“I made an attempt to become a good person.”

The reality of a prostitute’s career is an ugly business. Can this be translated accurately to the silver screen? Probably. But chances are that the average film portrayal will be abysmally unrealistic (the romantic fantasy Pretty Woman, for example). So add Bertrand Blier’s How Much Do You Love Me? (Combien Tu M’Aimes?) to the stack of unrealistic, problematic films involving prostitutes.

The prostitute in this film is the luscious, buxom Daniela (Monica Bellucci) who sits in full view of a café window showing off her wares as she waits for men to cough up 150 Euros for the pleasure of her company. One evening, mild mannered clerk, lonely middle-aged Francois (Bernard Campan) who claims to have won the lottery, offers to ‘buy’ Daniela’s services until his 4 million euros run out. Daniela accepts, and so she leaves with Francois and moves into his grotty little apartment.

Blier’s film plays with several themes before disintegrating into a surreal conclusion. Francois, it seems has a weak heart, and well … Daniela may well push him over the edge. In time, it appears that Daniela may very well be in love with Francois, but is he in love with her? Gerard Depardieu plays a relatively small role as Daniela’s pimp Charly, and in his few scenes, he manages to steal the film.

With opera music to enhance the drama, some scenes are wildly overplayed, and yet other scenes involving Charly and Daniela are staged for high drama, but then fade into an off-kilter humour. The plot seems to spin out-of-control as the film progresses, and the occasional surreal moment eventually consumes the entire film. But if you want to check out Monica Bellucci’s bod, then start here. The film ultimately pays homage to the Italian Sex Goddess, loving lingering on each body shot, finding any excuse to capture, acknowledge and worship her beauty.

 “An anarchist right in our midst.”

I Am Dina from Norwegian director Ole Bornedal is a difficult film to categorize. Set in 1860s Norway, it’s a romantic period drama–but with strong overtones of the supernatural. In this tale, soap opera blends with mini-epic, and combines with elements of Wide Sargasso Sea and Wuthering Heights. Ultimately it’s 125 minutes of solid–rather odd–entertainment that delivers some mixed feelings about the protagonist–Dina.

Dina is the only child of a wealthy couple. One day a horrible accident (for which Dina is blamed) kills Dina’s mother (Pernilla August). In his grief and rage, Dina’s father (Bjorn Floberg) rejects the child. Dina reverts to a terrified, animalistic state and literally goes mad. This is a horrible, dramatic beginning to the film, and the pristine setting of the beautiful fjords somehow just makes the dying mother’s screams even more horrific.

So the scene is set to make Dina a very sympathetic character … Her father loathes her, he ignores her whenever possible, and soon he has a completely wild, filthy child running all over the fjords. Thanks to intervention from a concerned friend, Jacob (Gerard Depardieu), a tutor named Lorch is brought in for Dina. He beguiles Dina with the cello, and she takes the bait. Lorch then becomes the only person to have any sort of emotional bond with Dina.

Dina (Marie Bonnevie) grows up to be a beautiful young woman, but she’s still extremely strange–one quick look establishes that. But her strangeness doesn’t deter her father’s old friend, Jacob from demanding Dina as a bride. Jacob really should know better, but he can’t help himself. When Dina’s father attempts to force her to marry Jacob, Dina shows just how wild, strange and violent she can be. But this is really just the beginning of Dina’s non-conformist, violent behaviour.

Part Bildungsroman (and the film–by the way–is based on a best-selling trilogy), the film explores the effects of Dina’s traumatic childhood on her adult decisions. Haunted by ghosts, she is in love with the presence of death, and she tends to hurt anyone who loves her. On one hand, there’s a lot to admire about Dina–but then she treats the unfortunate men in her life abominably. Lustful Gerard Depardieu, for example, converts into terrified quivering jelly after less than 24 hours in her company. Although immersed in a patriarchal society, Dina destroys any attempt at male domination–and her reaction to the males in her life shows Dina at her most gracious, but also at her most predatory and monstrous. Ultimately, this lavish tale can be seen as Dina’s triumph over a lifetime of self-destructive patterns of behaviour.

Don’t think of this as a French film

Gerard Depardieu stars in a large number of films–some are superb, and some are stinkers. This film falls in the latter category.

In Pact of Silence, Depardieu plays Joachim–a Jesuit priest/doctor who is both concerned and fascinated by the illness of a young Carmelite nun, Sarah, who is under his care. A medical examination, a stay in the hospital, and tests reveal that there is no underlying cause for the acute abdominal pains that cause her to collapse. Joachim believes that Sarah’s physical illness is rooted in psychological causes. The mother superior, Mother Emmanuelle (Carmen Maura) whisks Sarah out of the hospital before Joachim can confirm his suspicions.

