Yes. Kristin Scott Thomas is reason enough to see any movie, with the possible exception of UNDER THE CHERRY MOON. And yes, her performance is plenty of reason to see IL Y A LONGTEMPS QUE JE T'AIME. But if you call this a good movie, well, that's where you and I differ.
First, a mystery's a mystery only if I am moved to discover the secret. The traditional method of building suspense is to leave a trail of clues. I admit that this film's top-loaded with hints that the protagonist may be a monster: she's cold, she's distant, she yells at the kid. Then, for the next hour and a half, she turns directly into the best little auntie a girl could have, on a trajectory to sainthood. This about-face dispels any lingering concern about her behavior, or culpability, and makes the voila no surprise at all. Am I intrigued along the way? A bit. Which ain't a lot.
Second, a character study's a character study only if there's a character to study. The married sister, the lovelorn professor, the cop: these are characters. Juliette's barely a human being. She stares in silent melancholy, she makes brittle small talk, she embraces surrogate motherhood. That's a little thin. I'm not saying Ms Thomas doesn't fill the role: in a superhuman effort, she manages to turn this character into a sort of person. The problem is that Philippe Claudel did not make the same effort. He repeatedly substitutes the soulful glance for the telling moment until my patience is as irretrievable as Pierre.
Third, and this isn't the film's fault per se, why does everybody keep talking about how subtle this movie is? A movie isn't subtle just because it's in French. The viewer is beaten about the face with a single theme (isolation vs assimilation) for two hours. The only tonal difference between this and a Jerry Bruckheimer movie is volume.
Fourth, why is it that every indie hit has to have music that sounds like it was composed for an East Village yoga class?
First, a mystery's a mystery only if I am moved to discover the secret. The traditional method of building suspense is to leave a trail of clues. I admit that this film's top-loaded with hints that the protagonist may be a monster: she's cold, she's distant, she yells at the kid. Then, for the next hour and a half, she turns directly into the best little auntie a girl could have, on a trajectory to sainthood. This about-face dispels any lingering concern about her behavior, or culpability, and makes the voila no surprise at all. Am I intrigued along the way? A bit. Which ain't a lot.
Second, a character study's a character study only if there's a character to study. The married sister, the lovelorn professor, the cop: these are characters. Juliette's barely a human being. She stares in silent melancholy, she makes brittle small talk, she embraces surrogate motherhood. That's a little thin. I'm not saying Ms Thomas doesn't fill the role: in a superhuman effort, she manages to turn this character into a sort of person. The problem is that Philippe Claudel did not make the same effort. He repeatedly substitutes the soulful glance for the telling moment until my patience is as irretrievable as Pierre.
Third, and this isn't the film's fault per se, why does everybody keep talking about how subtle this movie is? A movie isn't subtle just because it's in French. The viewer is beaten about the face with a single theme (isolation vs assimilation) for two hours. The only tonal difference between this and a Jerry Bruckheimer movie is volume.
Fourth, why is it that every indie hit has to have music that sounds like it was composed for an East Village yoga class?