Harry, un ami qui vous veut du bien

When I rented this movie I thought I was in for a black comedy, but when Harry approached Michele, his old school mate, there was something ever so slightly creepy about him. Nothing you could your finger on, it just felt not quite right... From that point onwards Harry was always there, remembering word for word a poem that Michele had written while at school, remembering Michele's story written years before. Harry was so nice, so attentive and yet so odd... Was Harry in love with Michele?

Your instinct tells you something's not right but you keep watching, hoping that you can figure Harry out, giving him the benefit of the doubt, while all the while your gut instinct is that this guy is trouble, he's a manipulator, he's calling the shots, and yet you push those thoughts aside as he's so charming.

This film held my attention, I was hooked right from the start. It's classy, understated, with a wealth of detail in the merest glance. With a subtlety that you rarely see in US or UK movies. If you like lots of action, you probably won't like this movie, it moves inexorably onwards to what you sense is going to end in tears.

A very good movie, not to everyone's taste, but if you like subtlety, classy acting, and an insight into how a psychopath can insinuate himself into your life, this movie's for you.

'Harry, He Is Here To Help' is a pretty awful title for a very entertaining French thriller. I can't claim it is the greatest thriller I've ever seen, or that it will change your life, but it's well written with interesting characters, isn't as obvious and predictable as most Hollywood movies in this vein, and it has a satisfying conclusion. As modern thrillers go, it's a very enjoyable one and should please most fans of the genre. The strength of the movie is in the performances of the two main male leads, Larent Lucas who plays Michel and Sergi Lopez who plays Harry. I can imagine if this was remade in Hollywood and they were played by (insert likely actors here) just how obvious and stereotypical their characters would be. Michel bumps into Harry while traveling with his wife Claire (Mathilde Seigner) and three young daughters. Harry is an old school chum that Michel has long forgotten, but it quickly becomes obvious that Harry remembers Michel, quoting from memory a poem he wrote in High School that Michel can hardly even recall writing. Harry charms Michel and pretty soon Harry and his beautiful girlfriend Plum (Sophie Guillemin) are invited along to Michel and Claire's modest holiday house. Harry is quirky but charming and reveals that he is independently wealthy. His reminisces about Michel's youthful writing stirs up something long forgotten in Michel, and this, along with Harry's insistence on helping financially, creates tension between Michel and his wife. However things aren't as straightforward as that. Harry has other ideas in mind... I won't spoil what happens as the story progresses, that would ruin the fun. An enjoyable thriller, nothing more, nothing less. Highly recommended.

The thing I appreciated most about this movie was the still moments, so unlike the average bombastic Hollywood product that never has a stop-and-listen moment, a stop-and-consider moment or a stop-and-feel moment. (Ever notice in American movies of the last ten years, even when the characters are stopping to think --rare as THAT is-- there is a veritable tempest of Wagnerian bluster on the sound track. Mainstream movies have gotten to where they never, NEVER shut up and let up, even for a moment; you must be manipulated every second you are in the theater. I walk out of "intense" movies, not exhausted, but rather, quite vexed by the hammy, heavy-handed obviousness of it all. --And a little deafened, usually, besides.)

There was nothing obvious in this film. At the end, you feel closure, and yet you are free to wonder at exactly what Harry's behavior meant and about the origins of his unique world-view. That is a thing to treasure, a movie that knows enough what it is about to offer closure, yet leave your mind free to wander over the relationships and lives of the people you have just watched briefly from a distance, and reflect on possible meanings.

A wonderful film.

When the film begins, Michel is in the hot car with his wife and three small kids. It's summer and there's no air conditioning...and it's not surprising the kids are behaving like brats and Michel is at his wit's ends. When the family stops for a break, Michel goes to the bathroom and there an old acquaintance, Harry, recognizes him...though Michel cannot recall the guy. It seems that Harry is a major fan of Michel and has lots of fond memories of the guy...and Michel is just dumbfounded. Despite this, when Harry invites himself and his girlfriend to their home, Michel agrees and they all have a lovely evening together.

