Despite the promise of a collaboration between Pawel Pawlikowski, Ethan Hawke, Joanna Kulig, and Kristin Scott Thomas set in Paris, this film fizzles into a frustrating, rather dreary mess. In a nutshell, an American writer (Hawke) shows up at his ex-wife's apartment, hoping to see their daughter. She calls the police on him and he flees, and after being robbed on a train, he ends up in a seedy hotel. He takes a shady job to pay for his room, and gets involved with a couple of women, one of whom was the muse for a Hungarian author (Scott Thomas), and another who works at the hotel (Kulig). Things go south when a man trying to blackmail him turns up dead, and the muse (who is also his alibi for the evening in question) turns out to be imaginary.
The meaning to the film is probably along the lines of an artist struggling with his own sanity, and having to make difficult choices between creative output and family, all while living in impoverished conditions. He tries to write beautiful, touching work but he's doing so in the dingiest of places, the struggle of which has been felt by a large number of artists since time began. While Kulig and Scott Thomas felt rather wasted in their parts, Hawke shows his range here and has several fine moments, which were the highlights of the film.
Where it falls down is in the narrative, which is too vague and open-ended. I disliked the muse reveal, and thought the murder was an odd bit of drama, things that sent the story over the rails for me. I wondered about what had led to the restraining order which was alluded to early on, and wished that the film had focused more on the dynamic with his ex-wife and child, as opposed to the other women in Paris. How much of this is in the imagination of the author is subject to interpretation and that's kind of interesting, but ultimately it just doesn't come together.
