Here they are again. Old they have become, and what concerns him, quite bold. They were married once, then it fell apart, the usual. Probably they had never seen each other, if not her son had written a letter before his suicide, in which they were both summoned to the Death Valley, to a meeting from which they do not know what it is supposed to be good.
The child of an injured revenge? An attempt of reconciliation? Who knows what people going through the head before they commit suicide.
What good actors from semi good actions make
So oppressive is the initial constellation in “Valley of Love” , a film by the French director Guillaume Nicloux. It is not a story for the ages, because they are a little too much drift into the esoteric. But who the cinema loves, should watch the movie necessarily, if only because it has a remembered how magical it is what can make good actors from a half good action.
The couple is namely played by Gérard Depardieu and Isabelle Huppert, and it always takes a few micro-gestures, a weary sigh, a slow grunt, an annoyed eyebrow raising, so you can learn all about the burn-out of a love that must have once been a home.
The two have previously played each other twice already, last more than thirty years ago, in” The Loulou “, one to kneel down big and scary anarchic film directed by Maurice Pialat, the saw, unfortunately, far too few people. Huppert was then 27 and Depardieu 32.
Together, they were a couple that broke out from the solid world of commoners, because it was the dreary conversations and harmless Views not endured. Dear they passed through crash pubs and drank himself senseless, and when Depardieu, whose body at that time had not only force but also force fucked with Huppert, wanted to really like to also have such a sex, where everything although very einverständig yet gedankenauslöschend was raw.
In “Valley of Love” they’re done with all that. There is an uneasy presence and certainly no future, two people who barely have much behind and something to himself. But if Depardieu his paw laying on Huppert dainty shoulder, the consolation attempt a stranger who had no time, you will experience one of those seconds that you go to the movies; it’s a misconception that movies would be more than these few moments that make one to the heart and you never forget again.
embarrassments and magnificence
It is about two hundredth film in which the now 67-year-old Depardieu has participated, including those embarrassments as financed by the Fifa concoction “United Passions”, which the “Guardian” with polite understatement “a cinematic excrement” called. Depardieu Cyrano de Bergerac, the Count of Monte Cristo, Rodin, Balzac, Danton and Rasputin has played in “Going Places” a roamer, the poking his buddy in the ass and thinks that it would be rude not to push him, and in “the last woman” an engineer who “koitiert the rhythm of a jackhammer and the weggetretenen expression of football fans”, as it was said in a meeting in the “mirror”.
He has given so recognizable in Abel Ferrara “Welcome to New York” Dominique Strauss-Kahn, that would sue him. He has turned into broken fathers, Mad Butcher, tender lover and an Obelix, who was even thicker and more clumsy than the original. Currently, he turns the way a feature film, in which he plays Josef Stalin.
In short, he has in the cinema so flagrantly exalted that now each individual target group has its own Depardieu, and if one can be misled by this circumstance to the thought that he probably does it for money with anyone who reserves to right: A prostitute was Depardieu already, both in the cinema as well as in his youth. However,
The biggest film in which he is not always mentally present, a major role has is his own life – the life of a man, of which one never know if he plays out his charm or his Arschlochhaftigkeit in the next second. He can Juliette Binoche offend public as completely untalented or publicly apologize to Sophie Marceau for the way he has behaved decades earlier during filming.
Putin’s useful idiot finds
He can touchingly care of actresses who have mental problems, and he to be photographed anything going with obscure dictators like Alexander Lukashenko (Belarus) and Ramzan Kadyrov (Chechnya) or can be made from Vladimir Putin to useful idiots.
What Depardieu has organized in recent years – the adoption of Russian citizenship, a drunken scooter accident, television advertising for Russian fitted kitchens, press conferences in which he announced the best food in the world you would find in” Chechnya, India and the UK “the abuse of François Hollande as” Bolshevik at the Elysée “and so much more – is so colossally crossed, that one wonders whether the man might pervades a secret long-term performance project in which it comes out how the global media world of the 21st century is ticking.
would have the format and the expertise to He: Depardieu has worked with directors such as Marguerite Duras and Alain Resnais, participated in plays of Nathalie Sarraute at the theater and sat with Lacan in psychoanalysis (three sessions only, but still), what journalists and politicians with their half-education mostly do not know.
However, every time when its zig-zag course concedes a deeper intention that he would unveil sometime already, falls one again something one, which makes it impossible to appoint him a hero. As he and Sepp Blatter their winning thumbs stretched in Zurich for the cameras! As he made fun of the conditions of detention of Pussy Riot! As he could not restrain himself on the plane to Dublin and strullte before a stewardess in a bottle! If everything goes not!
Who’s Depardieu, he knows that himself?
Should not at least the people which act in public, be reasonably consistent? But one has a right to be able to classify them. But who or what is Depardieu, he knows probably not even himself. He says in interviews that Corneille had the much larger vocabulary than Racine, revered Thomas Bernhard, has it even ever tried for two years with Islam, 1965, according to his arrival in Paris.
What it certainly does not prevent it, today to praise Israel for how well the Ethiopian immigrants have integrated. However, it may well be that it is this statement once again negotiated a courtesy to his hosts as he the happy faces of Belarusian farmers praises when he is in the area.
The only thing you can rely halfway still with him, are his enmities. They are, since he <"teKino" / span class => did not get for his brilliant performance in “Cyrano de Bergerac” the Oscar, the Americans – people who for two hundred years just to kill “and are not willing to move away from their weapons to separate”. And, wanted cash millionaire tax since the French State by him and the then incumbent Prime Minister Jean-Marc Ayrault publicly insulted him as a “shabby”, his homeland.
First, he found only the elites unbearable now disgusts him to the whole country. As a “Valley of Love” was performed last year at the film festival of Cannes, he let it be known for as gone to the dogs he keeps this institution of French cultural life immediately: “In the past Cannes was not as in our mediocre era, from the in a hundred years no one will talk more. At the time, the TV was not there, the yachts, the wrong parties, the bad drugs and the rule of sponsors. These stupidities make me so tired. “
Freedom is demanding, freedom is a mess
The grotesque thing about it is how French Depardieu insults his home. Anyone who has ever been in la France profonde in a cafe at the bar and a little listened to, who knows that the people are all like it: dauerempört, theatrical, comical Wutbürger that in a moment overthrow fantasies have and be sentimental in the next.
So what is the great and the unbearable to Depardieu? Presumably, that he is a free man. And he issued a lessons about how freedom actually looks beyond President speeches and university undergraduate seminars. It is a chaos that sometimes no longer even understood makes them lonely, it has its bright and very dark moments, she is sometimes endure only with a lot of alcohol, and sometimes she behaves like an asshole. No wonder so few decide for them.
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