French cinema generally makes me happier than an organ grinder in a monkey house.
It’s arty and pretentious and has sub-titles; plus people have affairs and read depressing literature. (The Artist doesn’t count because they left out the sound track and had a cute dog, but that’s old business.)
So I was a little thrown off by director Julien Leclercq’s film, based on actual events from 1994 about Islamic terrorists hijacking an airplane and how French commandos counter-attack and smoke cigarettes.
Written by Leclercq and Simon Moutairou, the movie unfolds after four members of the Armed Islamic Group board an Air France jet in Algiers, take over, scream, kill innocent people, force the plane to fly to Marseilles, and then eat fish with red wine.
Eventually, a French counter-terrorist group gets involved and you have shooting and attacking and counter-shooting and resentment.
John Ford could’ve filmed this.
John Woo could’ve filmed this.
J.J. Abrams could’ve—actually, no, he couldn’t have.
But a straightforward shoot-em-up pitting good against evil flies in the face of French cinema.
Where were the affairs between the wealthy married bureaucrat in first class and the embassy typist in coach, returning home for the funeral of her poet brother who committed suicide after learning life involved getting a job?
No arid, witty asides; no references to Sartre or Camus. I was expecting an existentialist classic, commenting on the irrationality and pointlessness of life, heavily dosed with the sauce of the absurd.
And for a while things looked promising. French commando Thierry (Vincent Elbaz) finds his wife (Marie Guillard) growing upset over the psychological price his work exacts. I figured this would lead Thierry to have an affair with a streetwalker who had once taught philosophy at the Sorbonne.
Instead I get Act of Valor in French.
Incidentally, great aspect ration of 1.85:1. I don’t say this a lot, but first-rate choice. Really.
However, by desaturating the color palette, Leclercq gives us a film that was ALMOST black and white.
It was like lifting a fork full of pommes frites to your mouth, then stopping.
I found that to be deceitful, vain, and unmanly.
French, film, French dialogue and almost black and white equals four stars. Next time, Leclercq, try eating your fries.
