MY AFTERNOONS WITH MARGUERITTE is a little gem featuring the King of French Cinema, Gerard Depardieu, fresh from his internecine dissing of the Queen of French Cinema, Juliette Binoche.
Much more respect doled out here for a senior lady, in a plot summed up on imdb as "an illiterate and lonely man bonds with an older and well-read woman". Bit more accurate to say an elderly woman so as not to give the wrong idea. This is Driving Miss Daisy without the car set in France, meets Being There, with Gallic comedy bar room scenes.
MAWM is seasonally appropriate, being like Christmas food: rich, warm and filling. Clearly a bit too stodgy for some judging by some indifferent reviews. In which the word "sentimental" has featured frequently. True, if your chosen fare is a diet of unrelenting existential angst and misery via Bergman, Tarkovsky, von Trier or Haneke this will induce type 2 diabetes in you. And if you believe happy endings should be banned, well, make sure you leave 10 minutes before the end.
But make no mistake, MAWM is far less sugary than the average "feel good" Hollywood movie, or even the British equivalent. And it bounces along at a breezy pace ensuring its plentiful sentiment is never dwelt upon for too long. And is interspersed with and counterpointed by excellent comedy sequences involving Depardieu's Germain and his interactions with his mec (bloke) pals in the local bar and his eccentric mother back home. Her home that it, as he lives in a tiny caravan in the garden.
This is the rural, small town France that the English all know and love, or imagine. Drawing us into the cinema to see movies like this and then go and buy property over there.
You can also ignore many of the reviews if they gave you the impression the film consists entirely of Germain and retirement home resident Margueritte chatting on a park bench. The afternoons of the title. These episodes provide the structural and thematic spine of the piece. But most of the time we are rollicking around elsewhere.
If there is any justice Gisele Casadesus ought to be a shoo-in for acting awards all over the place for her portrayal of Margueritte. Whether that happens or not may depend on tricky technical decisions as to whether hers is a leading or supporting role. Bottom line is, she's great. Born shortly before the outbreak of World War One her film credits start back in 1934. She puts in a truly remarkable performance in which she physically embodies her character's situation and motivations.
Bit more debatable is Depardieu. Don't get me wrong, he's great - only a couple of notches below his best. He succeeds in giving us clownish laughs based on his limited intellect, combined with generating true respect in us for his qualities as a human being and a survivor. For this is a film about being treated badly. Germain has lived a life of constant maltreatment, starting at an early age as revealed in flashbacks. And continuing in the present via the mockery of his friends.
Survival then, and healing, which are the themes of Germain's encounter with Margueritte. Our relationships with others can hurt and even harm us. But they can also sustain us and enable us to grow. Just as Germain nurtures wildlife in the local park and the fruit and vegetables in his beloved garden. The French title is Tete En Friche - literally "fallow head", with its implications of fertility and potential.
The discordant note is struck by Germain's relationship with his much younger, more attractive, and smarter girlfriend, Annette. Sophie Guillemin is a full 29 years younger than Depardieu, raising questions as to the credibility of their relationship. Ideally Germain should have been cast younger and Annette written as a bit less bright.
But French movies are required, for international sales reasons, to feature at least one from a very short list of superstar actors. You can list them - Depardieu, Auteuil, Binoche . . . etc. With a little-known 96 year old in the other major role, Germain clearly had to be played by a star. And it's hard to think of a French actor of the right age with enough box office power to carry this film.
But that is a minor blemish in what is a charming and highly entertaining film. Ignore the snottier and snootier reviews and go and enjoy it. Have a pastis on the way in.
THE GIRL WHO KICKED THE HORNETS' NEST is the third and final part of the excellent move triptych based on Sitg Larsson's literary trilogy. And it does not disappoint. Plot-wise it follows directly on from its predecessor. We pick up punk-goth heroine Lisbeth Salander in hospital after the violent encounter with her father and half brother which ended . . . PLAYED WITH FIRE. Trying to recover while simultaneously being menaced by evil conspirators who want her killed and a cruel non-comprehending legal system which wants not only to bang her up in prison but have her declared bonkers.
