An early exchange in Gilles Bourdos' Renoir reminds us of the treatment of art in France. Andree Heuschling, muse of painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir, informs him that she is 'une artiste.' When he enquires what sort of artiste, she replies 'acting, dancing, singing.' The English language has no direct translation for 'artiste,' and so adopted the word for itself; we English-speakers have a tendency to regard art as art and, like Renoir's eldest son Pierre, to regard all other forms of art (like cinema) as entertainment. The French regard it all as art. The sweet peacefulness of Bourdos' film is initially relaxing, but eventually enervating, as for all its visual beauty, this is a film which goes nowhere, and does it slowly. It's also marred by that rather twee sensibility that overcomes many directors when making picturesque period pieces like this, in that folk of days gone by were noble and romantic and earnest, and their pleasures simple. In costumes clearly never worn before, Renoir's maids sing songs while preparing food, not for old Renoir to eat, but to paint. A visit to a jazz joint is like a tastefully crude pastiche of mild debauchery. Lee Ping Bin's cinematography recreates the ravishing tones of Renoir's paintings, but the effect is like pretty nostalgia, one of those films where everything looks nicer cos it's the past. Alexandre Desplat's anachronistic score is fussy and obtrusive, and contributes to making the film feel like L'Abbaye Downton more than a portrait of one of art's greatest talents. Script is by-the-numbers middle-of-the-road biopic. Performances by Michel Bouquet and Christa Theret are vivid and accomplished, but Vincent Rottiers is disastrously wooden as Jean Renoir.
Au contraire my friend. Au contraire. Desplat's lovely score is hardly obtrusive and is seamlessly integrated. This is one instance where we are on opposite ends of the spectrum and then some. Gifted cinematographer Mark Ping Bing Lee, who previously shot Kar-Wai’s In the Mood For Love brings a lush and pastoral allure to Renoir, a period piece set in 1915 in the French Riviera, while the country is engaged in the First World War. The showcase figure is the great impressionist painter (then 74) Pierre-August Renoir, who with his 21 year-old son Jean (who of course would become one of the greatest filmmakers of all-time) were interested in the lovely Andree (Christa Theret) for the possibilities inherent in the flesh as art. Andree turned out to be Jean’s first wife. The contemplative Renoir features an extraordinary performance by 87 year-old Michel Bouquet, and as Andree, Madmoiselle Theret is luminous. The gorgeously framed visuals and the underlying sexual tensions make this ravishing French work wholly intoxicating. It’s a work-in-progress by one of the most celebrated impressionists in art history, and it’s an intimate examination of relationships. in any case nice that we agree on Bing Lee's cinematography, though ultimately we disagree on it's worth and effect. You claim it goes nowhere, but I am not sure where it was supposed to go except to imbue the viewer with expressionistic and sensory textures, which in my view it succeeded at admirably. The screenplay is thin, I'll grant you that, but the focus was not on that element.
ReplyDeleteBut fair enough, well-written takedown.
Thank-you! I liked much of Alexandre Desplat's score, but not in the context of the film, and there were some moments therein which, musically, I had big problems with. Lee Ping Bin's cinematography was pretty indeed, and Michel Bouquet and Christa Theret were good, I agree.
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