Claire Denis's movies seem to fall into one of two categories: the violent and bloody or the quiet and intimate. "L'Intrus" definitely falls into the first category, but it's not so awful as "Trouble Every Day" or "J'ai pas sommeil."
Now, ever since I saw "Chocolat," I've made it a point to see every new movie Denis makes. And I have always been disappointed. "L'Intrus" was no exception. She has yet to make a movie as personal and as moving as her first one.
You get a lot of the Denis regulars: an older but still magnificent Béatrice Dalle who seems to be in the movie only to show off her full lips, the gap between her teeth, her ample cleavage, and a couple of nice coats; the black guy from "Trouble Every Day" and "J'ai pas sommeil," Grégoire Colin, and that Lithuanian or Russian girl. Michel Subor's character was interesting enough, but the camera lingered on him at such length that I got annoyed by that curly forelock of hair hanging over his forehead and was relieved when, somewhere in Korea, I think, he finally got it cut.
There was certainly some action--gruesome murders, a man's search for a son--and there may even have been a plot, but one viewing wasn't enough to figure it out, and two viewings are, I fear, out of the question. For one thing, the score was jarring and obtrusive (as in "Beau Travail"). For another, the seasons changed too abruptly, leaving you even more confused about what was going on. Oh, there were a few pretty shots, and if you liked "Friday Evening" with its shots of the folds in heavy drapes and bedsheets, you might appreciate the aesthetics of "L'Intrus." Otherwise, steer clear.
I saw this movie in French and it's possible I missed something crucial. But the dialogue in a Denis movie rarely amounts to more than five pages, double spaced and with ample margins. In "Chocolat" the silence is sublime; in "L'Intrus," it's just dull.
Now, ever since I saw "Chocolat," I've made it a point to see every new movie Denis makes. And I have always been disappointed. "L'Intrus" was no exception. She has yet to make a movie as personal and as moving as her first one.
You get a lot of the Denis regulars: an older but still magnificent Béatrice Dalle who seems to be in the movie only to show off her full lips, the gap between her teeth, her ample cleavage, and a couple of nice coats; the black guy from "Trouble Every Day" and "J'ai pas sommeil," Grégoire Colin, and that Lithuanian or Russian girl. Michel Subor's character was interesting enough, but the camera lingered on him at such length that I got annoyed by that curly forelock of hair hanging over his forehead and was relieved when, somewhere in Korea, I think, he finally got it cut.
There was certainly some action--gruesome murders, a man's search for a son--and there may even have been a plot, but one viewing wasn't enough to figure it out, and two viewings are, I fear, out of the question. For one thing, the score was jarring and obtrusive (as in "Beau Travail"). For another, the seasons changed too abruptly, leaving you even more confused about what was going on. Oh, there were a few pretty shots, and if you liked "Friday Evening" with its shots of the folds in heavy drapes and bedsheets, you might appreciate the aesthetics of "L'Intrus." Otherwise, steer clear.
I saw this movie in French and it's possible I missed something crucial. But the dialogue in a Denis movie rarely amounts to more than five pages, double spaced and with ample margins. In "Chocolat" the silence is sublime; in "L'Intrus," it's just dull.