24 September 2002 | Red-125
This film had a real chance of success. The basic premise--How does a man feel when his wife is famous and he isn't?--holds lots of creative possibilities.
Unfortunately, these possibilities are never realized. We never understand why a famous actor would want this lout of a sportswriter as her husband. (Incidentally, he is the only sportswriter I know
who never appears to have a deadline.)
The movie is miscast. The wife, Charlotte Gainsbourg, is supposed to be drop-dead beautiful in the context of the film, and Ms. Gainsbourg is certainly attractive, but not at that level. Also, Terence Stamp, the third side of the triangle, is supposed to be miraculously attractive to young women, and I don't see that either. It is one thing to suspend disbelief, but another to throw disbelief out the window.
A subplot about the husband's sister, who is Jewish, and her pregnancy never works. In fact, as a physician, all I could do was cringe as the sister smoked throughout her pregnancy. I think that was supposed to be charming.
We get so few French movies in Upstate New York that I hate to criticize the ones we do get, but this movie is just not worth the price of admission, no matter how starved we are for French films.