Mathieu Amalric retrospective! This fine and surprisingly versatile French actor gets his day in the New York sun -- at FIAF and AFA

It's no secret that the silver screen can make ordinary men look ten feet tall. This seems particularly true in the case of petit Frenchman Mathieu Amalric, whose work TrustMovies has been following for nearly 25 years now and which is currently receiving a well-earned retrospective at both the French Institute/ Alliance Française (FIAF) and Anthology Film Archives (AFA). This actor, who, over the years, has expanded into the roles of writer, director, producer (and even once as cinematographer), takes versatility to new levels. Possessed of a face and body that can appear rather elfin and often quite cute, the actor has managed to essay roles as diverse as killers, lovers, comics, crazies, the works. He's even played, in Quantum of Solace, a memorable James Bond villain.

While the current retrospectives don't come near accounting for his (according to the IMDB) 106 credits, they do give us quite a varied taste of his work as actor, writer and director. Amalric, who turned 50 years old just last month, has amassed quite a resume over the decades, and it should prove a pleasure for New Yorkers to partake of his multi-faceted work over the coming month (or, in the case of FIAF, two).

You can find the FIAF schedule here, which includes a theatrical project Amalric is performing in New York, as well as a number of his films which will be on view during FIAF's popilar CinéSalon showings during November and December.

The AFA schedule, which began last week (apologies for a tardy posting!) can be found here. So head out to either or both of these venues to revel in the work of this unique and consistently surprising Renaissance Man.

Streaming tip: Roman Polanski's film of David Ives' (via Sacher-Masoch) play VENUS IN FUR

Overlays aplenty figure in the filmed version of VENUS IN FUR, from the theatrical play by David Ives (itself based on the work of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, though I'm not certain Leopold ever wrote anything quite this disarmingly funny). First, the film has been adapted, with the help of Mr. Ives, by that notorious director, lecher, ever-present prison-dodger, and quite a talent, Roman Polanski (shown below). Second, it stars his wife of long-standing, Emmanuelle Seigner opposite the French actor, Mathieu Amalric, who looks awfully like Polanski did in his earlier years. So on one level, watching this movie is like watching a director put his wife through some sexual paces with a man who clearly resembles his younger self. Wow. Or maybe ouch.

Not having seen the legitimate theater version (though literally everyone I know who saw either the Broadway or original off-Broadway mounting loved it), I can only say that seeing this relatively short, 95-minute movie was a lot of fun -- as much for those overlays mentioned above, as for the witty, game-playing script that Ives has delivered and the terrific performances from Seigner (below) and Amalric (further below). This is Polanski's second attempt in two years to bring to the screen a popular theater piece, and it is a pleasure to report that he succeeds here every bit as completely as he failed with his earlier transfer, Carnage (based on Yazmina Reza's play, The God of Carnage).

I also must take back my earlier comment that the director should be let nowhere near comedy, as Polanski proves himself quite adept at the light touch required to bring Ives work's to the right life. Venus in Fur is nothing if not a lot of fun.

Whoever was in charge of set and location has come up with a simply ravishing little dilapidated theatre in which to film (below). Every nook and cranny seem to be filled with history, lechery, fun and frolic -- not to mention probably every great classic ever staged. You can practically smell the dank but pleasurable aroma of the place as you watch.

The story is that of what looks like a slightly over-the-hill and down-on-her-luck actress (Seigner), arriving terribly late for an audition with the play's writer and maybe director (Amalric). The latter doesn't want to even give the former a chance, and so she begs, lies, and cajoles him into at least a few moment of stage time.

Initially Vanda (the actress appears to have the same name as the character for which she is auditioning) seems a not-too-smart cookie with a lot of sex appeal. Soon, however, we're sure that she's the smartest person in the room, if not in the whole of Paris.

Watching Seigner and Amalric parry and feint, gain and then lose the upper hand is wonderful fun. The two play together like the by-now old pros that they are: French acting royalty of a newer sort than, say, Michèle Morgan and Jean Gabin.

