Review by
Benjamin Poole
Directed by: François Ozon
Starring: Nadia Tereszkiewicz, Rebecca Marder, Isabelle Huppert, Fabrice Luchini, Dany Boon, André Dussollier
Based on the 1934 play 'Mon Crime' by Georges Berr and
Louis Verneuil, The New Ozon reconfigures the initial theatrical
proposition as a frothy mediation of #metoo tropes and dynamics, retaining
the 1930s setting of the original to tell the story of a young, female
actor who shoots a rapey film producer (with pleasing congruity, this
adaptation also has two Hollywood predecessors) following his forceful
approaches (or does she...?).
The Crime is Mine's pastiche begins early, with a swooning Hermann-esque score (courtesy
of Philippe Rombi, and one of the film's strengths), which tracks a
blonde woman from a grand house across a bridge. The Hitchcockian nudges
are so overt that the woman is even called Madeleine. Madeleine lives with
brunette (the film's colour coding of the two's hair a blunt indicator of
their dichotomy) Pauline (Rebecca Marder), in the sort of Parisian
apartment you're imagining via the evocative nature of the very words
"Parisian apartment."
Ozon emphasises the film's theatrical roots, and, along with the limited
sets and their attendant artifice, the farcical mien of
The Crime is Mine is communicated by its most strident (and
annoying) trope: doors opening and shutting, and people walking in and out
of them. Before Madeleine returns home to the apartment, we've spent time
with Pauline and the women's landlord; an oafish, insistent man who is
played for laughs as he attempts to barge through the door... just as
Pauline opens it - zut alors!
This sort of broad, highly signposted humour characterises
The Crime is Mine. Disclosure: I've never been one for farce, and don't really understand
it (the way the action never "gets" anywhere, or at least takes its
haphazard time to do so: a circumlocutory motion which just makes me feel
frustrated). But even objectively, while the comical tone of
The Crime is Mine feels like it's taking la pisse
throughout, I'm not quite sure of what. Madeleine and Pauline are situated
within a context that is defiantly patriarchal: they are dogged by a
fastidious security inspector, who soon brings the case to a judge, who
is, along with his male colleagues, convinced of Madeleine's guilt. With
Pauline providing counsel, the two endeavour to own the crime in the
ensuing court case, positioning Madeleine's riposte as a righteous
feminist reaction against male entitlement. But the slightness of it all
renders the trial, and associated action, as completely without stakes
(and also, imho, not really that amusing).
Misgivings are however vanquished by the third act presence of the
Greatest Actor in the World (her red hair forming an isosceles interaction
with the other two), essaying a silent film actress on her uppers who was
involved in the inciting incident. Following the successful trial (sorry
for spoilers, but I'm not going to not
write about Isabelle Huppert and her place in the drama) Odette
claims that it was actually she who murdered the nonce producer to death
and that our heroes have stolen her fame. From being on the receiving end
of male violence, the women now jostle for the recognition of being a
murderer. Is this satire? Wish fulfilment fantasy? The parallels with
Hollywood abusers past and ongoing are as subtle as une brique, yet the
treatment of this urgent topic is breezily cavalier (there is a sweet
scene where the two exceptionally attractive younger characters share a
bath: we see some of their bits and bobs in a sequence which can only be
described as gratuitous).
Huppert is amazing, of course. Her weapons grade charisma glowing up the
film, and, in a week where The Hollywood Reporter propositioned a bunch of
TikTokers and Instagram users as "our" new "A List," Huppert reminds
everyone what a film star is (she's mainly where the stars summarising
this review come from, too) and I love it when she's allowed to be funny.
So, I was happy enough, as I always am to watch a new
François Ozon, a superlative filmmaker who consistently surprises
and often delights. I even like the fact that
The Crime is Mine didn't tickle my particular fancy (which,
I think, is what this bubbly number sets out to do), because it proves his
idiosyncrasy: great artists should always be divisive. Alas,
The Crime is Mine wasn't for me, but maybe it will be for
you.
The Crime is Mine is in UK/ROI
cinemas from October 18th.
