DrThe Marivaux warning is no longer in effect. Don’t play with love scheduled! The sensational establishment triumphs without stopping and getting involved. In Jacques Audiard’s new movie, love is meant to be a contest, at the end of which there are two winners. And, as is often the case with this director, bodies accommodate the direction in which spirits are heading much earlier than the mind.
The characters are four decades younger than their director, who will celebrate his 70th birthday in a few weeks. He lets her go in pursuit of happiness: with the curiosity and trust of the late father. “Where the Sun Rises in Paris” is his first picture from generation to generation.
Odiard is fascinated by how the rules of desire for conversation change, creating contemporary codes that need to be constantly renegotiated. He makes the Bildungsroman Film. This is the first to be said in four votes.
Emily (Lucy Zhang) starts working in a call center but can’t control her tongue. Her family constantly makes her feel guilty, but sex makes her cheerful. Then she is overcome by an irrepressible desire to dance, which Odiard depicts in stunningly cheerful slow motion.
Her new roommate, French teacher Camille (Makita Samba), is a marvel of resilience. He seems to adapt to new situations and emotions easily, but secretly gets upset when his partners change the rules. The irritability he and Emily break out over and over again makes an impressive promise.
On the other hand, strict law student Noémie Merlant loves to cross the mark. I punched a fellow student who bullied her, which really hit the spot. When she meets the woman of her dreams, she faints.
Both punches and fainting have an intriguing history. Nora showed up at a spring break party in a blonde wig and bold makeup, when she was suddenly beaten up by fellow students in a way she didn’t know from her native Bordeaux. At her costume party, she looks as perplexed as camera girl Amber Sweet (Jehnny Beth).
Nora check. First, the unexpected doppelgangers chat. Then they start talking to each other. In between, Nora gets to know Camille, who now works as a real estate agent, but is too exhausted and hires her to help. The two became lovers, but not for too long. Amber’s real name is Louise and she knows how to kiss princesses awake.
At first glance, the model does not seem to give a great love dance. The fabrics Audiard chooses are always surprising. Most come from North American authors who were known at best from hearsay before the movie quotes.
But this time he made a giant leap into the unknown. Where The Sun Rises in Paris is based on Intruders, a collection of illustrated short stories by cartoonist Adrien Tommen (along with a quote from his book Summer Blonde). They are definitely not recommended for film adaptation. The plot of their stories rarely takes a dramatic turn. They are snapshots of rotten lives that gently fade and disappear.
In his funny, succinct elegy, Tommen recounts the humiliation of everyday life and the sabotage of happiness. This is sad, but not discouraging. His characters are in transitions. Change their lives: Bildungsroman in miniature. Audiard needed brilliant backing to turn it into a screenplay: the name of the opening credits is fellow directors Céline Sciamma and Léa Mysius, in the credits three other contributors are to be thanked.
They deal with stories like jazz artists improvising so freely over an existing melody that in the end you only recognize a few notes. Tomen’s studies of melancholy only form an invisible basis, especially since the film boldly transports them to a part of Paris that doesn’t look like Paris normally does on screen: to the unknown new neighborhood of “Les Olympiades” in the 13th arrondissement.
Romance behind concrete facades
The sun rises here in the southeast, but you never see it behind all the skyscrapers. Not surprisingly, the cinema has so far shown little interest in the region. Initially explored by Alain Resnais in “Hearts” and in “The Kidnapping of Michel Houellebecq,” an unnamed apartment served as a temporary hiding place.
Romance really shouldn’t have the right to live behind rugged concrete facades, but O’Diard knows best. He cast a spell on this setup, digging deep into the bag of early (iris) and middle (slow motion, split screen) tricks. Cinematographer Paul Guillaume immerses them in a lyrical, black-and-white alert.
The movie Audiard is amazing. He seems so clever and quick-witted that one worries that his concepts don’t keep up. Doesn’t it seem too old to write that the quartet was looking for a commitment to love? Maybe like this: love should count.
Everyone wants to fight for a place in the emotional life of another and, depending on the situation, demands it. It is true that durability is a useful shield; Especially when accompanied by sarcasm. But Audiard is still tough. His stories only end when there is an acknowledgment of true feelings.
In doing so, he secretly identifies a second theme of cinematic modernity: identity. It is not fixed, it is changeable. Sometimes, for a split second, you get the impression that the actors are slipping into a different role with each new episode. Your manager expects nothing less from their personalities from constantly reinventing themselves. He makes the same demands on himself.
Audiar rearranges his concept of cinema. This is his first moral comedy, his first black and white, and his first to dispense with violence as a dramatic safety net (Nora’s Punch is a great slapstick moment). Where the Sun Rises in Paris is a change of course and by no means the last: Audiard is currently filming a musical in Mexico.