Joachim is compelled to look further into the case, and after a little detective work, he discovers that Sarah’s identical twin sister, Gaelle, is in prison for a murder she committed as a child. There seems to be some evidence–at least on the part of the Carmelite nuns–to disguise Sarah’s past. Joachim decides to track down Gaelle and see if he can get some answers.

Where to start…

Joachim is supposed to be so obsessed with these twin sisters that he commits severe violations in order to discover the truth. Depardieu is a phenomenal actor, but his heart was not in this role. He didn’t seem obsessed. He seemed mildly interested, and that just about describes my relationship with the film too. The whole grabby love story was preposterous.

I can’t reveal too much of the plot, but there were some RAGING inconsistencies here and many loose ends that were simply never addressed. What is the terrible thing in Joachim’s past? (A couple of flashbacks aren’t enough, sorry, in light of his later actions). Why did the Carmelite nuns go to such lengths to ward off Joachim? (Unfortunately, you’ll have to see the film to know what I’m talking about.) And then the entire denouement was totally unbelievable and the film slid into cheesy plot manipulations to tie everything together. The one saving grace to this film was actress Elodie Bouchez who played Gaelle/Sarah. Her performance was quite touching.

If you take away the French accents and subtitles, what is left is a cheesy plot full of holes. Yes, there were elements of psychic phenomenon–all that twin stuff-but bottom line, if this was an American film it would be laughed off the video shelves.

“I’m not the cautious type.”

In Barbet Schroeder’s kinkfest film Maitresse small-time burglar Olivier (Gerard Depardieu) stumbles into the dungeon of high-class dominatrix, Ariane (Bulle Ogier). He’s expecting to burgle an old lady’s apartment, but instead he finds rubber masks, whips, various torture devices, and even a coffin. He’s fascinated, and when rubber clad Ariane puts him to work, Olivier uses the opportunity as an excuse to strike up a relationship

Ariane–who lives with her Doberman, Texas–is a woman who enjoys her work. At one point, she even tells Olivier that she considers her clients to be her friends. Her facial expressions rarely change as she moves between clients–sometimes managing two or three at a time. She approaches her work with cold calculation, and the boorish Olivier cannot understand this, or her explanation: “all I do is direct the show.” He asks Ariane questions about her past, and her reply is: “you shouldn’t ask me questions because I either lie or I don’t answer them.” The film creates this unusual woman who defies every convention and every explanation, and then the audience is expected to swallow her need for a relationship with Olivier. The relationship between Ariane and Olivier just isn’t electric enough. They have a rather boring domestic arrangement which seems to include Olivier laying around her apartment and snooping through her personal papers while she whips the you-know-what out of a client in the dungeon. The relationship between Olivier and Ariane remains unconvincing.

Gerard Depardieu is always at his best when his explosive and overpowering personality is allowed to rampage a bit–he’s severely restrained in this film, and ultimately he appears sulky and a bit of a pouter. Olivier is consumed by Ariane’s professional life, and yet he remains outside it. At other moments, the kinky becomes the mundane. In one scene, he sits reading the newspaper while Ariane dresses in a bizarre tight rubber outfit for an appointment. Some of the very best scenes occur when the boundaries between Ariane’s private and professional lives mesh. Olivier simply does not understand that Ariane’s clients pay her for certain performances within very strict and, therefore, safe perimeters. Olivier carries some of the abuse beyond these agreed upon perimeters, and ultimately, Olivier is just bad for business.

Maitresse is at first an interesting film, but then it becomes fairly standard fare. Olivier happily takes the money Ariane earns, but then inevitably he takes the standard predictable route and tries to save Ariane. The film had potential, but the plot devolved to the ordinary and banal rather quickly, and this seems ironic as the whole film is supposed to be about the extraordinary.

Araine’s dungeon is a veritable den of iniquity, and Schroeder left nothing to the imagination when capitalizing on the shock effect of pure sensationalism. Viewers may find some of the scenes too difficult to watch. There’s male and female nudity galore here–and most of the S&M acts that I can think of are here on film. These acts range from the mildly naughty to the extremely painful. Obviously, this film is not for all tastes. If you enjoyed the films Crime of Passion or 9 1/2 Weeks you may enjoy this film. However, all viewers should be warned that the film contained one extremely graphic and hideous scene of the slaughter of a horse (Olivier wants to eat a horse steak and goes directly to the slughterhouse). I really wish I hadn’t see this as it’s impossible to forget the horse’s agony and terror.

