Out of print for more than 30 years, now available for the first time as
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Little White
Lies (7/10)
by Tony Medley
Runtime 154
minutes.
OK for children
Writer/director
Guillaume Canet directed the hit film adaptation of Harlan Coben's
bestselling novel Tell No One (2006). After putting that together
he was stricken almost immediately with septicemia and depression. He
says, "Shooting and editing the movie had taken so much out of me that I
picked up the first virus going. I spent a month in the hospital. It
finally occurred to me that my whole existence couldn't begin and end
with my work. That made me realize how much I'd deceived myself over the
years about what I really wanted, and how much energy I'd devoted to my
work in order to avoid having to think about things."
The result was
this film, which appeared in France in 2010, clearly influenced by
America's The Big Chill (1983), about a group of friends
vacationing while a dear friend, Ludovic (Jean Dujardin of The Artist),
lies mortally ill in a hospital. Canet admits that the film is
autobiographical and based on his circle of friends, even down to the
gorgeous setting in Cap Ferrat, where they all hang. While there, the
group, including Marion Cotillard, François Cluzet (a Dustin Hoffman
lookalike), Gilles Lellouche, and several others interact during which
their petits mouchoirs, their "little white lies" (OK, petits
mouchoirs really means little handkerchiefs) slowly bubble to the
surface, threatening their heretofore placid existence.
Canet shot the
film with two cameras to make the actors feel as free as possible and
not to have to worry about going in and out of frame as they moved about
the set in scenes.
The movie has a
terrific sound track of old songs, but even though the film is entirely
in French, the songs are sung in English.
I'm not one to
sit idly through a movie that approaches three hours without squirming a
lot, but the acting in this is captivating. There are many moments of
humor, one actually had me laughing out loud, despite the serious
undertones. On the downside, there is a running homosexual gag that got
a bit tiresome. Worse, one of the great mistakes is to have a writer
direct his own screenplay. About the only one of whom I am aware who has
the courage to cut is Woody Allen, who valiantly tries to get his films
in at 90 minutes. Canet falls victim to the problem of apparently not
being able to cut a word he wrote. Another director could have cut an
hour off the runtime without losing much, if anything. Still, I found it
entertaining. In French.
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