If things begin to run down just a tad in the film's final half hour, I don't think you'll grouse much. Performances, direction and writing are of such a high order and so perfectly conjoined that this is one of those rare movies in which you suspect that the actors and crew had as much fun as will the audience who's about to watch.

Venus in Fur -- released here in the USA via Sundance Selects and running 95 minutes -- can be seen now via Netflix streaming and elsewhere digitally. It's also available on DVD.

Mathieu Amalric tries his hand at Georges Simenon in a cold 'n clammy THE BLUE ROOM

I'm only luke-warm to THE BLUE ROOM, which surprises me, considering how much I've enjoyed the work of Mathieu Amalric, especially as an actor (he both stars in and directs this movie) and also as a filmmaker (Le Stad de Wimbledon, The Screen Illusion). Not having read the novel by Georges Simenon on which the film is based, I'm going only via what I viewed on screen. This is, pretty much, a nicely formal, old-fashioned (right down to the size of the screen: 1.33:1), traditional (despite the nudity, including some full-frontal from both sexes), psychological murder-mystery non-thriller (Amalric appears to have deliberately drained away any possibilities of actual suspense, chills or thrills).

This last assessment is not necessarily a negative, for the director/actor (shown at right) seems intent on putting character (within the framework of the society at large) ahead of all the standard stuff we seem to want from our mysteries. But what we get from our characters, every last one of them, is gloomy and morose. These people are about as glum as characters come. Granted Amalric/Simenon may be indicting a society or class. But, really: If anything remotely pleasant happens here, you can be sure it will soon come back to bite you and the character in the ass.

The story is simplicity itself: a married man (Amalric, above, right) has an affair with a married woman (Stéphanie Cléau, above, left), which neither cuckolded spouse (Léa Drucker, below, plays the wronged wife) seems to know about (though both may suspect). Death, maybe murder, ensues, and the illusion of justice must be served -- even if justice itself may or may not have been done.

For all the attention to character on display, in the end we don't really learn that much about anyone -- except that these are very unhappy people. Style-wise, the movie is mostly a pleasure to view. Color (or often the lack of it) plays its part; both interior and exterior shots are well composed and lighted (cinematography, by Christophe Beaucarne, is top-notch); and the performances are all that the adaptation (by Amalric and Ms Cléau) allows.

Amalric and Cléau prove darkly passionate lovers (with love scenes,above and below, to match) in a relationship that seems to hark back more to school days than present-day, while the wonderful Ms Drucker (so fabulous in the under-seen The Man of My Life) does what she can with a role that's not allowed to budge.

Although the movie runs only 75 minutes, it seems rather longer, due to the low-key, unchanging, enervating atmosphere it conjures. Don't get me wrong: Amalric proves an extremely economical filmmaker in many ways, so this is an accomplishment of sorts. And some will find the movie exactly to their taste, I suspect. But what passes for subtlety in certain circles can look pretty heavy-handed to others of us.

The Blue Room, from Sundance Selects via IFC Films, opens theatrically today, Friday, October 3 -- for Yom Kippur! -- in New York City at the IFC Center and Lincoln Plaza Cinema and in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Royal. (The following Friday, October 10, it will open at Laemmle's Playhouse 7 and Town Center 5.)

Rendez-vous: the Mathieus (Amalric and Demy) offer THE SCREEN ILLUSION (Corneille!) and AMERICANO (corny)

Are you versed in Corneille? Me neither. We probably know a lot of Molière (and a little Marivaux) but this classic French writer most likely escapes us less French-literate Americans. (I thought he wrote Phèdre; turns out I'm mixing him up with Racine.) Never mind. If you see the zesty new film from Mathieu Amalric -- THE SCREEN ILLUSION, based on Corneille's L'Illusion comique -- you will at least have a good taste of the guy and his work. That is because Amalric, best-known as an actor (he has 77 titles to his credit since 1985), has kept much of Corneille's dialog intact (it was written in 1636). That dialog has then been translated into some excellent English subtitles. Otherwise, the filmmaker (this is his fifth full-length film since 1997) sets his tale in present-day France, using everything from the current "high technology" of computer surveillance to hot, after-hours clubs and chic hotels.

