Review: "Amour"

Please take note of the photo I chose to accompany this film review. The best available images I could find showed the same moment from "Amour" from different angles, with Jean-Louis Trintignant caressing the face of Emmanuelle Riva. The most popular image showed the face of Riva, who received an Oscar nomination for her performance, from over Trintignan's shoulder.

I specifically opted for the reverse angle, where we see Trintignan's face and not Riva's, to demonstrate what I think is a fallacy about the tremendous reception given to "Amour." To wit: Trintignant is the star, not Riva. And it is his performance critics and groups like the Academy Awards should be spotlighting, not hers.

I have not been shy about suggesting that I believe Riva and Quvenzhané Wallis from "Beasts of the Southern Wild" were nominated simply so the Academy could have a talking point about "the youngest and the oldest Best Actress nominees ever." Wallis did not deserve a nomination because hers was the performance of a talented 6-year-old, based on behavior, not craftsmanship.

For Riva, the answer is even simpler: hers is not even a leading performance, it is a supporting one.

As Anne Laurent, an elderly French woman slowly dissolving into dementia, Riva essentially acts for 25 minutes, and then slides into the figurative background. She is nearly mute and motionless for the last half of the movie, while the entire story is seen through the eyes of her husband Georges (Trintignant).

Look at the film, written and directed by Michael Haneke, from the perspective of grammar: Anne is the object of the narrative, while Georges is the subject. He acts upon her, while she is largely acted upon.

If one were to come up with a one-sentence summary of "Amour," it would not be, "A French woman succumbs to dementia and is cared for by her husband." It would be, "An elderly French man struggles to cope with the emotional and spiritual burden of caring for his ailing wife."

I say this not in an attempt to diminish the work by Riva, which is indeed quite good, but to simply place it in its proper perspective. The movie belongs to Trintignan, first and last.

Not surprisingly, I had a similar reaction to a Canadian movie with a similar theme from a few years ago, "Away From Her." In a bit of repeated history, that film also saw the female lead nominated for an Oscar while the male lead was ignored. I have persistently, if unsuccessfully, lobbied that that film's title should be corrected to "Away From Him."

"Amour" is a lovely piece of filmmaking, with all-around terrific acting. Isabelle Huppert also has a small role as their daughter Eva, who is middle-aged and busy, and treats her mother's illness as a tremendous inconvenience, without ever being nasty about it.

But is it deserving of all its many accolades, including winning the Palme d'Or at Cannes and an unexpected raft of Oscar nominations? I would say not.

"Amour" is wonderfully made but terribly unoriginal. We have seen variations of this story so many times before, it's hard not to think about those other, superior films while watching it. In my cattier moments, I have taken to referring to the film as "My Old, Paralyzed Left Foot" and "Million Franc Baby." ("Away From Him, With Subtitles" is a new one that comes to mind.)

I will not deny that "Amour" is a worthwhile cinematic experience, and the often negative tone of this review may mislead you into thinking I am not recommending it. I am.

But for all the myriad honors and awards that have been bestowed on "Amour," I truly believe it is most deserving of one more: Most Overrated Film of the Year.

3 stars out of four

Review: "Certified Copy"

"Certified Copy" is a truly an international film. It's a French, Belgian and Italian production, set in Tuscany, spoken in interweaving languages of Italian, English and French, and was written and directed by Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami.

The reality of the story shifts with the languages, and if we spend all our time trying to discern the puzzle of its plot, we won't be able to fully enjoy its subtle charms. The acting is extraordinary, by Juliette Binoche and William Shimell, and in the end we stop trying to understand the film and simply embrace the fact that it is true to itself, rather than any conventional understanding of narrative veracity.

That is the nature of the story, at least to start with. James Miller, a British author, has just written a new book bearing the same title as the movie, arguing that the distinction between an art forgery and the original is unimportant. Both should be embraced for their value as objects of beauty, not as commodities.

Miller gives a talk in an Italian city. He is middle-aged, handsome and charming in a detached, slightly cool way. What's extraordinary about Shimell's performance is that it is his first film role -- he's an opera singer by trade. I hope he makes more movies: His voice aside, here is a performer fully in control of his instrument.

Attending the speech, but leaving it early, is Elle -- although I don't believe we ever actually hear her name spoken. She is a harried single mother whose 11-year-old son seems to delight in teasing and vexing her. After forcing her to leave the author talk early to buy him a cheeseburger, the boy gleefully says he hopes she will marry Miller.

Indeed, they have a date set. An dealer in art and antiquities, Elle arranges for Miller to meet her at her shop to talk about his book. He suggests they go for a drive, and she takes him to a remote town to look at a revered painting that was later discovered to be a forgery. She thinks he'll be thrilled, but he's rather indifferent. Miller talks about embracing the emotional, sentimental nature of art, but he seems to have to summon it up for himself.

Their journey takes them to a cafe, where a curious thing happens. While Miller steps away to take a call, Elle talks with the Italian shopkeeper about the relationship between husbands and wives. The older woman (Gianna Giachetti) has mistaken Miller for her husband, and Elle does not correct her. She relays this to Miller when he returns, and from that moment on they talk and behave as if they are actually a married couple who have been together 15 years.

Are they pretending? Carrying on a charade to amuse themselves? I don't think so. Miller had stated unequivocally that he did not speak French or Italian, and yet he suddenly starts conversing in them flawlessly.

Whether pretend or not, their marriage is not a happy one. His work consumes him, taking him away for months on end, and she resents the way he acts as a visitor in the lives of his own family. Miller is different from the suave, slightly know-it-all author of the first half. He's distant and peevish, easily driven into a rage by an inattentive waiter at a restaurant.

Binoche is a revelation as Elle, the emotions pouring out of her face like wine from a decanter. Although she's lost some of the coquettish beauty of her early career, Binoche's face has more depth and versatility now. In both her roles here, she plays a woman consumed by a deep inner rage at being left alone so much of the time, when all she wants is someone to lean on through life.

What is the truth of the relationship between these two people? Are they strangers or distant lovers? For Kiarostami, it is both, and neither. He shows us how these two people would interact if they had just met in mid-life, and then draws a portrait of them deeply intertwined in a romance turned sour.

It's like an artist sketching a pair of models, first in once pose and then another, wearing one set of clothes and then switching. The circumstances are in flux, but the essence of who these two people are is unshakable.

In essence, "Certified Copy" is two movies, both lying to the audience, and both telling the same truth.

3 stars out of four