La gueule ouverte

This was appalling and irksome to watch.

It is very possible to be appalling and irksome, yet still either entertaining or interesting.

Barring these two bare minimums, an otherwise discomfiting film needs to be able to evoke emotion in the audience; to get us to care or sympathize with the characters.

Maurice Pialat did not do any of the above with this film. Difficult to even care about the dying woman, whom could be the victim by some perspectives. Victim of some tragic circumstances in her terminal illness, but perhaps as bad, in the form of her callous son and seemingly heartless, philandering and remorseless husband.

Realism is an admirable trait in any art production and storytelling, yes. Portraying death, dying, and complicated familial bonds with unsentimental, uncompromising raw honesty is indeed something to be applauded. But when the film is unable to successfully garner interest or investment, even in the form of cheap laughs or morbid fascination, this means little.

The film makes a noble attempt at redemption in the final moments, but it was too little, too late. Barely believable, after the characters acted the way they did for so long, with no sign of understanding the pain they were causing, nor any shame or intention to change. Quite a pity, because that penultimate tracking shot, zooming out of the family's now emptier than ever lives, could have made an A+ clip with a plaintive accompanying soundtrack!