A tourist in New York. It's on Xavier's visa, and it's in Cedric Klapisch's directing. To hell with developing a distinctive visual style of his own, Klapisch lets the graciously iconic city in which his film is set speak for itself. Well, yes, NYC is a striking location for many films, but that's much the problem - they all got there first. It's hard to figure out quite what Klapisch was working so hard on that he saw fit to leave the aesthetics of his film down to his location manager, except that he is indeed working hard, and it's taking him a long time, and what he's doing now is so much better than his old work! Forgive me if I'm mixing Cedric and his protagonist up, won't you? Perhaps not, since I won't forgive him. Like the rest of us, Xavier is an artist... a writer! With philosophical tendencies! An artist with respectability, then. Good. He's my hero. I'm sold. And the funds, while unemployed, to relocate from Paris to New York, and not only to live there but to do so in comfort and style. It's shabby chic, naturally, not because he's penniless but because it makes him appear penniless. His bitch wife cares for no-one but herself because she's a bitch, but never mind! His lesbian best bud is falling over herself trying to convince him to father a child for her - he does, and his bitch wife just doesn't understand!! - and his ex-girlfriend and other best bud is just falling over herself for his cock. Even his fake American wife will do anything to accommodate him. I know, Xavier, man, what a puzzle! So complicated! I feel for you, dude. This noxious, smug, tiresome piece of wish-fulfillment is at least well-acted, by performers who seem blissfully ignorant of the hideousness they're serving. They're charming. The film is not.
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