Je ne suis pas là pour être aimé

This film might almost be called 'Not Here to be Watched', it is so intimate. One feels intrusive as a viewer. Anne Consigny is entrancing as the quiet, thoughtful girl who not only says little but moves few facial muscles, other than to smile engagingly most of the time. One can't take one's eyes off her. She has that 'something special' which cannot be quantified or defined, but you just have to keep staring at her, as if she were a new species, suddenly discovered, of unknown habits, who might do or say anything but never does. This quiet, brooding film carries introspection and intimacy to new cinematic extremes, and invents a higher definition for 'subtlety'. The characters are deeply depressed and wholly incapable of expressing themselves, so that this is a not a film to watch if you are feeling down. On the other hand, manic depressives might be cheered up by it, because they would see that there can after all be communication between moles in adjoining tunnels. The tango provides the medium for this cheek to cheek resonance which transcends speech. Patrick Chesnais and Georges Wilson as his father are superbly inarticulate, having both mastered the art of non-communication. This film is deeply sensitive, in the same way that small mammals are: it blinks its eyes wonderingly as we shine light into its face: 'Am I really on camera?' Yes. And you are doing really well. A wonderful wallow in disabled humanity with suppressed needs. Although I felt sorry for the characters, I wanted to kick them in the backsides and make them snap out of it and 'get a life', preferably each other's.