Tag Archives: french

Legendary detective Mike Hammer has spent seven years in an alcoholic funk after the supposed death of his secretary, Velda. He is brought back to the land of the living by his old friendly enemy, police lieutenant Pat Chambers.
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Louise Traon never films Manoel De Oliveira directly. Instead, she chooses to avoid him, skirt round him, skim past him and keep her distance, yet all the while drawing close to the art of cinema itself, homing in on its very essence. Her film tells the story of a girl who grew up with the images of an old gentleman, and who now wants to show her own images. This touching self-portrait gives insight into a man who appears to have lived many lives, showing his work through a remarkable link with time.
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A man has everything: dozens of servants, a palace, vast woods, gardens, a lake, mechanical toys, private entertainment troupes of musicians and dancers. He has it all – but love. When alone, he sits at a desk, sighing, and looking at a photograph of a pretty girl. One day, the circus descended onto his palace, and amidst all the fun it brought, he recognized the Amazon on the white horse – the girl in the photograph. The girl is now the mother of a small boy, Yo-Yo, whom she considers that looks like the millionaire, even under a clown’s make-up. The boy will spend some time in the palace, in awe of so much riches, but he will leave (in a dream-like scene) on the tusks of the elephant. Time passes – and one day Yo-Yo will be the owner of his father’s palace in decay. Starting from scratch, he will rebuilt it, and be praised as a great clown, an artist, a film-maker, a millionaire.
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August in Brittany at a seaside hotel. Some guests are new, some come every year and are friends. The men nearing middle age fish and plan infidelities; their wives have surprises of their own in store. Teens fall in and out of love. Kids not yet teens have their own parties and friendships. In 11 months, most but not all will be back.
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On the one hand you have Judith Zahn, an arrogant, snobbish, bitchy Parisian editor. On the other hand meet Julien Demarsay: an insecure, timid, young bookseller from the East of France who has just written his first autobiographic novel, with what it takes of navel-contemplating and soul-searching. What do they have in common? Nothing much, except that sex will unite them, ambition part them before true love is born between them at last.
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In this sly comedy, six of the world’s worst gangsters managed to heist $2 million, but only one got away. Now after four years in the clink, five bumbling thieves from Montreal are forced to walk the famous Camino pilgrimage in Spain to prove they’ve changed their ways and deserve their cut of the loot.
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‘Three hundred men’ is one long night at Saint Jean de Dieu, in Marseille. The center welcomes and confines three hundred homeless men every night over the winter. This documentary is neither the description nor the chronicle of the life of a shelter. It portrays humanity reduced to its essence, when only remain speech, humor, anger or madness to affirm that one still exists.’
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Hello, my name is Anna and I am nine years old. I wish you had known me before – I mean before my aunt Marga and my cousin Pilar came to my parents’house -, I was such a happy little girl. Before their coming life was a bed of roses. Of course my little brother could be a pain in the neck – little brothers always are, aren’t they? – but there was that wonderful big house, there was my Cuban-born nanny who cooked so well, there was the bath before dinner, not to mention this wonderful catechism class at the catholic school. But they did come, those Spanish intruders. And now never heard before names like “Franco”, “Allende”, “Women’s Lib”, “abortion”, the lot, have got into my life. Daddy and Mummy have suddenly become “communists”, although this a term that Bon Papa and Bonne Maman (my grandparents from Bordeaux, in fact) just hate. Because of the intruders not only did we move to a tiny apartment but the place is invaded day and night by “barbudos” (bearded men). No more bath before …
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My films are like that: in a room, but looking out onto an open sky. I can’t really say it except to repeat that Bresson note, ‘that without a thing changing, everything is different.’ The film exists. The fiction is set up, and we believe in it. The justness of the agreement leads us to believe it, because everything plays equally at being a sign.
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The story of the Swiss soldier, Henri Dunant (Jean-Louis Barrault), who was responsible for the founding of the Red Cross, and who was offered the first Nobel Peace Prize.
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