Pierre Salvadori is unfortunately really under-appreciated; he is a master in the class of Lubitch to whom he pays an ever-developing homage, it is just that, and here is my claim why, it is Lubitch crossed with lacanian psychoanalysis. This may seem extravagant, yet hear me out.
In his previous feature, "Priceless", what was really, truly new in the genre of frothy french comedies, to call them that hazy category, is that the seduction usually displayed in a telling french manner, was turned on its head. The french theoretician of seduction Jean Baudrillard has devoted a whole book on this, the most sublime order that dares defy even desire in its heightening of ritual and artifice, to put it in a very abbreviated form.
Yet Salvadori gave a coup to that: in the final spin of "Priceless" he exposed that you can seduce the other after your hesitating partner asked you so, and this is a proof of love; but this does not work the other way round. This is a great, dialectic demonstration of love. For me, it made me wonder, after such an achievement where would Salvadori go, for after such a score it is difficult to avoid artistic regression.
Nothing to worry about, "Some True Lies" are here, giving us the next spin in the spiral, that is in order to love one has to seduce the other, but how literally is one to take this? Do I have to literally seduce your mother, the other par excellence, in order to get through to you? The cast is excellent (even though I think Tautou has slightly misconceived the tone she has to strike for her role), especially in the light of the excellent Bouajila and Bayer; they are truly something, some true actors.
Some complain, or stand halfway to embarrassment that the film lacks class, and smells too much of TV production values; I was a bit shocked in the beginning, too, but the film is shockingly economic in a way, but when halfway in the film we witness the theater of shadows (I won't spoil it) this marks true sophistication, for the reason also that after that the film does not shy away from complexity but it is exactly then that the mother emerges in all her real, symbolic, imaginary faces and Bouajila follows the scenario's cue with finesse.
Never vulgar, self-excusing or indulging, gracefully simple and cutting, this is a true achievement. I watched it twice in a row, fascinated by its crystal clear structure and magisterial, even haughty in the final chapter, rhythm, that risks go unperceived. The end, with its fake abruptness (which was a true celebration of the image of the mother cut loose at last), and the closing credits with its peculiar evocation of high-school french series from the nineties, verified in a way that this is a film we may have to catch up with in subtle departments.
Thank you, monsieur Salvadori et merci.
In his previous feature, "Priceless", what was really, truly new in the genre of frothy french comedies, to call them that hazy category, is that the seduction usually displayed in a telling french manner, was turned on its head. The french theoretician of seduction Jean Baudrillard has devoted a whole book on this, the most sublime order that dares defy even desire in its heightening of ritual and artifice, to put it in a very abbreviated form.
Yet Salvadori gave a coup to that: in the final spin of "Priceless" he exposed that you can seduce the other after your hesitating partner asked you so, and this is a proof of love; but this does not work the other way round. This is a great, dialectic demonstration of love. For me, it made me wonder, after such an achievement where would Salvadori go, for after such a score it is difficult to avoid artistic regression.
Nothing to worry about, "Some True Lies" are here, giving us the next spin in the spiral, that is in order to love one has to seduce the other, but how literally is one to take this? Do I have to literally seduce your mother, the other par excellence, in order to get through to you? The cast is excellent (even though I think Tautou has slightly misconceived the tone she has to strike for her role), especially in the light of the excellent Bouajila and Bayer; they are truly something, some true actors.
Some complain, or stand halfway to embarrassment that the film lacks class, and smells too much of TV production values; I was a bit shocked in the beginning, too, but the film is shockingly economic in a way, but when halfway in the film we witness the theater of shadows (I won't spoil it) this marks true sophistication, for the reason also that after that the film does not shy away from complexity but it is exactly then that the mother emerges in all her real, symbolic, imaginary faces and Bouajila follows the scenario's cue with finesse.
Never vulgar, self-excusing or indulging, gracefully simple and cutting, this is a true achievement. I watched it twice in a row, fascinated by its crystal clear structure and magisterial, even haughty in the final chapter, rhythm, that risks go unperceived. The end, with its fake abruptness (which was a true celebration of the image of the mother cut loose at last), and the closing credits with its peculiar evocation of high-school french series from the nineties, verified in a way that this is a film we may have to catch up with in subtle departments.
Thank you, monsieur Salvadori et merci.