Dry Cleaning

It's a cinematic tradition: the handsome young man who insinuates himself into a household of boring bourgeois types and stirs things up. Terence Stamp did it in Teorema, Robert Forster in Reflections in a Golden Eye, Peter McEnery in Entertaining Mr. Sloane, Will Smith in Six Degrees of Separation. Here, the young man is a bisexual who quickly wins the heart of a frustrated Miou-Miou and disturbs the dull, penny-pinching boss of a dry cleaners, Berling. The script and direction by Anne Fontaine are assured, but the ending may leave some viewers perplexed (it did me), as it seems to come out of nowhere.

Stanislas Merhar deserved the Most Promising Actor Cesar that he won as the pretty boy; you can readily see why the wife can't get enough of his caresses. Charles Berling often plays men who suffer in silence; he has a wonderful way of tightening his mouth that speaks volumes, and here he's very good as the husband.

Recently i watched some or many french movies about husband n wife relationship. i really dont understand or what i understand that what the hek is going on with french people? . or maybe its just movies. as movies represent its people too.

A movie about married couple with 2 kids and BOTH very busy with their dry cleaning business. seems normal till they enjoyed much in EXOTIC club. and then another young stud character came in their lives + home. which turns everything upside.

----------------------spoilers----------------------

the thing i dont understand is , a normal French married couple SUDDENLY invite a GIGLO to their business + home + lives after soo many years of marriage. even that young giglo has its own intentions to that couple after being dumped by his own gf. even a husband knows from a start that he WANTS and is getting into his wife pants but still OK with it ? . and that french wife? . she didnt think about her own children n family and suddenly want to leave everything for that guy. that is kinda too much.

never ever invite a horny young guy into home where a bored housewife is already on heat.

Sad, melancholic, nostalgic and soft.

A film about illusions and impossibility of escape. Description of failure and ambiguous expectation. French flavor and marks from Pasolini, empty universes and slices of love, game without innocence and failure of dreams.

A world, a small world where the work is only real refuge. Where the memories or the projects are shadows of a lost time and a bovaric certitude.

Delicate and tender, subtle and innocent, this film is a pledge for discover the sense of existence. The image of war with the other or with yourself, the fear like basic answer to the movement of time, the questions like skin of interior fog, the presence of temptation in the person of an androgynous teenager, the looks, deceptions or infidelity are elements of ordinary life. For everyone, "The Queens of Night" are key to a second chance, to a form of happiness. But always, the happiness is puzzle of illusions and the old rules are more strong that any form of seduction. In final, the corpse of a gorgeous dream like only "souvenir" of a perverse form of normality.

This story of a French couple, middle class business people leading a life that they only find boring when they encounter a young, free spirited and unisexual man, takes some weird turns but does it with excellent performances and direction. Though the ending was a bit abrupt, as well as shocking, getting there was the fun - well, pleasure, maybe. The young man has an affair with the woman, and is clearly drawn toward the man as while. The husband's reaction is the key to the drama, and the actor's subtle signs of being tempted, against his nature and resisting all the way , are truly fine acting. The whole cast is excellent, and the sensual , open tone of the movie, mixing the fairly straight-laced couple, their young child, middle class friends and family, and the worldly young man and depicting them, ultimately, as not really all that different, is almost comforting...until that ending, which came rather fast and furious after a more slow moving development, shattering the mood. Still, this is a really fine job of direction, and development of characters who all seem far more common than we would think if merely being told about them.

Saw a humongously uninspired French movie, Dry Cleaning (Nettoyage a Sec), that the advertisers swear won Cesar awards all over the place, but is just a hodgepodge of every foreign movie cliche that might strike an upscale audience as profound: a sexually ambiguous stranger insinuates himself into the lives of a married couple, engaging them in sexual games that bring them to the brink of self-destruction. She's desolate without the young man; the husband wrestles with his denial that he's also turned on by the stranger. Of course this is "art theatre," so we are to suppose that every straight man is really a gay man who hasn't found out yet. On the other hand the homosexual aspect of the story becomes the vehicle that carries the husband into his own corner of hell, an idea that seemed arty thirty-odd years ago (The Sergeant; The Children's Hour) but now is just insulting to gays. And of course the story is dotted with major and minor sexual interludes and taunts, but relationships are left to angry, dissatisfying silences between not-particularly-interesting characters. Story elements are offered that suggest the plot could go somewhere else but instead lead nowhere (the young man's sister leaves and conceivably might return looking for him; the young man has genuine talent as a dry-cleaner and might make a life for himself beyond his "drifter" existence; the married couple thinks about moving to Canada). I think the filmmaker has a long way to go in justifying why he wanted to make this movie -- what he thought would make this film extraordinary compared to some other story about dissolving marriage or sexual curiosity. Imagine La Strada if Anthony Quinn just sat around and brooded. If Thomas Mann had written Dry Cleaning it would be called Death in Suburbia: except that, speaking strictly for myself, I think it's the audience that dies.