During this evening, Harry inexplicably recalls a poem that Michel wrote when he was a teen. Despite decades having passes, he even remembers this poem word-for-word and Harry decides to take on a new project--to get Michel to begin writing once again. While this seems like a laudable goal, it soon gets strange. First, Harry decides that the hot car isn't what a writer needs and when it breaks down, he impulsively buys Michel and his family a new SUV with air conditioning!! Given that they barely know each other, this is very strange. Second, Harry isn't about to stop at just buying his old colleague a car...he'll remove all the distractions from Michel's life...whatever they might be!

This is a very dark and enjoyable film. It's also, in a sick way, a bit of a comedy. Fortunately, it's unique and keeps your attention- -and it's well worth seeing--especially for the strange yet satisfying ending. The film is taut, unusual and well written.

As in 'The Shining' this film is a journey into the dangerous interior of one man's soul. There is an overt reference to Kubrick's cerebral shocker from the outset, as we float above the tiny car and its occupants as it threads its way through thickly wooded, and oppressive, hills.

The hell of writer's block into which Kubrick's writer, and the failed writer of this film, both descend is an inner space of deeply disturbing psychic distortion. After the introduction to the French family, unhappily travelling through life (as you might well say) in their paradigmatically clapped-out banger of a car, there are no more reality checks in this film. Hence our profound and growing unease at Harry's pat and superficial wish-fulfillment: He is the very incarnation of the irresponsible hedonism which lurks in the heart of a long-suffering family man, who can take no more. Even more inescapably than in 'The Shining' - which offers us the relief and the 'reality' markers of other points-of-view - we are trapped as viewers in the solipsisitic nightmare of one man's mental breakdown.

'The Egg' is the un-decodable hermetic prison - insisted upon in a macro-shot of an egg -- an excluding reduction of reality that rebuffs interpretation --- the germ of madness and the surreal --- -- in the French kitchen - whose place in the American movie is taken by pages and pages of neatly typed and stacked verbiage that is as repetitively devoid of meaning as a mantra. The search for meaning becomes a dangerous delusion. The deep-pink womb-like retreat of the parentally-bequeathed bathroom is much like the interior of such an egg in its hard ceramic insecurity. The red dream-arrogance of the off-roader similarly. And the red life-blood of all who come distractingly near is the sacrificial ink necessary to the reductive needs of the self-obsessed ego, for whom primitivism seems ultimately the only authenticity. This is a father who has become impatient of his responsibilities. This is a murderer in the making. This is authenticity as delusion. This is self-discovery as the heart of darkness.

The name of 'Harry' is one of the familiar names for the Devil. He is the original false friend. He is each person's lurking counsellor of the simplest, most brutal existence. He represents the self-destruction wrought by self-obsession. He is Alienation, the partner of Despair.

This magnificent and troubling film finally straps us into our seats and takes us on a voyage into the void where we had supposed the human soul to reside. I cannot think of anything more horrifying than the ad-man's dream of an ending, with the typical family borne - it seems - aloft on insubstantial and unlikely - unsustainable - dreams of the perfect transformation of life's unendurable imperfections. The difference between the first and the last passages of this family's life, as glimpsed in transit, is measured by the mental journey provided by the film; it is the stark difference between our suffering lives and the imagined perfection which is no more than Death's delusive seduction: The gorgeous Plum - the 'Devil''s wife - is barren. Her kiss in the embarassing bathroom - as is the case with the kiss of the re-animated corpse in the hotel bathroom of 'The Shining' - is the kiss of Death.

This is Cinema. This is the force of Creation at work, as in any art worth bothering with. Anything else is just waste-products. And I don't care who knows it. French cinema reveals here its continuing intellectual vitality, capable of engaging resourcefully with the problem of living - instead of merely making a commercial machine to take us for a ride outside ourselves. Being beside ourselves, as in this fine French psycho-drama,is an infinitely better experience than surrendering to Hollywood's empty amusement-park.