Avant l’Hiver (Before the Winter Chill), the third outing by French novelist turned film-maker Philippe Claudel, whose début film Il y a longtemps que je t’aime / I’ve Loved You So Long was an inspired and sensitive work, now returns with another character study. This time, however, he doesn’t focus on an individual but on a bourgeois married couple and an unknown outsider, a third party who attempts to break the apparent bliss enjoyed by husband and wife. The bad news is that leaving aside the remarkably professional performances by Daniel Auteuil and Kristin Scott Thomas, there’s little heart and even less soul in this icy series of scenes from a marriage. Be it because the tone is too aloof or because the characters themselves are little more than what you see at first sight, Avant l’Hiver comes across as a failed slow burner with a mystery that promises more than what it actually delivers. This is the story of Paul, a 60-something thriving neurosurgeon married to Lucie. They have been together for some 30 years, which explains the lack of sparkle and a certain tediousness. Nonetheless, Paul and Lucie are happy enough entertaining friends, going to the opera and spending weekends with the family. But one afternoon Paul starts receiving bouquets or red roses from a unidentified admirer. So Lucie thinks Paul is having an affair and starts investigating on her own. In time, Lou, a good-looking young Moroccan woman, enters the scene with an unusual story all of her own. Not long into the film, the story becomes heavily plotted. So you’d think there would be deep and rich ramifications to the many dramatic possibilities poised. But few of them are actually really examined. Because the narrative becomes sort of panoramic and it eschews scrutinizing key elements. Lucie as played by Kristin Scott Thomas is imposing, but it’s because of her screen persona, for the character is indeed underdeveloped. Pretty much the same goes for Paul according to Daniel Auteuil, though there are a few more nuances here. As for the third party, let’s just say that too many ideas have been put into a single character, and so the end result of the many dramatic exchanges is often artificial, meaning things happen because the script says so. On the other hand, there’s a certain emotional connection between Paul and the unknown admirer that does ring true and touches somewhat significant emotional chords. But the solemnity that envelops much of the film is actually quite off-putting. Production notes Avant l’hiver / Antes del frío invierno / Before the Winter Chill (France, Luxembourg, 2013). Written and directed by Philippe Claudel. With: Daniel Auteuil, Kristin Scott Thomas, Leïla Bekhti, Richard Berry. Music: André Dziezuk. Cinematography: Denis Lenoir. Editing: Elisa Aboulker. Produced by Yves Marmion, Romain Rojtman. Distributed by: CDI. NC16. Running time: 102 minutes.
Chilean filmmaker Che Sandoval’s new film, Soy mucho mejor que vos, concerns the midlife crisis of Cristóbal (Sebastián Brahm) a 40-something two-bit entrepreneur and family man whose wife has won an important scholarship to study in Spain and decides to accept it, with or without him as a companion. You can infer their marriage was already sinking before this, but nonetheless it does get worse now because Cristóbal can’t take so much success on her part, so he never shows up at the airport to grant permission for the kids to go overseas. Anyway, his wife boards the plane and leaves the children. So over the course of one long night, Cristóbal thinks he can make her pay for “abandoning him” by sleeping with as many women as possible. He now sees himself as a macho man and a womanizer, but in fact he’s nothing but a loser. Likewise, Soy mucho mejor que vos sees itself as a biting, mordant dramatic comedy (with more light drama than good comedy) but in fact it’s nothing but an exposé of commonplace and stereotypes (and not in a good, playful way). Granted, a few scenes do work out because of the colloquial text and its authentic musicality; there’s also an imprint of realism because some performances are seemingly unrehearsed. And there’s a certain nerve-wracking rhythm in the film that gives it an electric pulse. But leaving aside some partial assets, Soy mucho mejor que vos as a whole is neither gripping nor convincing. Perhaps because the lead character is so overacted by Sebastián Brahm, or perhaps because he’s so obnoxiously stereotyped, it’s quite hard to relate to what happens to him at all. For that matter, the rest of the characters (his son, an occasional girl, a group of street punks) fall into the same category: entities solely designed to utter lines with no genuine presence of their own. So no wonder everything becomes so repetitive and automatic. And, of course, there’s a contrived subplot involving father and son, that is, hopeless and lost father seeking to make contact with angry and neglected son who, nonetheless, loves him dearly. Like you haven’t seen all this before. And in much better shape. Production notes Soy mucho mejor que vos (Chile, 2013). Written and directed by: Ché Sandoval. With: Sebastián Brahm, Nicolás Alaluf, Catalina Zarhi, Antonella Costa. Cinematography: Eduardo Bunster. Sound: Gonzalo Ulloa. Music: Miranda / Tobar. Editing: Manuela Piña / Andrea Chignoli. Produced by Caleidoscopio and Don Quijote Films. Distributed by: Tren. NC13. Running time: 88 minutes. Limited release: BAMA - Arte Multiplex.