“Gorgeous women create chaos.”

“Too Beautiful For You”–a Bertrand Blier film–is the story of an affair between a middle-aged businessman, Bernard (Gerard Depardieu) and his employee. All of Bernard’s male friends envy the fact that he has a beautiful society wife, Florence (Carole Bouquet). One look at his wife, and they say “Bernard’s a lucky stiff.” One day, Colette (Josiane Balasko), the new office temp, arrives in Bernard’s office. She’s plump and “a bit of a slob,” however, there’s instant chemistry between her and Bernard. Within a matter of days, Bernard is embroiled in a passionate affair with Colette.

The film explores some interesting ideas about adultery and love triangles. For example, why is Bernard attracted to Colette? Florence appears, on the surface at least, to be the sort of woman every man would select–while Colette is rather average. When Florence suspects her husband is having an affair, she stomps down to the office to take a look at the new temp, and when she sets eyes on dumpy Colette, she is relieved. Of course, every woman thinks her adulterous husband is having an affair with a woman who is more attractive, but what happens when the “other woman” is much less attractive?

There’s some clever photography–for example, one scene is shot of Bernard and his wife with the camera placed in Colette’s office looking through the glass divider. Not only do we see the husband and wife interact as Colette is seeing them, but we also see Colette’s reflection in the glass as she stares at the couple and tries to analyze the competition.

The film, however, is completely ruined by its ever-increasing reliance on surrealism. At first, the surreal scenes are quite acceptable–for example, there’s a great surreal scene when Colette strolls through a train station and imagines she’s the focus of ever man’s desire. However, the surreal scenes then begin to eat the plot, and soon, it’s unclear what is plot, and what is fantasy. The scene when Florence is the dowdy housefrau is particularly ludicrous. While raising some intriguing questions, the film fails to speculate about answers, and instead, we are subject to a surreal drift towards pretentious absurdity, and this is highly unfortunate.

“This marriage must be undone.”

In the French film This Sweet Sickness David Martineau (Gerard Depardieu) is obsessed with childhood sweetheart, Lise (Dominique Laffin). The fact that Lise is married and has a baby does not deter David from his obsessive drive to possess her. David works in Poissy as an accountant and lives in a small flat in town. Every weekend, he leaves town and tells his landlord that he’s visiting his aged parents in a nursing home. In reality, he goes to the beautiful home he has prepared for Lise.

David’s neighbour, Juliette (Miou-Miou) is obsessed with David. It doesn’t seem to matter to her that David is rude, abrupt and sometimes downright hostile. She’s decided that he’s the man for her, and that’s all that matters.

So here we have two characters–both quiet and somewhat introverted who are both obsessed with unattainable people. The great irony here is that while David recognizes the futility of Juliette’s passion for him, and while Juliette recognizes the futility for David’s passion for Lise, neither David or Juliette are capable of analyzing their own irrational behaviour.

This Sweet Sickness is a case study in obsession. It’s easy for the audience to see that David’s fascination with Lise is going nowhere–just as it is easy to see that Juliette is wasting her time on David. Director Claude Miller emphasizes the insanity of the situation by selecting two lead actresses–Miou-Miou as Juliette and Dominique Laffin as Lise–who are virtually interchangeable. These two actresses are the same build, have the same even facial features, and when they wear the same sort of wooly hat–they are impossible to tell apart. Of course, this makes David’s drive to possess the unattainable Lise ridiculous and insane–especially when he has Lise’s close-to-identical twin, Juliette–practically throwing herself at his feet. There could be no better illustration of the idea that obsession or love will brook no substitute for the real thing.

David is a fascinating and utterly repulsive character in this film. Depardieu plays the role with an edge of explosive violence that makes the character seem all-too real. Lise is a bit of an enigma. She has a few opportunities to crush David’s obsession, and yet she seems to hesitate to deliver the final coup-de-grace. Does she secretly enjoy the attention? Does she secretly consider the possibilities? Whatever Lisa’s motivations are, her passivity fuels the situation. The third main character, Juliette, should be sympathetic, but somehow her dilemma failed to arouse this emotion in me, and I disliked her as much as David. She is a less violent version of David, and certainly has victim status, but she’s not admirable for this. She is every bit as sick as David, and she also helps make a bad situation even worse.

