I happened to see this film on a flight from Paris to Boston and it reminded me of the food on the plane: generic, tasteless and obscure. The French cinema seems to have lost its footing these days and this is a good example of how a motley script can waste brilliant actors. While some may find the 'playfulness' of the script to be in line with the dictates of Euro post modernism, the whole project seems more like a post-mortem on the death of Euro-cinema's golden years and truly fabulous talents --- one is vaguely reminded here of Bunuel but without the charm or wit.
Review of Petites coupures
