An egotistical writer is unexpectedly jilted by his girlfriend (before he has a chance to do the same to her), and in a moment of self-pity accepts a bizarre proposal from his publisher: seduce a woman at random, dump her at the moment of conquest, and keep a running diary (to be published afterward) of the entire affair. Not surprisingly, he finds himself at first annoyed, then intrigued, then attracted to his chosen victim, but what could have been just another variation of a sentimental romantic formula becomes, instead, a witty and often cynical portrait of male vanity and vulnerability. This is one of those rare examples of a near flawless script matched to a director able to maintain a genuine sense of style, without all the phony, flashy technical showmanship so popular with young filmmakers eager to make a quick impression. The finished film walks a fine line between the credible and the contrived without once missing a step, softening its already sharp (and sometimes savage) observations behind an understated, gently deprecating tone.
6 Reviews
Pawn's Gambit
writers_reign21 April 2007
Warning: Spoilers
Writer Director Christian Vincent enjoyed considerable success with this early film and went on to make La Separation which if anything was better but then disappointed with last year's offering Quatre Etoiles. There's not a lot going on here either with the plot or camera as Vincent favours simple set ups and a static camera rather than the fluidity of a Max Ophuls; in a nutshell writer Fabrice Luchini is dumped by Marie Bunel (later to score as the love object of Gerard Jugnot in Les Choristes), admits as much to bookshop owner/publisher Maurice Garrel who suggests that Luchini find a girl, get her to fall for him then dump her thus gaining revenge on women in general. To sweeten the pot Luchini will keep a diary which will be published thus killing two birds with one tome. And that's it. Everything goes according to plan via some fine acting from all hands, it's like Rohmer with class and a good time is had by most.
plain can be beauty
petershelleyau3 November 2001
Christian Vincent is said to be an admirer of Eric Rohmer however on the basis of this film Rohmer could learn a lot from Vincent. Although the narrative which Vincent co-wrote features some loose strands, Vincent's actors never appear to be as indulgently improvisational as those of Rohmer, nor do they ramble to the point of exhaustion. Vincent's control is necessary for this tale to work. The plot predates Neil Labute's In the Company of Men, with a womaniser seeking revenge on womankind by trapping someone only to hurt them so he can enjoy their pain. However Christian's agenda isn't as cruel as LaBute's, since the man is made to be a writer who will keep a personal diary of the progression of the affair. We also anticipate an unexpected result from the casting of Fabrice Luchini as the writer and Judith Henry as his prey. Luchini's physical plainness reinforces the double standard where he is only interested in women are look like supermodels, so when he meets Henry and finds her "hideous" when we can see that she has an Audrey Hepburn-ism charm, we're prepared. It also helps that unlike the deaf and painfully vulnerable Stacy Edwards of LaBute's film, Henry gives the impression of experience and that she is aware of Luchini's plan. The title is explained by Luchini as a form of makeup that women used to wear to hide a mole, and since Henry has a mole, at first it seems to suggest her true self will be destroyed by the contact. However a later connection is created which is more interesting where she confides something of her past to Luchini. The subtle tone of Christian's allegory is underlined by the music, Jay Gottlieb's arrangements of Schubert sonatas, and the pleasure to be had from the plan unfolding reinforced by Luchini's continual reporting back to the publisher who has agreed to produce the diary, with it's dates recorded over the scenes. Christian provides a Hitchcockian Mcguffin with an early conversation drowned out by the sound of a train, a tunnel backout for the dawning of a recognition, and the image of Henry sticking her head out of the window of a driving car.
Revenge story
bob99827 August 2006
I almost wrote as summary: The best Rohmer film that Rohmer never made, but I am not sure this qualifies as a conte moral in the Rohmer tradition. Although the hero talks quite eloquently, and at great length, about his états d'âme, the theme of vengeance is what puts this tale in the Dangerous Liaisons school. The editor, Jean, is responsible for getting the game underway; his friend Antoine, the writer, is the passive agent for seduction of the innocent girl Catherine. That the scheme goes awry--and believably so--is a tribute to the talents of Christian Vincent, who co-wrote the script and directed.
It's a good thing the talk is so witty and enjoyable, otherwise this film would be static and very difficult to watch. Vincent does not move his camera much, preferring the close-up on Luchini as he tells yet another amusing story, or a tight two-shot with Luchini and Henry on a couch or in bed. The performances are wonderful; everybody is at the top of their game, particularly Fabrice Luchini.
