Alice and Martin

In the vast sea of worthy French films, "Alice and Martin" won't make a big splash. Alexis Loret (Martin of the title), though he is undeniably a nice-looking man, can't really act. The much-hyped "elliptical" plot turns out to basically consist of an incompetently foreshadowed flashback (which admittedly retains most of its emotional power even with the foreshadowing problem). And a good portion of the dialogue does not achieve that elusive sense of natural rhythm that makes so much of French cinema so much more enjoyable than similar cinema des Etas-Unis.

But at its best, this film still embodies all our favorite French cinema virtures: an unwillingness to talk down to its audience, a sureness that if you present a good story with nice cinematography and good actors that nothing more needs to be done, a blind faith in and keen feeling for the compelling nature of the essential mysteries of humanity, and of course some really pretty chick for the camera to stare at. Here our chick is Juliette Binoche, playing Alice, and this is one beautiful woman; as she has matured, her already-magnetic face has acquired a certain all-embracing humanity which will only increase one's pleasure in looking at her, which we get to do an awful lot here.

Martin, in the best decision of his life, abandons his apathy to make a determined move on Alice, and the two eventually pair up. Unfortunately, Martin has a Terrible Secret, the nature of which Alice must elucidate as Martin slides ever-farther into madness. The Terrible Secret is probably the worst part of this film, as viewers will be able to tell what happened without needing to actually consult any of the characters. For a film whose art obscures artifice for so much of its length, this is a disappointing thing. Also, Loret mostly portrays his descent into madness by becoming increasingly truculent and unwilling to treat Binoche like a human being. This is indeed madness, but not quite the type we're looking for; Loret seems essentially inert, a directed pretty boy rather than a human suffering. In the context of the acting going on around him, Loret becomes a glaring weakness.

The direction, too, fails to ascend any great heights. Director Andre Techine keeps things moving along at a brisk pace, sometimes too quickly to allow gravitas to develop or to allow his actors to relax into a scene. One wishes for more lingering after revelations or arguments (or when Binoche looks even cuter than normal). He also allows abrupt zoom-outs to interfere in the cinematography, which is mostly very good; these zoom-outs call attention to themselves and do nothing that a simple cut couldn't do. His use of (badly performed) music sounds gauche to American ears. Except for the briskness problem, none of these little errors will kill a film, but they don't do anything for the flick either.

Still, that's pretty much all that's wrong with "Alice and Martin," and there is so much that's right. Binoche, for one, who can actually act as well as look pretty. The rest of the acting, too, exemplifies the unforced naturalness that always draws one into good French cinema. And frankly, even with the abovementioned directorial caveats and card-showing foreshadowing, "Alice and Martin" is a better-made film than most anything you'll see from America this summer, in a million little ways: the way the camera comes to rest at first haltingly and then solidly as Binoche races through a bar and takes her seat, the way certain angles on vistas recur with significance for Martin throughout the film, the effortless communication of Paris' virtues through appreciative cinematography. Ladies and gentlemen, "Alice and Martin" may not be perfect cinema, but it sure is French, and that makes it damn refreshing fare during the summer that brought us "Bless the Child" and "Battlefield Earth."

ENDLESS MARGINAL EFFLUVIA RETURNS — OR DID IT EVER LEAVE?

1) I renew my objections to having to watch this film in the Cineplex Odious Janus, which has pillars, and seats so flimsy that my seat rocked back and forth every time the brain-dead spastic in back of me decided to rest his knees on the row of chairs in front of him. How said brain-dead spastic got such a hot date I'll never know, but hopefully his inane answers to her inane questions ("What the [Steve Harvey's favorite expletive]?" she asked after a particularly poignant moment) don't have anything to do with it.

2) While this movie may not be the best ever, it did have the best previews:

• Something called "Sleeping Tiger, Hidden Dragon" or "Dozing Cheetah, Secret Dragon" or "Ruff Ryders Featuring Drag-On" directed by Ang Lee, who after "Ride with the Devil" seems to really want to be an action director, God help us. Still, look at the cast: Chow Yun-fat and Michelle Yeoh. Hella better than Tobey Maguire, and it means that I will get to feed my Michelle Yeoh crush some more.
• Speaking of Lindemann's crushes on foreign movie stars, the new Penelope Cruz movie looks good. Called "Woman on Top," it appears to consist of Cruz wandering around and having her body admired by numerous slack-jawed New Yorkers while she asserts her independence or something like that. I will be able to identify with the slack-jawed people, no doubt. There may also be a plot of some kind. Frankly, I don't care. [But I never saw it! What's wrong with me? I guess the bloom was off the rose after Cruise met Cruz.]

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