kingdom/ Queen without a scene/ Castle broken/ Bishop betrayed/ Fool as a brave man"), literature, mythology, art, music and film ("Moon River" seems to be used frequently these days).

Eric Gautier's cinematography is sensual and is particularly dreamy when an awful event occurs.

The production design creates illustrative environments for each person and family, as every object around each character has ironic counterpoint to the dialog.

The soundtrack eclectically extends from electronica to klezmer to hip hop to singer/songwriters Paul Weller and Randy Newman to classical and more that reflect the characters' psychological mise en scenes.

The death of a loved one is never pretty, but may be particularly hard in our atomic age; the news of an ailing relative is a bolt from the blue, external to our everyday lives. And unlikely people can make good parents, exactly because being a good parent is not something you achieve by following instructions. These are the sort of thoughts provoked by watching 'Kings and Queen', a French movie about a woman with a dying father, a mad ex-lover and a teenage son. There are definitely some perceptive moments, but overall, the film is a bit uneven; the two halves of the plot (one centred on the woman and her father, the other on her ex) are quite disconnected and also distinct in tone: the former cool and reflective, the latter somewhat riotous; although they come together at the end, this doesn't quite feel like a necessary ending, while other plot lines (such as one centred on the lead character's sister) are not developed. Still, I liked the movie's insight into the selfishness of modern lives and attitudes, which fall short of evil but lie exposed as inadequate under duress: there's a message in this which many could heed.