If Les Herbes Folles were directed by a young person, you could call it an extraordinary, quirky, thoroughly French look at the strange happenstance of love, the objects that lead us there, and what would happen if we said out loud the often strange things we were thinking.
But the film is directed by the great Alain Resnais, now in his 87th year, who has made some of the strangest and most beautiful films of the twentieth century (Hiroshima Mon Amour, Last Year in Marienbad). So this film stands out among them, an achievement filmmakers younger than him can learn from.
A woman loses her handbag; her wallet is found by a man who becomes obsessed with her; his obsession leads to her obsession. In a style reminiscent of Jean-Pierre Jeunet (director of Amelie, since the old can learn from the young as well), strange characters never say what they should, and instead say the oddest things that pop into their head that are real and true nonetheless. A mix of comedy and fantasy, Resnais is improving with age, creating characters that probably are a reflection of his view on the world, with his experience and charm. This, perhaps, is how we should communicate: in a strange, vexing, but somehow effective way.
The Vintner’s Luck is Niki Caro’s fourth feature, and it is as mixed as film as the wine and angels on her screen. While it is sumptuous (it’s a film that would engage the senses beyond sight and sound) and is gorgeous to look at, its moments of exchange between story and viewer are too few and far between.
Sobran (Jérémie Renier) is a peasant trying to make his life better. He has a gift for winemaking that no one will support. That is, until one drunken night he meets an angel, Xas (Gaspard Ulliel) who, in exchange for yearly meetings, gives Sobran advice on eating dirt, and cuttings from his own vineyard.
The scenes between Sobran and Xas are a beautiful compliment to the scenes where Sobran discusses his love of wine; God is to be found in both and neither. But the film tries to be a sweeping life epic while the script calls for a more intimate approach. The main actors are not aged properly for the time of the script, leaving Keisha Castle-Hughes (whose talent is almost completely wasted in this film) looking younger than her children by the end of the film. This is perhaps a minor annoyance, but it was one of several that were detrimental to the film. While certain moments were sensuous, as a whole, the film fails to sweep the viewer off their feet.
Andrea Arnold’s second feature, Fish Tank, bursts out of the gate from the first frame and doesn’t let the viewer have a moment’s rest.
Fifteen-year-old Mia’s life is claustrophobic. She has no room to grow on her council estate, surrounded by children who think being a grown up means swearing like sailors, buildings that pack families in like sardines despite the empty land around them, and a school system that would pack her in tighter rather than hearing what she has to say about her future. And the adults, including Mia’s mother, just don’t seem to care. That is, until Mum gets a new boyfriend who seems too good to be true.
Framed in an aspect ratio to keep this idea of claustrophobia, Arnold has created another gut-wrenching story, one that is not afraid to show the lives of those on such estates in all their rawness. These are not necessarily people who just need some help; some of them are awful. But they are trapped and the only ways out offered to them may be just as hopeless.
Michael Fassbender is amazing as always, but the real revelation of this film is Katie Jarvis, who with nary a drama class, conveys Mia as a girl not so street smart as she would like to think, and capable of acts both brave and horrifying. Arnold’s script and camera close in and tear apart ideas of the poor, youth, and what makes a good man.
