Maigret

Depardieu plays in this movie a french detective, but he doesn't play Maigret. Slow and boring movie, good actors, but Depardieu seems had never read a book of George Simenon. Maybe his intention was not to copy Jean Gabin or Gino Cervi, but if I go the movie to see Superman, my expectation is to see him flying. In this movie I haven't seen Maigret. For example, an Epicurean lover of food and good drinking is here on a diet, he does not smoke a pipe. Depardieu is too fat and immobile to try to transfigure the famous policeman. Depardieu here seems too sad and unhappy, but, I repeat, he's not Maigret.

Maigret's authenticity in every aspect is most remarkable. Expressive visuals of a decay to which dreamers flock. A hulking father too old and worn to save daughters of the city presented with a effortless performance. Though it's origins are infrequent Maigret is a welcoming experienced experience .

Maigret doesn't take shortcuts to solve cases. He takes his time and mostly watches and listens. He needs to understand the victim, the suspects and the witnesses to bring out their motivations and their deeds.

In the same way, director Patrice Leconte avoids action scenes, sub-plots, narration twists. His elegant editing, use of zoom and close-ups follow Maigret's eye and make us "enter" the characters. We feel what they feel.

We experiment the magic of cinema and this is what matters, way more than the actual solution of the puzzle. Leconte quotes Hitchcock ("Vertigo" and "Rear Window") and let Depardieu give us an unforgettable performance.

Slow pacing, gloomy atmosphere, linear plot, nothing original in a crime story.

Yet, it's a beautiful movie, perfectly executed.

Depardieu has a presence, seemingly effortless. Patrice Leconte has an entire career to show for.

All in all, a good movie.

From the director of the excellent Monsieur Hire - still one of the best Simenon adaptations - you certainly expect more than this tired, geriatric and rather pedestrian treatment. It's all very dark bluish, with unsteady camera, listless performances and general air of fatigue (it opens with Maigret's visit to the doctor).

It's a pity Lecont and Depardieu couldn't make Maigret sooner, in their better years (the novel was filmed before - much more lively if not particularly excitingly - with Jean Richard in 1973).