Un Crime

Though the title references an act that occurs within the film itself, I think it more accurately describes two more astonishing events:

1) The act of making such a wretched film in the first place
2) The selection of this film for inclusion into the festival where an unsuspecting festival crowd would actually have to watch it

For a litany of more specific crimes, let’s start with the premise. In order to win the affections of her young, widowed neighbour whose wife was murdered by a taxi driver 3 years prior to the events in the film, a beautiful but troubled young woman (Emmanuelle Beart) embarks on a plan to frame a random taxi driver for the neighbour’s wife’s murder, so that the neighbour can have his closure and their romance can commence. Sound a little wonky? Well, to be fair, the neighbour has been obsessed with finding his wife’s killer and has pointedly told the young woman that it can’t happen between them until this happens. Okay, makes sense from his perspective. But why is an attractive young woman willing to go to such lengths, which include seducing the disheveled taxi driver played by Harvey Keitel, for the affections of a gloomy guy, ever clad in a ragged hoody, who lives in a dull, grimy apartment, races and gambles on dogs on the beach, and hasn’t gotten over his wife’s death? I'm saying she could do better.

But we never really get an answer so nothing that follows from this dubious starting point makes much sense. The plot holes are wide enough to drive transport truck through and are too depressingly numerous to catalogue here. I will, however, give some advice to the filmmakers on the subtle use of foreshadowing: having a character demonstrate his prowess with a boomerang prior to his apparent death by drowning is less of a whispered hint as to what comes next as it is a shouted, foregone conclusion.

And for the love of God, would somebody please tell Harvey Keitel to keep his damn clothes on? Whether it’s a decent film like The Piano or the egregiously bad Holy Smoke, Harvey’s unsettling zeal for disrobing on film is not a good thing. I guess he gets some props for continuing to um, put himself out there in every sense of the word but I think at this point, I’d really like him to keep his shirt and his pants on.

Okay, I haven't had a lot of nice things to say about this film so on a positive note, let me end with the blurry photo that I took of Emmanuelle Béart, who was gracious and spirited at the Q&A, even when it was evident that the audience hadn't really dug the flick.