42) A bit of a grouse. Followed by three movies.
For some inexplicable reason we keep being told that autumn begins – or rather, began - on September 1st.
No, I take that back, this is easy to explain. It’s an idea we have imported from America. Unlike Jeremy Corbyn I am very pro-America but here I draw the line. If Jez wants to get on his soapbox about this, I will be the guy standing beside him holding his coat and clapping furiously.
Traditionally – and logically - autumn begins on September 21st, the date, more or less, of the autumn equinox which is the mid-way point between the height of summer, June 21st, the longest day of the year, aka the summer solstice, and December 21st, the shortest day of the year, aka the winter solstice.
Why does this matter? I really have no idea but it does. It grates. And I refuse to accept it. As far as I am concerned it is still summer. And the fact that I already have the heating on has absolutely no bearing on this.
What has definitely begun is the movie season. It doesn’t start on a specific date like the grouse season, although the glorious twelfth seems to be about the time when the would-be award winners start to emerge and the ghastly summer blockbusters and the school-holiday specials begin to fade into the obscurity they so richly deserve. It runs until Oscar night, and then that is more or less it for another year.
‘Forty Five Years’ is one of those films with pretensions to nomination. It has the right sort of actors, Tom Courtenay and Charlotte Rampling, grizzled veterans in their dotage, to get the members of the various academies – who are usually about the same age – all of a lather. It’s got lots of slow moving pastoral shots which is never a bad thing if you want to say your film is ‘artistic’ and it claims to deal with profound issues about the nature of relationships, so it should certainly tick all the boxes. And lots of critics say that it does – the tube posters can hardly fit all the four and five star reviews in. But I wasn’t so sure.
I am the critic who claims never to give the game away, so you won’t find any plot spoilers here or in any other of my reviews, but in this case the core of the plot, such as it is, is revealed in the first five minutes so I am giving nothing away by saying that Tom and Charlotte play a childless couple about to celebrate their forty fifth wedding anniversary when a letter arrives out of the blue with the news that the body of Tom’s previous has been found at the bottom of the icy ravine she fell into in Switzerland long before Charlotte had ever come into his life.
This might make it sound like we have a kind of midsomer murder on our hands, but it’s nothing of the sort. This is a study of how this sudden reacquaintance with his past affects Tom and how, in turn, Tom’s reaction, and what it reveals, affects Charlotte.
I had a couple of problems with Forty Five Years. Since we didn’t see any part of this pivotal event depicted on screen, it had to be explained through the dialogue and it all felt rather stodgy and expositional to me. And somehow, I was never quite convinced enough to wholly believe in the story or their characters.
A bit slow and a bit studied, Forty Five Years will get no more than about two and a half of my hard-to-earn stars whatever Pete Bradshaw says, so I think you can safely assume you won’t see a quote from me being added to those tube posters. (As if.)
The Diary of A Teenage Girl’ is another relationship film although at the opposite end of the age spectrum. As with ‘Forty Five Years’, the guts of the story are spilt very early on. And again, it is the effect of these events on the main characters, rather than the events themselves, particularly on the fifteen year old heroine Minnie played by an authentically young looking Bel Powley, that are the focus of the film’s interest. As Minnie announces to us in her very first line that she has, that day, had sex for the first time, it is revealing nothing to say that it is her exploits in bed that shape this story. And I use the word ‘exploit’ deliberately because, despite her appearance of innocence, Minnie is not, on the surface, always the one who is being used.
This slightly unorthodox take gives the film its thought provoking edge although it did make me feel slightly queasy at times. It has some very convincing performances particularly by Bel Pewley and Kristen Wiig as Minnie’s free thinking San Francisco mother, and Alxander Skarsgard is totally credible as Monroe, the mother’s weak, can’t help himself younger boyfriend. I wasn’t sure about the little bits of animation which I didn’t think added very much, so a big three stars or a small four is the best I can do. I don’t think it will bother the scorers on awards night, but a decent attempt.
‘Gemma Bovery’ which I saw at the best cinema in London – the Lumiere in South Ken, if you didn’t know – is a French film with a lot of English interest. (And based of a Posy Simmonds graphic novel.)
The curvy Gemma Arturton plays the eponymous heroine, a young Englishwoman who goes to live in rural Normandy with her new older husband, where she can’t fail to attract the notice of her neighbours, particularly the lecturer turned baker who lives opposite and happens to be an expert on Flaubert, and the vigorous student son of the local chatelaine.
Needless to say there are all sorts of parallels with Madame Bovary - why the spelling is different I have no idea - but if you’re like me and haven’t read it, there’s no need to worry, since the baker explains all as the story bounces along.
This is one of those lovely French soufflé comedies, light and airy and cleverly written, slightly reminiscent of a Francois Ozon film (In The House, The New Girlfriend) but directed by Anne Fontaine, of whom, I have to admit, I had never heard. Fabrice Luchini is très amusant as the intellectual baker and Gemma Arturton shines as the apple of everyone’s eye. There are a few holes in the plot but I forgave it all in the end. Because, at the end, there is one of the most brilliant sight-gags I have ever seen. It comes out of the blue and works to perfection - a genuine LOL moment. If for no other reason, see Gemma Bovary for this. Four stars.