I described the first in the series, . . . . WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO, as one of the best films I've seen. Then said PLAYED WITH FIRE was a lot weaker. Hence I approached HORNETS' NEST with the fear that it would obey the law of trilogy ("The Matrix Law") and be even weaker. Far from it. This final piece starts very slowly. Glacier pace indeed, as a bewildering array of interchangeable old, white Swedish character actors have conversations about Lisbeth in various rooms. But it starts to build as the twin threats to Lisbeth head towards fruition.
Meanwhile in a parallel plot, crusading journo hero Michael Blomkvist and the rest of the team at crusading Millenium Magazine are also facing death threats. Which prove to be very real.
And again meanwhile, of course, crusading journo hero Michael Blomkvist and his team are pursuing the various bad guys in a bid to expose them, get a great scoop, and save Lisbeth.
Thus everyone is chasing everyone. Except Lisbeth who is stuck in a hospital bed or prison. Prosecutor and evil psychiatrist after Lisbeth. Mysterious old men and their hired killers after Lisbeth. Millenium journos after old men conspirators. Killers after Millenium journos. Some other investigators also after the old men conspirators. Someone after the evil psychiatrist. Half brother in there too. And Lisbeth's fat slacker-hacker pal, Plague. And a motorcycle gang . . . and . . . and . . .
Get the picture? What this amounts to is lots of slowly rising tension which gradually but firmly grabs you by the throat and holds you until the multiple final resolutions. Lets just say all loose ends are tied, as are the interweaving themes of power, patriarchy, abuse, government corruption, justice and revenge.
In Lisbeth Salander we have another movie protagonist representing the human capacity to survive and transcend. Hence the tiniest, and very rare, flicker of a smile as someone's nemesis knocks firmly on the door. Literally.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth offers not one, not two, but three performances of extraordinary power as Lisbeth. It will take something truly astonishing to stop her winning the Oscar for Best Actress. In the first film she had very few lines to say, and spent much of her screen time confined to a desk and laptop. Meaning she conveyed Lisbeth's brooding rage and hatred largely via her eyes and facial expressions. Classic movie acting at its best.
In the second, she got to run around a lot and fight. But still had relatively few lines. So ditto, only this time conveying Lisbeth's growing paranoia as she moves from assisting Blomkvist to being the plot's centre. Finally in the last episode she is once again back to being constrained - in a hospital bed, then a prison cell, and finally a courtroom. And again, you guessed it, not much to say. This is not acting as known to the British thespian knights - Gielgud, Olivier, Richardson - with all its wordy delivery.
And to appreciate fully the magnitude of Rapace's performance you need to see her interviewed in real life. Try the DVD extra features, or YouTube. For she could not be more different from Lisbeth's grim and grimacing personality. Rapace describes in one interview how she is "far more feminine than Lisbeth", and giggles coquettishly as if to underline her point. She is visibly softer than what we see in Lisbeth's brutal fashion choices, punk make up and hairdos. Rapace explains that she went on a special diet to play Lisbeth, and worked out a lot on exercise machines. Both of which gave her a taught, wiry and almost boyish body. Think Renee Zellweger and Bridget Jones, but in the opposite direction.
Some final words about book to film comparisons. If you've read the books of course this movie will be a lesser experience. You know what is going to happen for starters, a major factor with a film based almost entirely on tension and revealed mysteries. No surprises for you lot.
And yes, of course "they left bits out". A two-hour movie script comes in at about 120 pages, most of which is blank, white space. A lot less room for text than in 300 densely packed pages of a novel. Movies based on novels are adaptations. Otherwise they would be hundreds of hours long. And you would still know what is going to happen! (lol)
So if you've read the books, you'll need to appreciate the film for what it is. If you've not read the books, please do not be put off by friends who have and say "you MUST read the book first". Book first, film second always leads to disappointment, and indeed to the ritual repetition of the "left bits out" mantra. Movie first still leaves you knowing the plot, but then you have all those left out bits to enjoy!
Bottom line: it's very good and worth 2 and a half hours of your life. Rapace alone is worth the ticket price.
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