Tomas (Johannes Bah Kuhnke) and Ebba (Lisa Loven Kongsli) are a Swedish married couple on holiday at a posh ski resort in the French Alps. They have two charming kids, Harry (Vincent Wettergren) and Vera (Clara Wetterngren), who stick close to them everywhere they go. Anytime, anywhere, they all look content. What you'd call a functional family. On a given afternoon, they go for lunch to an outdoor café up on the mountains, with a panoramic view of the slopes. All of a sudden, a controlled avalanche seems to snowball out of control. As everybody panics, Ebba immediately protects the children whereas Tomas grabs his smartphone from the table and rushes out of the picture, leaving his family behind. The good thing is that the apparently dangerous avalanche is actually a residual cloud from distant explosions. So in the end nobody gets hurt. Better said: nobody gets "physically hurt," for the emotional wounds due to Tomas’ abandoning his family may never heal. So in Ruben Ostlund's Force majeure you have a tragedy that actually never happens, and a tragic event of personal dimensions — fleeing instead of protecting your loved ones. Add denial, for Tomas initially won't acknowledge what he did. He says he just doesn´t share his wife’s version and that he remembers it differently. But when he's asked to say how exactly he remembers it, he won't talk at all. Maybe because lying in full is harder than denying. At any rate, loss of trust and mutual respect are the two tragedies this couple now faces. The once seemingly perfect family may actually crumble and fall. Then there's another couple of friends, Mats (Kristofer Hivju) and Fanny (Fanni Metelius), who intervene as improvised therapists and well-meaning listeners. Of course, they also judge Mats' behaviour, even if first they have to analyze it. However, the issue here is not how logical or illogical the situation was, but how Ebba is going to relate to Mats knowing that in the face of a crisis he may not be there for her or the children. As for Mats, he has to live with a cowardly and ugly part of himself that makes him most unreliable and self-loathing. So the issues here lie in the terrain of deeply rooted feelings, uncontrolable emotions, and animal instinct that sometimes equals betrayal. Very cleverly, Ostlund draws a faceted state of things by resorting to ordinary conversation, dialogue that always rings true, verbal exchanges that are immediate and recognizable. So this way, the heart of the matter is addressed in a casual manner that makes it all the more alarming. Equally important is what the characters cannot say and remains unsaid. Force majeure is a wise film made with profound awareness of the fragility of bonds and blood ties. And it's never discursive, although a bit talky. But there's no patronizing of any kind, which doesn't mean there’s no critical gaze. Then it’s no wonder why a feeling of uneasiness and malaise runs through the entire film. Arguably, what's most distressing is that viewers are bound to wonder what they would have done in Mat’s place. Or what your loved ones would have done in his place. Consider that we all would like to come up with a heroic and humane answer, but it might not be that simple. After all, there’s an instance, near the end of the film, when Ebba makes a decision out of fear that may be interpreted in different ways. Not a bad decision, but maybe a very individual one that only protects herself. Production notes Force majeure / La traición del instinto / Tourist (Sweden / France / Norway, 2014) Written and directed by Ruben Ostlund. With Johannes Bah Kuhnke, Lisa Loven Kongsli, Vincent Wettergren, Clara Wettergren, Kristofer Hivju, Fanni Metelius, Brady Corbet. Cinematography: Fredik Wenzel. Editing: Jacob Secher Schulsinger. Music: Ola Flottum. Produced by Philipe Bober, Erik Hemmendorff. Distributed by: Lat-E. NC13. Running time: 118 minutes.
