French cinema is a tad of an oxymoron. Self conscious artistry par excellence. Everything in French films is posturing. With the possible exception of Luc Besson's spectacular cinematography and framing, so overpowering the rest of the cinematic elements haven't got a chance to work on the viewer's consciousness. But not here.
Look at me, I'm an aging movie star legend, I'm a female director doing women, themes as old as the hills, yeah, family life and aging are painful, but making a painful job of a movie doesn't mitigate the problem. I love movies that surprise and stretch my expectations, but French movies don't do that, and neither does this one. A dutiful exercise devoid of inspiration or surprise or anything natural and spontaneous. As exciting as a Friday afternoon history class. I'll pass, merci beaucoup!
Review of Claire Darling
