Monday, May 19, 2008

Les Chansons d'Amour (Love Songs)

Directed by: Christophe Honore
Written by: Christophe Honore
Starring: Louis Garrel, Ludivine Sagnier, Clotilde Hesme

The Boston Gay and Lesbian Film Festival was a couple weeks ago, and unfortunately I had to work through most of it (stupid rent). I cannot accurately describe the depths of my despair at having to miss Turkish/Italian director Ferzan Ozpetek's latest feature "Saturno Contro (Saturn in Opposition)." If you have no idea who I'm talking about, go rent "La Finestra di Fronte (The Window in Front)" right now.

I was, however, able to make the screening of "Love Songs," a quirky little French musical about a struggling young couple who decide to engage in a threesome. It's a film that has a lot of charm, but unfortunately not much in the way of coherence or narrative organization. The plot is a bit clumsy, moving forward in fits and starts instead of smoothly transitioning. The music may have a big part to play in this; the tunes are generic French pop-fueled compositions, and they seem to appear out of nowhere, jolting the viewer out of the narrative. And, though this is not the film's fault, there is nothing more awkward than having to translate a musical number into subtitles. A genuinely touching line in French becomes something like "Let it (your saliva) trickle like sweet venom down my throat." Such lyrical faux pas does nothing for the rhythm of a piece, as it simply makes the viewer stop and desperately try to register the absurdity of the phrase.

The jaunty, frothy first third of the film is tripped up by a senseless death that causes the parties in the threesome to reevaluate themselves in an absurdist reality that can be both cold and filled with congeniality. The boyfriend, Ismael, begins being stalked by both his girlfriend's sister Jeanne, and a local Breton boy. Alice, the "trois" in this menage a trois, is shunted to the side in the aftermath and must become the ruler of her own happiness. Despite the loose threads of the narrative, or perhaps even because of them, this second portion of the film is moving and delicate, and this frailness becomes almost charming.
This is a film that in the end is saved by moments of quirkiness and charm, though the work as a whole is such a muddle. In one moment, Jeanne enters Ismael's apartment to find him in bed with another woman, whom she assumes in Alice. When she discovers it isn't, she does not respond, but simply lights up another cigarette, sucks it down and stares bleakly into space. It's a throwaway moment, but it's witty and indelibly French.
Photo courtesy of Indiewire.com, via Takepart.com.

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