Two other minor characters play interesting roles in this film. David’s landlord, Chouin, appears to be the moral centre of the film, but then he too shows his misogynistic side. David’s married libidinous friend, Francois pursues Juliette–but then it’s clear that he pants after anything remotely female. He objectifies the recipient of his ‘affections,’ and he is also incapable of a relationship involving reciprocity. Are all these characters suffering from the same ’sweet sickness’–victims of their own fantasies, desires and illusions?

For Depardieu fans, this French film is certainly worth watching. The film is based on the novel by Patricia Highsmith.

 “I have a tattoo that changes size.”

Gerard Depardieu has the one of the most bizarre roles of his long film career in the French film Menage from director Bernard Blier. When the film begins, Monique (Miou Miou) is in a nightclub fighting bitterly with her passive, downtrodden husband, Antoine (Michel Blanc). Along comes a well-dressed stranger named Bob (Gerard Depardieu). He jumps into their argument and proceeds to befriend them with a large wad of cash. Bob persuades Monique and Antoine to come out and have some fun, so they set off together for the evening. Bob, however, is a burglar, and his idea of fun is breaking into the houses of the very rich, very jaded, and very bored.

Antoine, at first, objects to the burglaries, but he soon gives in to Monique’s pleas for material comforts. As they commit burglaries, Antoine’s morality is slowly eroded away, and several times, he turns to Monique for moral salvation, but since she’s also vacuous and adrift, they both sink further into Bob’s demented world. Anyone with a grain of sense would run from Bob, but both Monique and Antoine are soon pulled down by Bob’s domineering personality and seem mesmerized by his animal energy. A bizarre–partly psychological–love triangle begins to emerge–with Monique desiring Bob, and Bob desiring Antoine, and Antoine desiring Monique.

Menage is described as a comedy, and some parts are extremely funny, but more than anything else, it’s overwhelming and gloriously bizarre. Gerard Depardieu throws himself into the role of Bob with obvious relish–parading around naked and at other times wearing skimpy animal print bikini undies while he stalks his prey–the diminutive, dour Antoine. Bob is a totally amoral seducer and master manipulator, but is his ultimate goal really sexual? Or is he more interested in stripping away objections and morality until he finally manipulates people into acts they never deemed possible. If you like your French films bold, bizarre, demented, and you don’t object to strong sexual content, then there’s a good chance you’ll enjoy Menage. In French with English subtitles.

“We’ve too much baggage.”

A Loving Father is an examination of a famous writer’s not-so-great attempt at fatherhood. French writer Leo Shepherd (Gerard Depardieu) is selected to receive the Nobel Prize in literature. He decides to take his motorbike on the 1200-mile journey to Stockholm for the presentation ceremony, and tells his sullen, neurotic daughter Virginia (Sylvie Testud) to take the plane and join him there. Virginia obviously doesn’t like the plan. According to her, she manages Leo–organises his work, does most of the PR etc. In reality, Virginia’s relationship with her father resembles that of a dog with a bone–she’s possessive, and she won’t share. While Leo packs to leave, his estranged son, Paul (real life son Guillaume Depardieu) telephones to offer his congratulations, but Virginia will not allow Paul to speak to their father.

Paul intercepts Leo on the road to Stockholm. It seems as though Paul would be content with just a few crumbs from his dad, but even that’s hard to extract from this surly, selfish individual. Paul doesn’t take rejection well and when an opportunity arises, he grabs his father and forces Leo to spend time in his company.

A Loving Father explores some interesting themes. For example, having a famous parent may be a trying experience–especially if the children are less successful than the parent. Do we expect the same standards of human behaviour from the brilliant, or do we accept less? Specifically, how much does the fact that Leo is a Nobel Prize winning author contribute to his problem, or is he just a revolting, pathetic excuse for a father? After watching Virginia’s nastiness and then hearing about Paul’s drug addiction, there’s a budding sympathy for Leo. This sympathy vanishes without a trace once Leo opens his mouth and spews forth hatred to his children. Flashback scenes show exactly what sort of father Leo was, and it isn’t pretty. Unfortunately, while the film includes some decent acting, the story leaves the viewer with nothing to hang onto. Paul’s pathetic need for some sort of acknowledgement is difficult to watch, and Virginia’s hysterical scenes call for therapy and medication. Leo, Paul and Virginia make a toxic combination, and quite frankly they shouldn’t be allowed in the same room together. I could have done without Virginia’s prolonged bathroom scene and the silly dead body fantasy. After the gut-wrenching emotional roller coaster ride of a plot, the film’s ending–which seems mixed with shades of the Razor’s Edge–was absurdly optimistic and completely ridiculous. In French with English subtitles, from director Jacob Berger