Set in 1999 during the prelude to the potential social upheaval associated to the Y2k bug, Scott Frank's murder mystery A Walk Among the Tombstones concerns the investigation carried out by unlicensed private investigator and former cop Matt Scuder (Liam Neeson) for Kenny Kristo (Dan Stevens), a rich drug trafficker. Kristo’s wife was abducted and sliced into pieces by two unknown demented psycho-killers (Adam Davis Thompson and David Harbour), who pretend to be DEA agents. In turn, there will be more grisly killings targeted at wives and daughters of other drug traffickers. So far, nothing new under the sun, and yet with a richly developed script this material can give way to a decent genre piece. Which is not the case here. And because of a number of very simple reasons. Firstly, while the film’s setup is far from intriguing and the initial murder mystery has enough mildly appealing subplots, once the investigation unfolds and the truth beings to surface surprisingly early in the film, then you can see the rest of the plot coming from a mile away. All you witness is the execution of a series of events that fail to be gripping because the characters are lazily underwritten. As an example, it would have been nice to know what drives the mean criminals to slaughter their prey, even if it was only for sick fun or some kind of moralistic mission. However, in this movie, mentally troubled psycho killers perform actions because the script tells them to do so. They are not even individualized, they are just a depraved duo.Then there’s the kid element, another trite idea, never a fleshed out character. His name is TJ (Brian Bradley), a homeless and resourceful black teen with sickle cell anemia and a penchant for pulp novels, an admirer of Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe, rough looking on the outside and yet sensitive and frail for those who care to look close enough — like Scudder, who meets him at a public library where his computer skills prove helpful to further the investigation. TJ is also meant to provide the gravity and emotional side to the story — otherwise devoid of two essential components: pathos and suspense. Finally, TJ will also indirectly give Scudder the chance to redeem himself for an involuntary tragedy he caused. It resulted in the death of a seven-year-old girl, made him quit the police force and give up on drinking as well. Alcoholism is too unconvincingly tossed into the mix, with enlightening big meanings extrapolated from the AA's 12-step programme. By the way, Liam Neeson plays the alcoholic cop with a dark past in quite a mechanical manner, a bored and boring character. In short: A Walk Among Tombstones is nothing but a cliché-ridden detective story. In spite of its attention-grabbing introduction and some well performed directorial bits, it goes nowhere fast. And to think that Scott Frank penned the imaginative script of Spielberg's Minority Report. PRODUCTION NOTES A Walk Among the Tombstones / Caminando entre tumbas. (US, 2014). Written and directed by: Scott Frank. With: Liam Neeson, Dan Stevens, Brian “Astro” Bradley, David Harbour, Adam Davis Thompson, Boyd Holbrook. Cinematography : Mihai Malaimare Jr. Editing: Jill Savitt. Music: Carlos Rafael Rivera. Produced by Tobin Armbrust, Danny De Vito, Kate Bacon. Distributed by: Buena Vista. NC16 Running time: 110 minutes.
