REVIEW - THE ARTIST AND THE MODEL

Shallow sobriety. I'm surprised by how engaging that can be. But simply to look and to listen, and to appreciate what gifts we have been given by nature, or by Fernando Trueba's film - what a peculiar joy that can be. The Artist and the Model is rarely more than mere sound and image. Black and white image, too. And just two actors, the supporting cast leaving only the smallest of imprints. Trueba treads no new ground here, and almost any reputable director could have made this film, but it's his decision to do so at all that counts. Indeed, the creative element of directing involves little more than making decisions, and he has pitched this film, which he co-wrote with Jean-Claude Carriere, no less, almost perfectly. The ending is callous, and Trueba can't resist exploring the local community via its schoolboys, which is dull and dated. But then, to hear the savoury slap of papier mache, or purely the actors' breathing, such is the silence, and even a fly briefly buzzing past in the stillness, utterly inconsequentially... and Daniel Vilar's luminous (debut!) cinematography, just as we do not see objects in reality but light reflecting off of them, his frame is awash with light and its reflections, which we see before we observe what the light is even reflecting. As a fiction, there's one enormous misstep, trivialising the female psyche in a manner that would be provocative were this a true story, but that is offensive as the invention of two old artists themselves. Thankfully, this occurs near The Artist and the Model's end, and there are many beautiful scenes beforehand. Acting is strong, especially from an effortless Jean Rochefort. The decision to eschew musical score was a wise one, so its sudden inclusion at the end marks a moment of relative cinematic grandeur that's only ugly in this context.