steven.vu

Weekly Media – L’Appartement

Following BT’€™s very successful narcissism-themed review, I had every intention to emulate (shamelessly rip-off) the concept. However, for reasons I cannot explain, the only theme I could think of was that of ‘€œMacaulay Culkin: the Wilderness Years’€?. Unfortunately, since his mid-nineties disappearance into obscurity, Macaulay’€™s career seems to have struggled to regain the momentum it once had: his filmography as an adult performer amounting to the paltry sum of two films as a result. Perhaps when Macaulay finishes defending the man who allegedly did not molest him and completes another, that themed review shall materialise. Until that day arrives, however, you’€™ll have to make do with my thoughts on the French romantic thriller L’€™Appartement and its Hollywood remake:

L’€™Appartement (1996- French with subtitles)

Though Gilles Mimouni’€™s film features a severely fragmented narrative reminiscent of a certain release only two years earlier, it is immediately more comparable to Hitchcock’€™s haunting Vertigo than to Tarantino’€™s violent masterpiece. Across a plot which appears to purposefully rebel against the notion of linearity, Max, a successful businessman, becomes embroiled in a suspicious murder, a case of mistaken identity and different relationships with equally beautiful and aloof French women.

Switching between elegantly cluttered Parisian apartments, the aforementioned ladies and most confusingly, time frames, the pace of L’€™Appartement is heady. Constant twists threaten to convolute the action but the perfect construction of the precisely synchronised plot rattles L’€™Appartement along to its tragically ironic and subtle climax quite satisfyingly enough.

It’€™s all extremely French: wardrobe, settings and dialogue are without exception sickeningly chic. Beautiful cinematography is coupled with some thoughtful and subtle performances: Vincent Cassel’€™s Max is inscrutable and somewhat shifty, but is somehow still sympathetic. Romane Bohringer plays the character of Alice with such laudable understatement that it is often difficult to tell whether or not she is semi-psychotic and on the verge of a major breakdown (upon a second viewing, she most definitely is). Monica Bellucci, most recently seen prostituting her considerable talent in Spike Lee’€™s diabolical She Hate Me and more literally in the controversial The Passion of the Christ, is hypnotic. A small smile which plays teasingly around her lips at one point in the film speaks louder than hours of Hollywood spiel.

L’€™Appartement teases, grips and confuses in equal measure. It is simply an astonishing film. If you know me, get me to lend it to you. If you don’€™t, take yourself down to the video shop- it’€™s entirely worth it.

Wicker Park (2005)

I write under the assumption that Spieloff attracts a readership that is reasonably like-minded with its pretentious creator. A scathing attack upon a soulless, pointless, americanised remake of an exquisite French film may therefore prove to be an exercise in preaching to the converted. However, Paul McGuigan’€™s attempt to introduce L’€™Appartement, in the guise of Wicker Park, to audiences unwilling to read a few subtitles leaves me with little other choice.

Relocated to Chicago and repopulated with younger actors, Wicker Park is simultaneously a rather shitty teen movie and a half-hearted Fatal Attraction-style psychological thriller. Out of the able hands of Mimourni, the same time-jumping plot remains intact but now seems contrived and riddled with plot holes; very possibly due to the fact that all of the subtlety and ambiguity that pervaded the original has been violently eradicated. Small visual clues have been shunted aside in favour of dramatic revelations (‘€œOh my God! She’€™s a psychotic stalker!’€?) which patronisingly spell out exactly what is happening onscreen.

The formerly stellar cast have been replaced with bargain-bin cast-offs: Max is now the younger, less sophisticated Matthew and is played by the pretty but ever-wooden Josh Hartnett. Lisa, (formerly Monica Bellucci) has undergone a transformation from doe-eyed, elegant beauty to Diane Kruger, (Troy, National Treasure) who is nice-looking enough but is inexplicably unsexy. If there was any doubt as to whether the character of Alice was psychotic before, Rose Byrne’€™s frantic performance dispels any uncertainty: In Wicker Park, she is made to run around, tears streaming down her cheeks, spouting sure-fire stalker lines such as, ‘€œI was watching you sleep!’€? in a sinister manner. The appalling, utterly obnoxious Matthew Lillard (Scooby Doo and more memorably, that unintentionally hilarious abortion film wherein he gets to shoot Cher) completes this inept bunch.

I rarely see the point of remakes: to me, they epitomise the criminal lack of creativity that unfortunately exists in the movie industry. However, to dismiss Wicker Park as being totally devoid of merit would be grossly unfair: surely I should have some appreciation for a film that succeeds in making the sublime L’€™Appartement seem even better than I thought before.