Rather than show an even-handed evaluation of the rigors of hormonal change, Breillat (previously responsible for the unwatchable Romance) wants to indulge in her hour of hate. Life is pain, highness. Get used to it. She'd find keen bedfellows in Neil LaBute and Todd Solondz, other sultans of misanthropy who lack the balls to be earnest or honest. For children, dealing with trauma and pain is complicated. To bury that in sarcasm and academic theory feels cheap. These would-be auteurs (more like hauteurs) haven't earned the right to display suffering because they don't layer it in emotional truth (as Mike Leigh does throughout Naked and David Lynch in several key scenes of Blue Velvet). Of course, there I go again comparing her to all these (better) male directors. I don't care. Gender be damned, she's borderline inept.
Continue reading: Fat Girl Review
It's time for tormented French writer-director Catherine Breillat to spring for a therapist and stop inflicting her rape fantasies and sexual self-esteem issues on the movie-going public.
Two years ago she directed "Romance," a pretentious art-porn flick about the debasing downward spiral of a woman so neglected by her boyfriend that she tries to distance intercourse from emotion in a vulgar string of carnal liaisons. Conceptually fascinating, the film was effectively pointless because the main character has no journey -- she's just as screwed up at the end of the picture as she was at the beginning.
In her new film "Fat Girl (Á ma soeur!)," Breillat applies the same raw, dark, psychosexual themes to adolescent yearnings, exploring the psyches and bodies of two teenage sisters -- one gorgeous and sensual, the other overweight and introverted.
Continue reading: Fat Girl (Á Ma Soeur!) Review
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