One small gesture opens this well- acted story of a couple in disintegration. Children’s illustrator Pierre (Daniel Auteuil) is at the cinema with his partner of several years, Anne ( (Isabelle Huppert). As they watch the film together, he reaches over to take her hand. She pushes him away, the first tiny signal that, even though they i have a child together, all may not be well with their relationship. Christian Vincent’s film, co-written with Dan Franck on whose novel it’s based, is constructed from a succession of such significant moments, conjuring up a telling portrait of two individuals whose life can’t quite cope with the fact that they’ve grown emotionally apart.
By using the video footage he’s shot of their two-year-old Louis, the film seems to weigh itself on the man’s side, with the crux of his dilemma centring on his reaction to her ‘other
la separation: ‘simmering cocktail of jealousy, insecurity, anger and recrimination’ I ; man’ (whom we never see) coming to
the flat and having access to his child. A father’s protectiveness, then, is just one element that adds to an already simmering cocktail of jealousy,
insecurity, anger and recrimination. ; Eventually, we begin to realise that Pierre’s self-centredness has been
stifling Anne as long as they’ve been
together, in part because Huppert’s 3 major scenes come later in the story.
Both she and Auteuil however are compellineg real, despite the odd studied moment in Vincent’s direction (cue Glenn Gould’s Goldberg Variations) and the result is a feelbad movie of real quality. Not a big date picture, though. (Trevor Johnston)
L La separation (P6) (Christian Vincent,
Fr, 1994) Isabelle Iluppert, Daniel
A uteuil, Jerome Deschamps. 88 mins. From Fri 15: Edinburgh Filmhouse. From Fri 22: Glasgow Film Theatre.
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21 George IV Bridge Edinburgh
Dear, oh dear. It may trail a favourable quote from Variety which mentions John Waters and Pedro Almodovar in the same sentence, but nothing can
prepare you for this towerineg
shambolic, self-styled “fuckball’ comedy. It’s a shameless collection of halt-ideas ripped off from elsewhere (Pink Flamingos, we salute you!), performed by actors who can’t wait to get off the screen, and put together with such a marked absence of comic timing, invention or insight you wonder if it’s an auteurist statement or something.
However, it’s down to remarkable incompetence on every level. Leading man Max Parrish, for instance, the fugitive with a stash of ill-gotten dough now lying low in a trailer park
HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KI.“ ME
., a Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me: ‘a shameless collection of half-ideas'
full of assorted wackos, nymphos and misfits, simply doesn’t know what to do with himself. Sean Young hits a scenery-chewing nadir as the rich bitch he thinks he’s killed, Diane Ladd ventures beyond embarrassment as a faded Southern belle, while poor Adrienne Shelly falls back on little- girly mannerisms where her part should have been. Writer-director Joel Hershman must have told them all to lay on the camp hysteria in no uncertain terms and the result is simply excruciating. The worst, just the worst. (Trevor Johnston)
Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me (18) (Joel llershman, US, 1992) Max Parrish, Sean Young, Andrea Naschak. 100 mins. From Mon 11. Edinburgh: Filmhouse.
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The List 8-2I Sept l995 21