Not on the Lips

Alain Resnais, darling of the avant garde, continues his journey back to the mainstream and, let's face it, BEYOND the mainstream, with this lush photography of even lusher decors and costumes by Vanity Fair out of Vogue. Nothing wrong with that, of course, if you can get past the hypocrisy. Here we have, set in the twenties, that old standby the second husband who has to cut a deal with his wife's ex, a sister-in-law and two ingenues thrown in for good measure with everyone breaking into song at the drop of a lorgnette. Pierre Arditi does suave as if he invented it and whether by design or accident contrives to sound like Charles Boyer on medication;Mrs. Resnais, Sabine Azema does style as effortlessly as Astaire and Audrey Tatou has cornered the current market in gorgeous. This should be enough to either encourage or deter you. 6/10

Alain Resnais, like a lot of brilliant people, can be interesting even when he's not very entertaining. But in Not on the Lips, he's not even really that interesting.

I liked the way the movie began, with the cute credits and the opening shot with the women singing. At that point I had high hopes. As the empty-headed characters chattered, I thought perhaps this was an Oscar- Wilde/Noel Coward sort of thing that would mock the upper classes.

But as I watched further, I began to feel that instead, this was just a rather tedious trifle that has nothing to say. So I looked it up on wikipedia, which says it's an old operetta and that Resnais purposely made it as originally intended. Apparently that chatter was supposed to be interesting.

I rather liked the music, although it's disconcerting when the subtitles don't bother to rhyme (sometimes they do, sometimes not). It's got a nice look to it. But about a third of the way through I just couldn't see how I could stand anymore of this superficial claptrap, and I stopped watching.

Resnais, wow! The genius who brought us Hiroshima Mon Amour takes on the challenge of making a 1930s French musical in vibrant colour. The opening voice-over with old, embellished inter-titles was a nice touch. Then the camera aperture opens (like the old hand crankers) on a black & white placard. The camera backs off (or rather, up), suddenly showing us the surprisingly brilliant colours of an elegant table set for a tea party. This is all in the first 60 seconds.

Then the music starts. A rather banal and forgettable diddy featuring an unconvincing chorus of 3 girls blabbering some nonsense which has no relevance to the film (and yes, I speak French, so I can't blame it on the subtitles). Those characters whiz out the door and are replaced by more people who break into an even more forgettable song. Then they leave, and finally Audrey Tautou appears and we hear our first appreciable dialogue 15 minutes into the film.

I'm not sure what Resnais intended by starting off with such a yawning waste of time & musical cacophony. But the effect on the viewer is to make you want to hurl skittles at the screen and storm out. I endured.

It didn't get much better. I'll tell you why. There is absolutely no familiarity with any of the characters. We don't even see their faces half the time (as Resnais seems too intent on showing off the expensive scenery to care about the actual people in front of the camera). People flit on & off stage like moths around a lamp, and we the audience are unable to focus on any particular person or plot. It's as if you were to take every episode of the Brady Bunch and cram it into a 2 hour movie. With bad songs.

The only thing that kept me watching as long as I did (1 hour) was that I was looking at the camera techniques, lighting and scenery which were all, I admit, excellent. But is that enough to hold your attention for 2 hours? Not me. Maybe tomorrow I'll try watching the end. Aw, who am I kidding. I have more important things to do. I'm sure you do, too. Skip this.

Like several other reviewers I was taken to the film 'cold' without knowing anything about it, and after several minutes was expecting the somewhat lacklustre tunes and stock-farce characters to tip over into something edgy and contemporary. Mais non. However is this such a bad thing? Given the French predilection for unflinching realism and tragic endings, Pas Sur La Bouche can be enjoyed as a salute to the traditions of the Comedy Francaise, an expression of nationalist (anti-Brussels?) sentiment, and as a crafted product as lovingly detailed as a reproduction Deco sideboard. One is almost expected to read afterwards that Resnais had an ironic or iconoclastic subtext in mind, but the film seems to be charmingly irony-free throughout. There are no patronising modernist jabs at the shallowness of pre-war bourgeois entertainment, and in fact the period is recreated with a warm and sentimental glow. It can be argued in fact that the play has been not so much adapted for the screen as embalmed, for there are definite longueurs, the singing voices are almost uniformly mediocre, and the lack of varied or outdoor settings does detract. All in all, a charming, civilised and unexpected entertainment from one of the self-styled intellectuals of French cinema, and a brilliant recreation of an ensemble of now-forgotten French 'types'. To get an idea of precisely how far comedy has 'advanced' in 70 years, compare with Legally Blonde or My Best Friend's Wedding and you'll see my point.

This is classic French farce, very theatrical with a 1920s score, entirely interior sets (best being the 3rd act bachelor pad) and ridiculous intertwining relationships. It is tempting to see it almost as an Amelie remake, complete with lush visuals and two leads from that film. It has the same romantic view of French life, the same emphasis on relationships, the same reliance on a sparkling performance by Tatou. It is slow, and hard to follow with subtitles - you really need to speak French to get much out of this (esp the excruiating accent of the American). Some interesting little touches - the spoken credits at the start (very Godardian!) and the way that characters leaving the stage just vanish. It is very witty, brittle and bright. A curiosity rather than a masterpiece.