|
At the Movies
Look at me
Agnès
Jaoui
says
that
“when
I
write,
it’s
already
musical.
It’s
instinctive:
you
have
to
find
the
right
words,
like
expressions
that
suit
you.
Story-telling
and
music
share
a
sense
of
rhythm.”
This
tells
us
something
interesting
about
the
director’s
creative
processes
when
writing,
but
a
whole
lot
more
than
a
sense
of
rhythm
is
needed
to
explain
the
tremendous
lift
the
music
gives
her
story.
It’s
a
commonplace
that
modern
society
lives
off
the
moral
capital
of
the
Christian
era;
in
Look
at
Me
both
the
moral
and
cultural
capital
of
our
religious
past
are
used—the
music
of
Haydn
and
Monteverdi
redeeming
the
ignoble
world
portrayed.
Here
Jaoui
seems
to
have
drawn
on
personal
experience:
an
interview
describes
the
effect
choral
singing
had
on
her
own
life.
She
had
been
unhappy
doing
drama
classes.
Then,
she
says,
“I
felt
an
incredible
emotion
listening
to
the
magnificent
sound
coming
from
a
Japanese
choir.
I
fell
into
a
universe
where
there
was
a
sense
of
injustice,
but
time
and
work
soothes
that.”
* * *
In
the
universe
of
Jaoui’s
film
the
hurt
and
injustice
is
felt
by
a
tiresomely
glum
young
woman
who
is
overweight
and
underappreciated;
but
with
the
soothing
effect
of
time
and
work
and
vocal
achievement
Lolita
gradually
builds
self-esteem.
It’s
a
battle:
each
day
brings
a
hundred
defeats
and
humiliations—from
a
sarcastic
father
who
refuses
to
notice
her;
from
a
boyfriend
who
uses
her
to
get
to
her
father;
from
a
singing
teacher
whose
motives
are
similar;
from
the
slim
and
radiant
Scandinavian
her
father
collects
as
a
second
wife;
from
every
aspect
of
her
affectionless
life
at
home.
The
comic
performances
are
flawless;
that
of
Jean-Pierre
Bacri
the
most
flawless
of
all.
Music
is
employed
powerfully
throughout,
but
how
does
it
have
a
moral
effect?
These
are
all
people
who
have
never
had
a
thought
for
anyone
but
themselves.
Everywhere
a
destructive
male
self-absorption
is
pushing
each
relationship
to
breaking
point,
and
nothing
whatever
lies
beyond.
The
story
of
an
overweight
girl
and
an
outcast
Algerian
could
have
been
sentimental
tripe.
A
story
about
bitchy
intellectuals
might
have
provided
little
more
than
cynical
guffaws.
But
add
Haydn
and
you
have
nobility.
Add
Monteverdi
and
you
have
a
touch
of
the
sublime.
Build
a
tale
of
collective
choral
endeavor
in
the
cause
of
art—and
meaning
has
been
added
to
meaningless
lives.
Nor
are
these
mere
additions:
the
contribution
of
Haydn
and
Monteverdi
is
more
organically
a
part
of
the
film
than
in
the
average
musical,
and
when
the
climactic
concert
takes
place
in
a
provincial
church
this
transforms
the
drama,
providing
a
perspective
from
another
era
when
nobler
aspirations
counted.
It
even
results
in
a
form
of
comic
irony;
for
who,
listening
to
such
glorious
sound,
can
take
seriously
the
squalor
and
pettiness
of
the
literary
lives
portrayed?
* * *
With
soft
lighting
and
loaded
bookcases
and
paintings
and
rugs
the
country
houses
speak
of
security
and
cultivated
taste.
There
are
echoes
of
Eric
Rohmer’s
films,
along
with
the
sensibility;
but
as
in
Rohmer
there
is
also
a
pervasive
Chekhovian
discontent,
the
poignancy
of
unrequited
yearnings
for
other
friendships,
other
loves,
and
other
lives.
The
dialogue
is
hilariously
acute.
At
Cannes
Look
at
Me
(Comme
une
Image)
won
the
Best
Screenplay
Award.
“It’s
a
prize
that
suits
us
perfectly”,
said
Jaoui,
“because
for
us
the
screenplay
is
what’s
most
important
in
a
film…
On
the
set,
nothing
was
improvised.”
It’s
been
a
long
time
since
I
saw
anything
so
meticulous,
so
subtle,
so
carefully
modulated
and
paced.
Sentimental
delicacy
is
combined
with
humorous
finesse.
All
this
would
be
enough
in
itself.
That
some
of
our
finest
music
should
be
allowed
to
take
charge
of
the
drama,
raising
it
to
another
plane,
makes
it
a
special
experience.
Hugely
enjoyable.
Ten
out
of
ten.
April 2005
|