It's a good thing the talk is so witty and enjoyable, otherwise this film would be static and very difficult to watch. Vincent does not move his camera much, preferring the close-up on Luchini as he tells yet another amusing story, or a tight two-shot with Luchini and Henry on a couch or in bed. The performances are wonderful; everybody is at the top of their game, particularly Fabrice Luchini.
masterful writing and acting
septimus_millenicom20 April 2024
Warning: Spoilers
I saw _La Discrete_ when it came out in theater 34 years ago. Watching it again I realize it is even better than I remembered -- a masterclass of story-telling. There is not a single extraneous scene or element in the screenplay. Everything is connected, coalescing into a deep, reflective whole.
At the heart of the film is the very nature of literature (and art) -- whether it should be solipsistic snobbery or humanizing edification. When I was young I could never understand why amazing writers with such deep insight into human beings could be monsters in life. Bookstore owner Jean (Maurice Garrel) and writer Antoine (Fabrice Luchini) are living embodiment of the answers. Jean knows every book but is manipulative, pulling strings to get the best money's worth out of his staple of novelists, and also, one suspect, to feed his ego. Antoine is an arrogant womanizer left seething when Solange (Marie Bunel) ditches him for another. Together they concoct a plan to seduce a random young woman and turn the resulting diary-form story into lucre.
The woman turns out to be Catherine (Judith Henry), who answers Antoine ad for manuscript transcription. She is in awe of Antoine's erudition, amused by his overbearing, misogynistic putdowns, and seduced by his big city elegance, endless anecdotes about literary lions past. She hails from rural France, which is no small thing in class-conscious Paris, and even acknowledges out loud she must not be his type. Behind her back, Antoine savagely belittles her looks to Jean. In truth, Judith Henry is lovely in her demure way, but never lands a starring role afterwards. (By way of contrast, Solange is sophistication personified, dressed like a photo shoot.)
The two men's meta-commentary on this phony courtship recalls Rohmer's masterpiece _Claire's Knee_, except that one of Rohmer's schemers is female and the film does not come off as sexist. (But reviewers who think Rohmer never portrayed truly toxic masculinity obviously have not seen _La Collectionnese_.) Slowly Antoine falls for Catherine, only for Jean to twist his knife in at the end.
Luchini gives one of the greatest performances of his unique career. (It is shocking the French icon has never had a career retrospective in the U. S.) For his Antoine, telling anecdotes and incorporating life into the literary continuum is his essence of living. Despite that, it is his silence -- staying perfectly still looking into the distance as he listens -- that marks him as a deep thinker, someone open to the redemptive, humanizing force of art. Catherine may have the Galatea role in this perverted Pygmalion tale, but it is her anecdote about her night as a sex-party hostess, indulging grown men to act like children (a fitting commentary on Antoine and Jean, although she does not know it), that sticks in our mind. When the truth comes out, she seeks no revenge, but writes Antoine a surprisingly graceful and brave letter. Such hidden depth and strength of character.
The female bonding between Solange and Catherine at a chance meeting, leaving Antoine feeling left out, is a sweet rendering of the eternal battle of the sexes. Even the grotesque, unloved Jean has a moment of humanity when his minion Manu (Francois Tourmarkine) tells the story of Jean sitting in his dead mother's apartment for hours. (The next shot is Jean framed sitting alone -- such deft editing!) One hopes that Antoine never hardens into such a bitter misanthrope in his old age. Manu himself evokes the first story Antoine tells Catherine about a simpleton, and shows that even the fool has his moment of insight. What an astonishing screenplay by director Christian Vincent and co-writer Jean-Pierre Ronssin; Vicent would make many more movies but none would approach the perfection of _La Discrete_.
The title cards, mostly static and stately composition, and spare use of music evoke so many Rohmer films. Here Schubert's Hungarian Melody (D817) is almost the entirety of the score. The piano is mischievous and jaunty in the early going, only to slow to a melancholic crawl at the end, The last segment fittingly focuses on Catherine in the country, the sun cold and waning in the sky. The film's coda, back to Antoine in a Parisian cafe, cannot have been better imagined.
At the heart of the film is the very nature of literature (and art) -- whether it should be solipsistic snobbery or humanizing edification. When I was young I could never understand why amazing writers with such deep insight into human beings could be monsters in life. Bookstore owner Jean (Maurice Garrel) and writer Antoine (Fabrice Luchini) are living embodiment of the answers. Jean knows every book but is manipulative, pulling strings to get the best money's worth out of his staple of novelists, and also, one suspect, to feed his ego. Antoine is an arrogant womanizer left seething when Solange (Marie Bunel) ditches him for another. Together they concoct a plan to seduce a random young woman and turn the resulting diary-form story into lucre.