There’s something undoubtedly worthwhile in Anne Fontaine’s Adore: the performances of Naomi Watts and Robin Wright. Despite the often risible dialogue semi-plagued with contrived insights and dumb soap opera one liners, the two actresses achieve quite a few moments of stirring emotions and genuine feelings. They seem to know they are dealing with bad dialogue, and nonetheless they get by. That said, the rest of Adore is completely forgettable. Lil (Naomi Watts) and Roz (Robin Wright) have been best friends since childhood, they are so close that some think they are “lezzos,” and have two gorgeous surfer sons, Tom (James Frecheville), and Lil’s son, Ian (Xavier Samuel), who are also very close, yet nobody thinks they are gay. Lil is a great-looking widow whereas the equally great looking Roz is married to a rather ordinary guy. And very likely because the women are entering middle age while the boys are in their early twenties, all of a sudden they start sleeping with the other’s son. Not only that, they fall in love too. And it all takes place in an idyllic Australian beach town hours away from Sydney. So what do you make of such an ambitious premise? A stern drama? A romantic comedy? An extravagant melodrama? An auteur film with no predetermined blueprint? A mix between comedy and melodrama would probably be the safest bet, considering you have the right screenwriter-director team. But Anne Fontaine and her screenwriter Christopher Hampton decided not to go all Almodóvar-like, and instead to deliver an uncompromising drama. Or so they must have wished, since the end result is far from dramatic. In fact, it’s so flimsy that it’s not even funny. For starters, the respective love affairs never ring true since the reasons why and how they fall in love are never dramatized. What had been brewing before in the characters’ hearts and souls is not once explored. Love just happens from one scene to the next. Likewise, the boys’ characters are so underwritten that sometimes you forget who’s sleeping with whom, as they are not really individuals, but interchangeable sexual figures. By the way, the fact that the sex scenes are trite and lack so much eroticism is not of much help either. Then the many potential angles this story provides, namely what’s going to happen to the women’s lifelong friendship, how the boys will now see their mothers as the other’s object of desire, what new emotional entanglements will surface, or what will happen to a 20-year marriage, all these possibilities with great pathos remain largely unexplored. There’s no time to delve into them as an ongoing series of episodes mistakenly take the place of cohesive and coherent narrative. So what you have now is a dumb and shallow soap opera filled with big meanings and phoney sentiments. When and where Adore (Australia/France, 2013). Directed by Anne Fontaine. Written by Christopher Hampton, based on the short story The Grandmothers, by Doris Lessing. With Naomi Watts, Robin Wright, Xavier Samuel, James Frecheville, Sophie Lowe, Jessica Tovey, Gary Sweet, Ben Mendelsohn. Cinematography by Cristophe Beaucarne. Editing by Luc Barnier, Ceinwen Berry. Running time: 110 minutes.
Screened earlier this year in the prestigious Director’s Fortnight in Cannes, Refugiado, the new film by Argentine director Diego Lerman (Tan de repente, Mientras tanto, La mirada invisible) tackles a most important and timely issue: domestic violence. It doesn’t tell an extraordinary story, but a standard one alike those of many anonymous women being abused every day, be it psychologically, verbally or physically. From a descriptive point of view, the film is a true achievement from beginning to end. However, when it comes to its narrative pulse, it comes across as an uneven feature. While its thematic value remains intact, its emotional resonance is sometimes feeble. In any case, just like Lerman’s previous films, Refugiado is technically flawless, by most accounts. The story in a nutshell: eight-year-old Matías (Sebastián Molinaro) and his pregnant mother Laura (Julieta Díaz) have to leave their home in haste in order to escape from yet another outburst of violence from Fabián, the head of the family. So they begin a drifting trip, looking for a place where they can feel safe and protected. Lerman described Refugiado as an urban road movie, and the definition couldn’t be more exact. Like in any road movie, the leading characters undergo a physical journey with a series of stops that will eventually lead them to find out more about themselves and the circumstances they are going through. However, what matters most is their inner journey in search for solace, freedom, and a way out. In this regard, the screenplay is quite rich as it portrays Matías and Laura staying in a shelter, a couple of rundown hotels, a friend’s house, you name it... Of course, the streets themselves are the conduct that takes them from one place to the next, but there are also dangerous zones where they can be seen, trapped, and, later on, abused. So no wonder they walk so fast — sometimes they just run — as a remarkably frantic, hand-held camera records their fearful expressions and follows them everywhere. In contrast, when they are inside, the camera remains still for they are enjoying, so to speak, a much-needed break. By the way, both Julieta Díaz and Sebastián Molinaro deliver very credible performances, just like the supporting actors — even if they have little screen time. On the minus side, there are parts when Refugiado gets too descriptive, but it doesn’t go that deep as to account for the feelings and confusion of the characters. So you may feel you are seeing more of the same. And it lacks tension. Which is a shame because the dramatic potential of this material is basically unlimited. Yet the assets outdo the flaws, that’s for sure. Production notes Refugiado (Argentina, 2014). Written by Diego Lerman and María Meira. Directed by Diego Lerman. Starring Julieta Díaz, Sebastián Molinaro, Marta Lubos, Carlos Weber. Cinematography: Wojtek Staron. Editing: Alejandro Brodersohn. Running time: 95 minutes.
