Naming Names

WHAT'S IN A NAME? (LE PRENOM) (A-minus) -  This exquisite salon piece boasts one of the best scripts in recent memory. The adapted stage play, released in America in December 2013, sneaks up on you early and builds momentum throughout.

Vincent shows up for a regular gathering at the home of his sister, Elizabeth (a.k.a. Babu), and their childhood pals, Elisabeth's husband, Pierre, and Claude, a symphony musician. The mischievous Vincent stirs up controversy by announcing the name of his soon-to-be-born son: a slight variation on a name that immediately conjures up the most heinous dictator of the 20th century. His sister and pals wig out. By the end of the film, old childhood wounds will be ripped off and secrets will be spilled. Along the way, the clever dialogue and sharp banter never let up.

Writer/directors Alexandre de la Patelliere and Matthieu Delaporte take a nugget of an idea and run wild with it. They are gifted with a fabulous cast. (Valerie Benguigui as Elisabeth and the wonderful Guillaume de Tonquedec as Claude both won French Cesars for their roles.)  They open the film with a manic, soaring camera-ride through the streets of Paris (avenues named after artists and other venerated subjects who lived rough lives), while introducing the characters in their natural habitats (Elisabeth is a frumpy teacher and Pierre is a witty professor). The technique creates an irresistible hook before settling into the couple's living room.

When Vincent (Patrick Bruel) arrives, Elisabeth is harriedly preparing dinner, guided by phone by their free-spirit chatterbox of a mother, Francoise. Vincent instantly greets Pierre with a snotty complaint about the building's lack of an elevator. The pair have an easy, cutting repartee that drives the narrative throughout. When Vincent's pregnant wife Anna (Judith El Zein) finally enters the picture, the mania is in full bloom.

The witticisms fill the air like a plague of bees. But this isn't a flippant actors exercise; the characters deepen along with the intrigue. The humor at times is broad, but the story remains authentic throughout.

Anna and Vincent can't believe they are getting guff from a couple who burdened their own children with the precious (trendy?) names Apollin and Myrtille. The tension ratchets up and then explodes; soon a table shatters, a nose is bloodied, and some pasta flops onto the floor. De Tonquedec's Claude turns out to be the filmmakers' secret weapon. His late reveal is perfectly executed.

De la Patelliere and Delaporte are assured scriptwriters and confident first-time directors. This one is secretly a blast.