The woman turns out to be Catherine (Judith Henry), who answers Antoine ad for manuscript transcription. She is in awe of Antoine's erudition, amused by his overbearing, misogynistic putdowns, and seduced by his big city elegance, endless anecdotes about literary lions past. She hails from rural France, which is no small thing in class-conscious Paris, and even acknowledges out loud she must not be his type. Behind her back, Antoine savagely belittles her looks to Jean. In truth, Judith Henry is lovely in her demure way, but never lands a starring role afterwards. (By way of contrast, Solange is sophistication personified, dressed like a photo shoot.)
The two men's meta-commentary on this phony courtship recalls Rohmer's masterpiece _Claire's Knee_, except that one of Rohmer's schemers is female and the film does not come off as sexist. (But reviewers who think Rohmer never portrayed truly toxic masculinity obviously have not seen _La Collectionnese_.) Slowly Antoine falls for Catherine, only for Jean to twist his knife in at the end.
Luchini gives one of the greatest performances of his unique career. (It is shocking the French icon has never had a career retrospective in the U. S.) For his Antoine, telling anecdotes and incorporating life into the literary continuum is his essence of living. Despite that, it is his silence -- staying perfectly still looking into the distance as he listens -- that marks him as a deep thinker, someone open to the redemptive, humanizing force of art. Catherine may have the Galatea role in this perverted Pygmalion tale, but it is her anecdote about her night as a sex-party hostess, indulging grown men to act like children (a fitting commentary on Antoine and Jean, although she does not know it), that sticks in our mind. When the truth comes out, she seeks no revenge, but writes Antoine a surprisingly graceful and brave letter. Such hidden depth and strength of character.
The female bonding between Solange and Catherine at a chance meeting, leaving Antoine feeling left out, is a sweet rendering of the eternal battle of the sexes. Even the grotesque, unloved Jean has a moment of humanity when his minion Manu (Francois Tourmarkine) tells the story of Jean sitting in his dead mother's apartment for hours. (The next shot is Jean framed sitting alone -- such deft editing!) One hopes that Antoine never hardens into such a bitter misanthrope in his old age. Manu himself evokes the first story Antoine tells Catherine about a simpleton, and shows that even the fool has his moment of insight. What an astonishing screenplay by director Christian Vincent and co-writer Jean-Pierre Ronssin; Vicent would make many more movies but none would approach the perfection of _La Discrete_.
The title cards, mostly static and stately composition, and spare use of music evoke so many Rohmer films. Here Schubert's Hungarian Melody (D817) is almost the entirety of the score. The piano is mischievous and jaunty in the early going, only to slow to a melancholic crawl at the end, The last segment fittingly focuses on Catherine in the country, the sun cold and waning in the sky. The film's coda, back to Antoine in a Parisian cafe, cannot have been better imagined.
three player chess game
cd332-livejournal-com3 June 2002
Another instance where movieland gets a charming girl to play a person whom the other characters refer to as "hideous" and "ugly." I suppose that's a film-making aside for the audience to see her inner beauty to which the other characters are blind. I'd like to see a film where the supposed ugly character is played by a truly "ugly" character actor : that way, our values and perceptions are challenged to overcome surface beauty as much as the characters on screen are challenged to.
Jean and Antoine's relationship is interesting. Jean symbolizes an omniscient force in Antoine's setup match with Catherine. Antoine continually consults Jean for the next move in the relationship. One gets the feeling Antoine and Catherine are pawns in a chess game Jean is playing. But who is Jean playing against?
There is a pattern of repetition that is established from early on in the movie. Antoine's daily visits to the cafe, his visits to Jean, the retyping of manuscipts. I got the sense that there are cycles within cycles in an interlocking machine of fate. Do we know who is controlling the destiny of Catherine and Antoine's relationship? Is it Jean, is it Antoine, Catherine?
The little anecdotes Antoine tells are the subtext/footnotes to the storyline.
Catherine walking alone on the countryside to Domenico Scarlatti's K87 sonata is a gasp of quiet solitude that subtly expands her loner narrative.
Jean and Antoine's relationship is interesting. Jean symbolizes an omniscient force in Antoine's setup match with Catherine. Antoine continually consults Jean for the next move in the relationship. One gets the feeling Antoine and Catherine are pawns in a chess game Jean is playing. But who is Jean playing against?
There is a pattern of repetition that is established from early on in the movie. Antoine's daily visits to the cafe, his visits to Jean, the retyping of manuscipts. I got the sense that there are cycles within cycles in an interlocking machine of fate. Do we know who is controlling the destiny of Catherine and Antoine's relationship? Is it Jean, is it Antoine, Catherine?
The little anecdotes Antoine tells are the subtext/footnotes to the storyline.
Catherine walking alone on the countryside to Domenico Scarlatti's K87 sonata is a gasp of quiet solitude that subtly expands her loner narrative.
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