Les péchés mortels

Stephen Dorff, being characteristically creepy in a suspicious way. A forceful, severe matriarch. Prominent sound effects and a taut, somber original score emphasizing strings. Dark, moody lighting, and crisp cinematography that seems dulled to accentuate shadow. Gabrielle Anwar, directed to at once be beautiful and alluring and also appear helpless and frightened. Whispers, soft voices; dynamic camerawork; cuts to disparate scenes of no readily apparent connection, and without immediate explanation of any, to highlight a sense of detachment, isolation, and foreboding. These are elements that are employed in 'Innocent lies' to inculcate an air of tension and suspense. It's useful for the film to do so because while there's definite mystery about the title - sufficiently strong that even without knowing it beforehand, I recognized a feeling that it was adapted from a book, and one by Agatha Christie at that - its construction doesn't necessarily supply an atmosphere of tension and suspense on its own. In fact, the described added flourishes and the writing and direction at large frankly seem to oppose one another. This movie has problems.

Even the youngest members of the cast generally perform admirably with the material they are given, serving up acting with strong nuance where they can. From a technical standpoint this is well made, and I admire the contributions of the crew behind the scenes. The production design is fetching, and the costume design, and hair and makeup work. These are no substitute, however, for writing and direction that nonetheless makes every scene, line of dialogue, and too much of every performance feel disconnected and less than earnestly meaningful. We rather seem to get a portrait in miniature, one piece at a time, of how director Patrick Dewolf and his collaborators imagines it all should look in a mystery, thriller, drama, and/or film noir - only, the detachment and isolation that is added into the picture kind of extends to each constituent part. 'Innocent lies' is a theoretical patchwork quilt that is very carefully arranged, save for that the stitches between distinct patches are hopelessly loose, and still so thick and heavy that they overshadow what they're supposed to be holding together.

It's so very odd. All the components are here for what should be a rich, engaging, compelling movie, including subtle airs of psychological drama. I can tell how much effort went into it. By some weird set of circumstances I can't fully describe, however, the whole is notably less than the sum of its parts. There's what a movie could or should be, and then there's what it is or the impression it makes - unwieldy, unconvincing, perhaps even contrived. I don't absolutely dislike 'Innocent lies,' and even with nasty themes on the edges including incest and fascism (content warning, folks) it's a narrative that has significant potential. That potential simply isn't borne out.

I expect and hope that there are viewers who watch this and get more out of it than I do. I just think it's too messy and underwhelming to particularly inspire. There are worse films you could watch, but with so many better ones out there, too, there's no overwhelming reason why 'Innocent lies' deserves your time over another.

I tend to like movies like this one- quiet, destined to be seen on TV late at night after some red wine to quench insomnia. Yeah... some called it a bore, but so was Mansfield Park...to an extent. it's been quite a while since I have seen it and the details are a bit fuzzy, but if a movie of its rank made it in the realm of my daily wanderings, then it has to have at least one quality. Maybe I liked the setting,the cold morning air-the blue air that conveys darkness and mystery to most Poirot series or the landscapist pov it offered at times just to be changed with the eye of a mute detective at others. I almost liked those, but not quite. Being very fond of art, this movie reminded me of Tamara de Lempicka's paintings: very art deco, showing us more than just a glimpse of the 30s aristocracy, very daring without excelling in creativity. just that. the ending was unsurprising,not really a letdown but the deranged late 30s atmosphere, the uncontrollable animalism depicted in different character liaisons saved it.

I believe Towards Zero to be one of Christie's best and when I read there was an adaptation that her usually quite tolerant estate had declined any involvement with (an extremely rare occurrence to the chagrin of some Christie purists), I went out to search for it.

The setting is both beautiful and poignant. An Art Deco Villa on a clifftop in 1938 France, undercurrents of the coming war rippling even through the lives of the well-off family at the centre of the story.

British detective Adrian Dunbar, along with his small daughter, visits to bury his old friend, a fellow cop, who apparently and very suddenly has committed suicide. It appears said cop came to investigate the death of a young member of the aptly named Graves family many years ago and never left. What his relationship with the Graves' exactly entailed we never find out (the matriarch insists they had an affair, but her word is as good as anyone else's in this movie, which is no good at all). I guess it would count as a spoiler if there was anything to spoil, that we also never find out what happened to him.

Two things are quite clear from the start. The slimy Oxford student son Jeremy is the most likely suspect and his relationship with his sister is not sisterly in the least. Again, no surprises will reveal themselves on either account.

The hard boiled detective naturally falls immediately under the spell of the beautiful daughter Celia and risks his career to help her escape - from what exactly, not even she herself seems to know. Numerous other storylines are woven (and mostly dropped without any resolution). Various females are upset with the detective, but since they won't tell him why, the film also doesn't care any longer. Motives of anyone are foggy at best and often change from scene to scene. Some sequences are almost Lynchian in their absurdity and their lack of any connection to the plot, but feel much more accidental. The most consistent part is the camera following around young Celia to expose her body from every angle possible.

The ending scene wakes memories rather more of Dial M for Murder than Towards Zero, but I doubt either would like to be associated with this film. In fact, despite some effort, I could find no traces of the intricate plot Christie had woven for Towards Zero. No perfect alibi, no sinister end goal, no double bluff. Instead we get to see Gabrille Anwar's breasts under a variety of semi-translucent fabrics. I guess that counts for something.

Is it a war movie? Is it film noir? Is it cheap titillation? A deep exploration of complex and controversial relationships? This film cannot decide what it is and so, as another person noted, must require several viewings in order to make sense. Sadly, it is just not compelling enough to warrant multiple viewings - unlike other films that ARE rich with complex themes and artistic vision.

The actors valiantly try to overcome the morass that is the script - but were probably as annoyed as the rest of us at the myriad loose threads that never tie up.

Adrian Dunbar portrays the frustration of someone tempted and confused by things around him - he must be the avatar for the viewer. Stephen Dorff offers another workmanlike portrayal of your friendly neighborhood rebel without a clue. Gabrielle Anwar, who is usually a fine actor, is stuck with a character whose neuroses become tedious and irritating by the end of the film. Joanna Lumley escapes caricature by a false eyelash and looks luminous in the period fashions. The rest of the cast are superfluous at best and annoying distractions at worst, doing nothing to advance the story. They and the plot lines that involve them do not even qualify as decent red herrings.

The cinematography is lovely - very atmospheric and evocative of the era - as are the costumes and staging.

Unfortunately, Dewolf's grasp at Art exceeded his reach and no amount of plot devices can make this murky movie anything more than a mild diversion. Perhaps the fault lies with the editing - which would explain the subplots that disappear and other senseless oddities. A tighter script, a focused plot, and less cheap titillation would have permitted this talented cast to fully engage the viewer in a riveting mystery flick.

If you like longing glances into the misty distance, unmotivated yet psychotic incest, and daft police work, you'll love this waste of time and film.

The casting director clearly liked a specific "look" of female. As a result, I spent the first half of the movie just trying to keep the female characters straight. Beautiful women are not enough to save this flimsiest of scripts, however.

I feel cheated. I could've been playing solitaire. It would've been equally fulfilling. Clearly, I do not recommend this movie. I was hoping for so much more from a largely watchable cast.