The tale tells of a father, estranged from his son, who hires a third party to trace the young man (quite a performance from Comédie-Française actor Loïc Corbery, above, as the son) and report on his doings. Those doings appear alternately dastardly and delightful, but then, there are surprises aplenty in store. Hearing this 17th Century dialog set against up-to-the-minute visuals takes only a few lines to get used to, and Amalric keeps things zipping along in fine style, while his cast -- including the always interesting Denis Podalydès as a delusional nutcase -- is first-rate. How Amalric takes the original story and dialog, mashes them it into today's sullied life-style and makes them work, via choice after choice that resound remarkably well, is something to see. I am sure he must have cut down the original source by, what, half or more? And his movie -- made for French TV (can you, in your wildest dreams, imagine something like this on American TV?) -- lasts only 77 minutes. But it's time well-spent: equally enjoyable and educational. More, please. The Screen Illusion screens Sunday, March 4, at 6:15 pm at the Walter Reade; Sunday, March 4, at 9pm at BAM; Monday, March 5, at 8 pm at IFC Center and Tuesday, March 6, at 4pm, again at the Walter Reade. M. Amalric will appear in person at the first three of the four screenings.

*************

What happens to French filmmakers when they come to Southern California (and then, god help them, head for Mexico)? I ask because I have noted some very good movie-makers like Jacques Demy (with his Model Shop), Erick Zonca (with Julia) and now Demy's own son, Mathieu Demy, fall prey to --what is it? -- the come-to-LA-LA-land-and-lose-your-marbles syndrome. Then move on to Mexico and go completely bonkers (Demy père managed to stay in L.A., as I recall). Truth to tell, this is Demy fils' first full-length film as writer and director, and I am more familiar with this fellow via his often excellent acting. Most recently he's been seen here as the dad in the fine movie Tomboy and on VOD in the very interes-ting, student-as-prostitute tale Student Services (Mes chères études). So, what to make of his film-making debut? Whew. Of the 17 films I'm seen so far, AMERICANO is the stinker of the bunch.

The movie begins with Mr. Demy's character cuming (yes, he's having sex) and it ends with him on the phone to his girlfriend (the highly wasted Chiara Mastroianni, and I mean the role, not the actress) telling her, "I'm coming" (meaning he's returning to France). I don't know that the joke is intentional, but I would dearly like to think so, for it is just about the the only amusement the movie provides. Otherwise, this tale of a repressed man named Martin (played by the consistently sad-eyed Demy, above, right, and below, right), who comes to L.A. to pack up his recently deceased but long estranged mother's belongings, is a bogus, pretentious fiasco. After spending a few minutes with Martin, I found the man so ridiculous, so willfully stupid that I just wanted to slap him silly. This seems to be the feeling of many of the other characters in the film, too. In fact, Martin gets slapped, beaten and knocked about so much (and so deliberately on his character's part) that you begin to wonder if Demy isn't going after the torture-me-some-more mantle of Mel Gibson.

Also involved in this mess are good actors like Salma Hayek (above, left: a mystery girl who turns sentimental and has a surprise connection to another character we've seen), Geraldine Chaplin (a one-note cliche who, at least, gets to slap Demy) and Carlos Bardem (two photos up, at left, as the Hayek character's pimp/protector, who really gives Martin a pummeling -- or ten). None of these actors can begin to latch on to anything approaching a real character, thanks to the pre-determined whims of the very poor screenplay (Demy again). I don't know what to think. The wisest, kindest thing might be to proclaim happiness that the filmmaker has now gotten Americano out of his system and can move on to, well, just about anything else. The movie screened yesterday at the Walter Reade and will show again today, March 4, at 6:45 at IFC Center and again Tuesday, March 6, at 7:30 at BAM.  M. Demy will be making a personal appearance at all screenings. And if you miss at at Rendez-vous, his movie has been picked up for U.S. distribution by MPI Media Group.