User Reviews

This movie has been made by one of the most absurd humorists in Canada, Yves P. Pelletier. I was shocked for a second that he made a ROMANTIC comedy, but knowing he was a heavy cinephile, was seen in every local festival and in the local cinematheque, I had a positive feeling about this movie.

Hell, I was right. Right off the bat, the scenario (written by Pelletier himself) is a bit twisted and hard to follow, but, in Pelletier's fashion it's a one-of-a-kind 90 minutes jack-in-the-box.

Loosely inspired and mostly transformed allusion to Dangerous Liaisons (by Laclos) "Les Aimants" consists of a twisted game of writing notes on the fridge. Throughout the movie you'll get the occasion to find out who's who and who's writing to who on that goddam fridge....which pops up in an interesting love affair.

Great storyline, great photography, great quotations of other movies. Should we ask more for a first movie?

And I absolutely adore Isabelle Blais!!! She was so cute in this movie, and far different from her role in "Quebec-Montreal" where she was more like a man-eater. I think she should have been nominated for a Jutra. I mean, Syvlie Moreau was good, but Isabelle was far superior, IMO. Pelletier has done fine work for his first time out, and I noticed he snuck in a couple of his buddies from Rock et Belles Oreilles, Guy A. LePage & Andre Ducharme. It was fun to see them in this, I didn't know they were going to appear.

I don't think I've seen a romantic comedy from Quebec that I didn't like, and this one is as good as any I've had the pleasure to see. And if you're in the states and wondering how you can get a copy of the DVD, www.archambault.ca delivered it to me in less than a week.

I have seen romantic comedies and this is one of the easiest/worst attempts at one. A lot of the scenes work in a plug-and-play manner inserted strictly to conform to the romantic-comedy genre. Usually this is okay because we're dealing with a genre, but the challenge generally resides in making it original, new and inventive. This movie fails to do so.

There is no sense of who the characters really are, apart from Sylvie Moreau's (who is the real star of this movie, not Isabelle Blais). They fit into this one-dimensional cliché and they become nothing more than simple puppets serving the purpose of a very light narrative.

The pacing of the movie can become annoying, rhythm lacks, and the editing is filled with unnecessary close-ups. I should also mention the overly stylized decors making some scenes devoid of any naturally, or rather, making the attempt at naturally seem too obvious. Of course, along with that, you have the right-on-cue sappy music which unfortunately often sounds mismatched.

I can't believe that a movie who makes obvious Woody Allen allusions ends up being this deceptive. If you expect a good light-hearted romantic comedy, this is not it. Or rather, this a poor attempt at it. You will only leave the theater wondering why this film has been getting such praise when cinema is now more than 100 years old and there are far superior Quebecois directors making better flicks.

Les Aimants is a good movie for what it is. But it's a bad one if you regard cinema as an art and directors as auteur's.

This movie is light, funny, and beautifully filmed. The lightning is absolutely superb, and the colours convincingly remind Vermeer paintings.

This is sentimental comedy at its best, way above US and French standards, and arguably better than English ones too.

Every character is touching, and interpretation is close to perfection. Isabelle Blais is splendid, Sylvie Moreau is better than in the Catherine series, Stéphane Gagnon is charming, Emmanuel Bilodeau is great in that weird role of his, and Geneviève Laroche is the perfect best friend!

I could go on for hours before finding any negative comment on this movie, so give it a chance, and add your own review.

Unique: a romantic comedy with no sympathetic characters. This is supposed to be a movie with a clever twist, that feelings and events are revealed by notes left on a refrigerator (hence the magnets in the title). Well, it works, since the protagonists' actions and conversations come across as self-indulgent and childish, as one dimensional as the paper with which they "reveal" themselves. It's not about having commitment issues, like a lot of rom-coms, but about people not knowing that there exists an emotional and psychological domain beyond the one attached to their genitals. The characters are all written to be quirky – the male lead (Bilodeau) is a musician who tries to communicate the passionate expressions of Herbert von Karajan, but he's only playing a Theremin (it has a pair of antennae that emit a magnetic field connected to an amp that produces sounds when the player modifies the field by waving his hands; sorry for the details, but hand-waving and no metaphoric touching are what this movie is about); the women are physically unattractive, mostly because they react aggressively to almost every situation, whatever the psychological register), but dress like a cross between Gypsies and bohemians, I guess to impress us that they "really", beneath the shrewish exterior, have taste and an aesthetic sensibility. It's all a mish-mash. The only constant is an undertone of emotional whinging as people manoeuvre to satisfy their (mostly sexual) desires in the most direct and primeval manner possible. They lie, they cheat, they can't communicate, and we are supposed to buy into this because they are flippant, "artists", or simply unbound by convention? Really? I thought the 60s and 80s were over. Some people have mentioned the lighting and decor, which are technically well-executed, but it only seems to underline the emotional shallowness and intellectual impotence of the characters. It would be acceptable if the movie (and I guess this is the director's fault) didn't take itself and its themes so seriously. There is no real humour, so I don't know how this got slotted into the comedy genre, except that people weave webs of lies to betray one another. Unlike other examples, however, we can't really identify with any character. These people aren't caught between conflicting emotions. The only motivation seems to be that they only have one set of genitals, so I guess it's hard slogging getting connected to everyone. The whole thing seems like an attempt by a provincial theatrical company to play Shakespeare, except Macbeth is a horny plumber, and its Woody Allen who's being ripped off, not the Bard.