Junior (Samuel Lange Zambrano) is nine-years-old and has stubbornly bad hair, or “pelo malo.” He so wants to have it straightened for his yearbook picture, although he still needs to get the money to pay for it. He wants long, ironed hair because that’s how celebrated pop singers have it, or so he says. But currently unemployed working-class Martha (Samantha Castillo), his widowed mother, won’t allow it. She feels there’s something queer about it. She even believes the boy is kind of effeminate. And the more Junior tries to “be beautiful” so his mother will love him, the more he’s rejected by her. Winner of the Golden Shell at the San Sebastián Film Festival, Pelo malo, by Venezuelan filmmaker Mariana Rondón, is a most sensitive character study of a mother and a son at odds both with themselves and their surroundings. Junior is just beginning to explore his sexuality, even if he doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing. How could he? For the time being, he feels there’s something great about having long ironed hair as pop stars do. And he often indulges into staring at a good-looking teen working nearby. Not that the teen notices it, but Junior’s mum does. And she doesn’t want to put up with it, even when Carmen (Nelly Ramos), her dead husband’s mother, tells her that’s just the way the boy is, that there’s no way to change him. Grandma doesn’t mind. In fact, she makes him a singer’s costume to wear for his photo shoot. And she’s willing to raise him, provided that in return he takes care of her. If Martha doesn’t get a job she can hold on to, how is she to care for Junior and his baby brother? Maybe she can keep the baby and give Junior to Grandma Carmen. After all, her mother-in-law is willing to pay her as much as she asks. Yes, it does sound dehumanized. And yet it’s not. Mariana Rondón is smart enough to build characters that appear to be icy and distant, and yet deep inside they can be warm and caring in all their loneliness. Characters that have the right to be humanly contradictory. Just like Junior has the right to have long, ironed hair — that is good hair, or “pelo bueno.” What stings the most is that Junior’s self-proclaimed freedom is violently inhibited by his mother, who could (but can’t) allow him to discover himself. While she loves him, in some ways she is as repressed as the society she lives in. Against the backdrop of an overcrowded and hostile Caracas where the poor are many, the story of Junior and his mum and grandma develops in many layers, from the seemingly trivial to the most existential, and always without the slightest trace of solemnity. It could have given way to melodrama, but Rondón goes for hard-bitten realism. Which explains why everything rings true (some of the scenes are born out of actors’ improvisation), why the story is actually universal despite its Venezuelan setting, and why you never feel underestimated by enlightening messages. A rich story told with an equal amount of sensitivity and lucidness. Production notes Pelo Malo / Bad Hair (Venezuela, 2013) Written and directed by Mariana Rondón. With Samuel Lange, Samantha Castillo. Cinematography: Micaela Cajahuaringa. Editing: Marite Ugas. Running time: 93 minutes.
