Passages

"Passages" is a master class in building a film around an unlikable character.

Franz Rogowski gives a commanding performance full of charisma and sex appeal as a sexually fluid narcissist who can't stand to let anyone around him be happy without him (or even really with him, for that matter). Viewed with a live audience, the movie becomes almost something of a comedy, and it was a hoot hearing the people in the theater with me reacting with more and more vocal disbelief at just what a jerk this main character could be. It's a morbidly fascinating character study -- it's almost like watching a day in the life of a sociopath.

I should have been exasperated with this character and movie and probably would have been if it had been handled differently. But as is, with Ira Sachs's excellent direction and the film's terrific acting, it's instead one of the best movies I've seen so far this year.

Grade: A.

German film director Tomas (Franz Rogowski) and his British commercial artist husband Martin (Ben Whishaw) have been together for 15 years ...quite an achievement, I'd say, given just how immature, capricious and utterly self-obsessed Tomas routinely shows himself to be. Pretty much the only glue holding them together appears to be the fact that, whatever else may have gone stale between them, the sex is still good.

Although the script never explicitly mentions it, it would appear that theirs is an exclusive marriage: i.e. There are no intimations given to suggest that it's an open relationship, in which permission to "play away" has been agreed - so when, out of the blue, Tomas finds himself intensely attracted to a 20-something female schoolteacher called Agathe - an attraction he pursues with typically impulsive selfishness and no regard for anybody's feelings but his own - the impact on Martin (and, in due course, Agathe) is just as seismic as you'd expect.

Essentially what we have here is a portrait of a narcissist, in thrall to his own impulses, manipulative and duplicitous when it suits his purpose, and incapable of facing up to the consequences of his actions. Tomas is a study in arrested development: emotionally he's barely more than a toddler - a little boy who, on seeing a shiny new toy, must have it, and cannot understand why everybody else can't just go with his flow and let him have his way.

It's a tough challenge to play an unlikeable character and still keep your audience invested in them, but Rogowski pulls it off superbly, showing us that Tomas is as much a victim of his destructive personality traits as is everyone else who falls foul of them. As much as I despised Tomas's behaviour, I couldn't help but find myself feeling sympathy for his damaged soul. In that final night-time bike ride through Paris - having lost, by his own actions, everything of genuine value - he is truly heading nowhere.

Addendum: In the course of this movie I learned a frankly jaw-dropping, thing - that, in the 21st century, French schools have appallingly lax security: apparently any random stranger can get on the premises and barge into a classroom!

As you see from the trailer a gay man in a gay marriage has sex with a woman. Don't think you'll find out why. You won't. His gay husband is OK with that. Don't know why. He just seems to sleep with one or the other as he pleases and nobody seems to object. There is almost no pressure on him to choose between them so don't expect any drama. I'm not telling you the ending but it's as calm as the rest of the film. Is he in love with either of them? Don't know. So I am giving it a 6. It's not bad but it doesn't go anywhere and doesn't answer any questions about the characters. Given the potential material it's very disappointing.

This movie's faint appeal as a post-modern take on a love triangle seems exhausted by the implausible image, featured in many promotional cards, of Franz Rogowski's sneering Tomas jazz-snuggling up to Adèle Exarchopoulos' Agathe on a dance floor. Tantalizing, but no, the film does not explain how this pair makes any chemical, emotional, or even symbolic sense. Franz Rogowski has a convincing restraint and charisma as an outsider in films like "In den Gängen" or "Transit," but here, cast in a sexual melodrama (between characters Tomas, Martin, and Agathe) as a self-obsessed bourgeois, he acts as if he were a guy who manages a cable company by day and was hired for this film because of his eyebrows. That said, Rogowski has little in the script to work with: why any character should care about this selfish oaf is head-ache-making opaque. The script tempts Rogowski into an egotistical flatness, his voice a monotonous whine, whose musical equivalent is a beginner's huffing atonally on a saxophone, alone. The character knows no boundaries. Part demon-child, part mindless fungus, he one minute halts ordinary conversations imperiously and the next shows up uninvited (opening doors himself), babbling needy demands in somebody's dwelling or workplace. Aiming for the top edge of the goal, the filmmakers instead deliver Tomas as a kind of compound of all the silly-shirt, night-scene poseurs in the history of Saturday Night Live, going back to Dan Ackroyd's "wild and crazy guy," Bill Hader's Stefon, and the Roxbury Guys of Ferrell and Kattan. However, Tomas's nylon tank and midriff-baring macrame-top collection beats all of these SNL figures in a race to "ridiculous." We are supposed to believe that a woman, played by Adèle Exarchopoulos, who recalls Monica Vitti and Anna Karina in her voluptuous elegance, toughness, and vulnerability, is obsessed with a sniveling, narcissistic twit, a dying fire-pit of acrid banalities. Unsurprisingly, after about five minutes of film time, Exarchopoulos resonates an odd fatigue incompatible with Agathe's allegedly incandescent fascination with Tomas, and she betrays a glowing concern that the actress, not the character, is in a bad dream: this movie. Ben Whishaw as Martin is such a maestro that he is the only one of the three (in other work excellent) principal actors who can bring himself fully to the script with a believable, developing, pained realization, but the film at large is so full of abrupt, nonsensical leaps of mood and commitment that the whole exercise could be a workshop in which the players were challenged to vitalize premises that make scant sense. Another film that much more convincingly allows the wonderful Adèle Exarchopoulos to play on a plane of "nothing left to lose" is Rien à foutre (2021).

More promise than execution, "Passages" tackles twentysomethings navigating gender fluid sexuality with Paris as the backdrop. Welcome to the Tomas, Martin and Agathe dance. Narcissist and disagreeable German film director, Tomas is the unfortunate rotten core here. His marriage to Martin is disrupted by a purely sexual tryst with fetching schoolteacher Agathe, and Tomas can't wait to gush about his walk on the straight side to his husband. Things don't go well.

An interesting premise for sure, but one that plays out sloppily, without any character development to speak of, unless Tomas' deplorable indifference counts. An ugly persona, with an appearance to match - a patchy beard, gaunt features, a snaky lisp and a horrific wardrobe (which ironically, is getting kudos from GQ) - it's a bit of a puzzle as to his alure. Surprisingly, he's quite dull to boot, which makes for an odd protagonist: a difficult one to hate, or care for.

"Passages" takes stabs at the French New Wave, dishing up randy youth moving aimlessly through Paris to a jazzy backdrop, but with the exception of a lovely, film-closing evening bike ride, doesn't hit the mark. Without style, the absence of substance dominates this lackluster experience.

• hipCRANK.