Passages

Intimacy can be a beautiful thing. However, it can also become something messy, hurtful and emotionally devastating when tainted by self-serving agendas, irresponsible intentions, or reckless, short-sighted experimentation, influences that can purposely or unwittingly end up wreaking widespread havoc. Such is the case in writer-director Ira Sachs's new domestic drama about a flamboyant, free-spirited gay male filmmaker, Tomas (Franz Rogowski), who impulsively jumps into an impromptu fling with a woman, Agathe (Adèle Exarchopoulos), a relationship that leaves his longtime husband, Martin (Ben Whishaw), unsure of what the couple's future might hold. As time passes, circumstances grow increasingly complicated as each member of this unlikely trio tries to sort out what lies ahead, particularly with the emergence of Tomas's ever-growing thoughtless capriciousness. Some viewers may look upon the story's shockingly reprehensible developments as improbable and appalling, but, sadly, as anyone who has ever watched tabloid TV can probably attest, the events depicted here might not appear as far-fetched as one might think. In that respect, this offering presents a bold, courageous, honest look at what can go awry in situations like this, an account loaded with incensed outrage, unbridled ire, biting humor and more than a little cynicism. It's a narrative that some audience members may find offensive, even deplorable, but, like a horrific car accident, it's also something that many viewers might find difficult to look away from, thanks in large part to the wholly convincing performances of the three protagonists. Sensitive viewers should be aware that the film includes a fair amount of explicit and provocative sexual content, so those easily offended by such material may not want to put this one on their watch lists. However, for those who appreciate domestic dramas that hold nothing back and that aren't afraid to get down and dirty in their portrayals of what can happen, this release is about as good as any out there. Just be prepared to be left with your jaw agape - and your head spinning.

"Passages" is a master class in building a film around an unlikable character.

Franz Rogowski gives a commanding performance full of charisma and sex appeal as a sexually fluid narcissist who can't stand to let anyone around him be happy without him (or even really with him, for that matter). Viewed with a live audience, the movie becomes almost something of a comedy, and it was a hoot hearing the people in the theater with me reacting with more and more vocal disbelief at just what a jerk this main character could be. It's a morbidly fascinating character study -- it's almost like watching a day in the life of a sociopath.

I should have been exasperated with this character and movie and probably would have been if it had been handled differently. But as is, with Ira Sachs's excellent direction and the film's terrific acting, it's instead one of the best movies I've seen so far this year.

Grade: A.

As you see from the trailer a gay man in a gay marriage has sex with a woman. Don't think you'll find out why. You won't. His gay husband is OK with that. Don't know why. He just seems to sleep with one or the other as he pleases and nobody seems to object. There is almost no pressure on him to choose between them so don't expect any drama. I'm not telling you the ending but it's as calm as the rest of the film. Is he in love with either of them? Don't know. So I am giving it a 6. It's not bad but it doesn't go anywhere and doesn't answer any questions about the characters. Given the potential material it's very disappointing.

This movie's faint appeal as a post-modern take on a love triangle seems exhausted by the implausible image, featured in many promotional cards, of Franz Rogowski's sneering Tomas jazz-snuggling up to Adèle Exarchopoulos' Agathe on a dance floor. Tantalizing, but no, the film does not explain how this pair makes any chemical, emotional, or even symbolic sense. Franz Rogowski has a convincing restraint and charisma as an outsider in films like "In den Gängen" or "Transit," but here, cast in a sexual melodrama (between characters Tomas, Martin, and Agathe) as a self-obsessed bourgeois, he acts as if he were a guy who manages a cable company by day and was hired for this film because of his eyebrows. That said, Rogowski has little in the script to work with: why any character should care about this selfish oaf is head-ache-making opaque. The script tempts Rogowski into an egotistical flatness, his voice a monotonous whine, whose musical equivalent is a beginner's huffing atonally on a saxophone, alone. The character knows no boundaries. Part demon-child, part mindless fungus, he one minute halts ordinary conversations imperiously and the next shows up uninvited (opening doors himself), babbling needy demands in somebody's dwelling or workplace. Aiming for the top edge of the goal, the filmmakers instead deliver Tomas as a kind of compound of all the silly-shirt, night-scene poseurs in the history of Saturday Night Live, going back to Dan Ackroyd's "wild and crazy guy," Bill Hader's Stefon, and the Roxbury Guys of Ferrell and Kattan. However, Tomas's nylon tank and midriff-baring macrame-top collection beats all of these SNL figures in a race to "ridiculous." We are supposed to believe that a woman, played by Adèle Exarchopoulos, who recalls Monica Vitti and Anna Karina in her voluptuous elegance, toughness, and vulnerability, is obsessed with a sniveling, narcissistic twit, a dying fire-pit of acrid banalities. Unsurprisingly, after about five minutes of film time, Exarchopoulos resonates an odd fatigue incompatible with Agathe's allegedly incandescent fascination with Tomas, and she betrays a glowing concern that the actress, not the character, is in a bad dream: this movie. Ben Whishaw as Martin is such a maestro that he is the only one of the three (in other work excellent) principal actors who can bring himself fully to the script with a believable, developing, pained realization, but the film at large is so full of abrupt, nonsensical leaps of mood and commitment that the whole exercise could be a workshop in which the players were challenged to vitalize premises that make scant sense. Another film that much more convincingly allows the wonderful Adèle Exarchopoulos to play on a plane of "nothing left to lose" is Rien à foutre (2021).

German film director Tomas (Franz Rogowski) and his British commercial artist husband Martin (Ben Whishaw) have been together for 15 years ...quite an achievement, I'd say, given just how immature, capricious and utterly self-obsessed Tomas routinely shows himself to be. Pretty much the only glue holding them together appears to be the fact that, whatever else may have gone stale between them, the sex is still good.

Although the script never explicitly mentions it, it would appear that theirs is an exclusive marriage: i.e. There are no intimations given to suggest that it's an open relationship, in which permission to "play away" has been agreed - so when, out of the blue, Tomas finds himself intensely attracted to a 20-something female schoolteacher called Agathe - an attraction he pursues with typically impulsive selfishness and no regard for anybody's feelings but his own - the impact on Martin (and, in due course, Agathe) is just as seismic as you'd expect.

Essentially what we have here is a portrait of a narcissist, in thrall to his own impulses, manipulative and duplicitous when it suits his purpose, and incapable of facing up to the consequences of his actions. Tomas is a study in arrested development: emotionally he's barely more than a toddler - a little boy who, on seeing a shiny new toy, must have it, and cannot understand why everybody else can't just go with his flow and let him have his way.

It's a tough challenge to play an unlikeable character and still keep your audience invested in them, but Rogowski pulls it off superbly, showing us that Tomas is as much a victim of his destructive personality traits as is everyone else who falls foul of them. As much as I despised Tomas's behaviour, I couldn't help but find myself feeling sympathy for his damaged soul. In that final night-time bike ride through Paris - having lost, by his own actions, everything of genuine value - he is truly heading nowhere.

Addendum: In the course of this movie I learned a frankly jaw-dropping, thing - that, in the 21st century, French schools have appallingly lax security: apparently any random stranger can get on the premises and barge into a classroom!