Remember the desperation and insanity of Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard? And the hatred and meanness of Bette Davis as Baby Jane Hudson toward her once cinema star sister played by Joan Crawford in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Of course, there’s also the ferocity of Faye Dunaway as, precisely, Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. Something in the same vein transpires in the scenarios of David Lynch’s maddening Mulholland Drive and Robert Altman’s ruthless The Player. Through these prisms, Hollywood is surely no pretty sight. All these films depict sickening families (be them via blood ties or only symbolical) that won’t (because they can’t) deal with failure, oblivion and loss. These families go to extremes to recover what cannot be recovered, to have what they wish for at any cost, and to turn others into the victims of their insatiable cravings. They maybe next of kin, but they are predators. Many traces of these individuals inhabiting Tinseltown are alive and well in David Cronenberg’s masterful new film Maps to the Stars, a merciless combination of extremely black comedy, devastating Greek tragedy, violent satire and eerie ghost story. Cronenberg looks back into the history of cinema to make new meanings for a fresh discourse on the miseries of the ever-dysfunctional family of Hollywood. A culture that eats up young actors and then spits them out, as stated by John Cusack, one of the film’s actors. Cusack effortlessly plays Stafford Weiss, a self-help new age media guru with a secret shared with his wife Cristina, also a greedy mother-agent, played to superb effect by Olivia Williams. They have an obnoxious star son, a small monster named Benjie, who cashes bundles of money and is played with icy coolness by Evan Bird. There’s also Agatha, a burn-scarred teen played by Mia Wasikowska with an air of mystery, who returns to Los Angeles after a long hiatus and soon befriends limo driver Jerome, the kind of ordinary guy stars like to sleep to show they also live in the real world. Cronenberg must be the only director who can make Robbert Patinson give a truly good performance, even if he’s a mere driver. Thanks to the help of her friend Carrie Fisher, Agatha lands a job as a “chore whore” or personal assistant for Havana Segrand, a mean fading diva who knows no boundaries when it comes to getting a role she so needs, which is no less than playing her real life mother (a dead and famous Hollywood legend who died in a fire) in a remake of one of her most renowned films. Incidentally, her mother also abused her as a child too. Havana is a demanding part for which Julianne Moore proudly won the Best Actress Prize at Cannes. Maps to the Stars is scary. It shows the horror that lies beyond the surface, and the mould of black of comedy is perfect to enhance it. Incest is not an extraordinary circumstance, be it real or metaphorical. In one way or another, ghosts from the past relentlessly come back to haunt the living. Eventually, out of the blue, comes mayhem and a growing series of tragedies. And you are a prisoner once again. But this time it’s for good. Panic-stricken, the members of these families, these falling stars, run but they cannot hide. They take desperate measures, because they think any exit is good enough to feel safe once again. In all his wisdom, Cronenberg doesn’t cast a facile moralistic point of view upon this ugly panorama. That would’ve been too easy. Instead, he opts to expose what can be seen at first glance, then reveal what’s buried, and finally confront you with the whole picture. It doesn’t get any more disturbing. Production notes: Maps to the Stars (Canada, 2014) Directed by David Cronenberg. Written by Bruce Wagner. With Julianne Moore, Mia Wasikowska, Robert Pattinson, John Cusack, Olivia Williams, Carrie Fisher, Evan Bird. Cinematography : Peter Suschitzky. Editing: Ronald Sanders. Running time: 111 minutes.
It’s no news that Martín Bossi is an accomplished comedian. More exactly, he’s arguably the best local impersonator seen in quite some time. He’s a regular guest at many TV shows, and the celebrated star of the successful Bing Bang Show. And now with Un Amor en tiempos de Selfies, written and directed by Emilio Tamer, he’s had his big cinematic break. He plays Lucas, a somewhat phobic stand-up comedian who’s also a drama teacher. And while Bossi seems to be a better impersonator than a regular actor, the truth is that his performance in the film is decent enough for a first time in cinema. The bad news is that the film is actually pretty unremarkable. Un Amor en tiempos de Selfies tries to be a dramatic comedy with a love story as well as a meditation on the impact of social networks on relationships — all at once. And while each narrative line is more or less developed, the huge problem is that what happens and how it happens is annoyingly predictable and trite. If you experience a constant feeling of déjà vu throughout the entire film, you are not to blame. It's actually as if you were watching a formulaic US mainstream movie (so forget all about authentic local colour), and yet the main elements are wrongly executed. The timing is off-cue, the dialogue is seldom snappy or witty, the supporting characters are one dimensional, and the circumstances all characters are involved into are hardly hilarious. Consider that you’ve seen all this stuff before and in much better shape. So you have Lucas — an anxious, quirky stand-up comedian, who eventually meets Guadalupe (María Soledad Zamarbide), a pretty and shy marketing executive who’s afraid of speaking in public and signs up for classes with Lucas. Yes, they do fall in love, and yes, they do break up too. Because she wants to turn him into a successful, well-known artist whereas he wants to keep his low profile. Despite what they feel for each other, they belong to different worlds. So Lucas breaks up via a home video he sends her. Disheartened, Guadalupe sends the video to a friend and asks for advice. Eventually, the video will be online for everyone to see. And so will be Guadalupe’s angry reply to Lucas. It’s love and hate on social networks now. The fact that Martín Bossi is convincing as Lucas is hampered by another fact: María Soledad Zamarbide’s performance as Guadalupe is so overdone that it hurts. She just never rings true because you see her acting from beginning to end. Pretty much the same goes for most of the supporting actors. Last but not least, Un Amor en tiempos de Selfies doesn’t even last two hours, but it many times feels overlong and never-ending. Production notes: Un Amor en tiempos de Selfies (Argentina, 2014) Directed by Emilio Tamer. Written by Emilio Tamer and Federico Finkielstain. With Martín Bossi, Manuel Wirtz, María Soledad Zamarbide, Roberto Carnaghi, Luis Rubio, Jorge “Carna” Crivelli, Beto Casella, Graciela Borges. Cinematography: Rolo Pulpeiro. Music: Manuel Wirtz. Editing: Anabella Lattanzio. Running time: 116 minutes.
Matthew Morgan (Michael Caine) is an 80-year-old US university professor whose longtime wife died very recently. Though he’s been living in France for quite some time, he doesn’t speak French. Since his wife’s death, his life bears little meaning to him. He just can’t overcome her absence. That is until he meets Pauline (Clémence Poésy), a dance instructor who’s easily half his age. She too is a loner, but would want to make a meaningful emotional connection. So perhaps there’s love after loss and solitude. Perhaps there’s yet one last love to be lived. Yes, it does sound corny and overworked, and precisely because it is very much so. Not only does Mr. Morgan’s Last Love, by Sandra Nettelbeck, hinge on a premise we all know by heart, but its entire development is so overridden with clichés you’d think it’s actually a parody. Which it is not. When it comes to cinema, very few things are more annoying than a film that presents itself as highly dramatic and profound when it’s actually uninspired and shallow. It’s not even formulaic in an effective way — which would’ve been a perfectly legitimate option. Long ago, Michael Caine used to star mostly in pretty good movies. Or, at least, decent ones. In these last years, that has changed abruptly. Once in a while, he can fill in the shoes of likable characters such as Alfred, Batman’s butler in Nolan’s Batman movies. But for the most part, he delivers affected, artificial performances that rely on a series of tics, gestures, and voice inflexions meant to be the expression of he who knows what. Deep despair? Thoughtfulness? Wisdom? Go figure it out. So this tired university professor, yet above all a widower in pain, faces equally artificial and affected situations and incidents that never flow organically from the script, but instead are implanted by a Screenwriting 101 handbook. Meaning, for instance, his grown up children won’t accept his girlfriend, the age difference will prove to be a hardship, the girl may be an opportunist, and perhaps it’s all just an illusion. But in the end love may conquer all. In any case, by the time Mr. Morgan’s Last Love finishes, you are bound to have stopped caring for characters who are mere cardboard figures who never strike a genuine chord. Production notes Last Love / Mr. Morgan’s Last Love (Germany, Belgium, France, US, 2013). Written and directed by Sandra Nettelbeck. With Michael Caine, Clémence Poésy, Jane Alexander, Justin Kirk, Gillian Anderson. Cinematography by Michael Bertl. Music by Hans Zimmer. Editing by Christoph Strothjohann. Running time: 116 minutes.