New to the Queue

 ... springing into action ...

A documentary about a hippie heir who vowed in the early '70s to give away his wealth, "Dear Mr. Brody."

From the eminent French director Jacques Audiard ("Dheepan," "A Prophet"), with a writing assist from Celine Sciamma, a relationship drama, "Paris, 13th District."

A hybrid horror-comedy from the UK, "All My Friends Hate Me."

From Romania, a dark satire about a rescue mission gone awry, "Intregalde."

A campy slasher film that looks like it has a knowing self-deprecating edge to it, "X."

An Offer I Long Refused

 We could spend a semester exploring two of the all-time great films "The Godfather" and "The Godfather: Part II" (we give a slight edge to the sequel) on the 50th anniversary of its release. (It debuted in New York on March 14, 1972 and went wide a week later.) But plenty has been written and will be written yet about the classic saga. Instead, let's finally relent and give the much-derided third installment its long-awaited due. Enough time has passed now that there's little danger of tarnishing the originals.

THE GODFATHER: PART III (1990) (C) - Cue the mandolins. Bleat out the lament. This long-delayed (not necessarily -awaited) sequel to the twin towers of '70s cinema is a major face-plant for Francis Ford Coppola and his star, a weary Al Pacino as a physically weakened (if ungodly rich) Michael Corleone. 

Let's be clear: None of this is Sofia Coppola's fault. She actually is quite OK, subbing for the actresses who dropped out of the role of Mary, Michael's daughter. She endured great grief as the director's daughter thrust into a pivotal role, but a decade later Scarlett Johannson would borrow that awkward affect and become a star (in part due to Sofia Coppola's switch to directing, including great movies like "Lost in Translation"). No, the problem is with a script that is both convoluted and simplistic, and with the downgrading of the cast to the B-list.

Throughout its nearly three-hour run, "G3" plays like a run-of-the-mill soap opera. It has the cheap feel of a knock-off sequel abandoned by those who made the original a hit. It's like "Smokey and the Bandit Part 3," without Burt Reynolds and Sally Field (or the original creator) but focusing mainly on the sheriff. 

Here, the main characters who are brought back are Pacino's Michael, his ex-wife Kay (Diane Keaton) and his sister Connie (Talia Shire), who for some reason lives with him in a mansion now that he is back in New York after concluding the mob family's run in Las Vegas, finally -- finally -- pursuing his vow to go legit. It is 1979, and Michael now wants to go into business with the Pope. (The storyline tracks with a Vatican bank scandal of that era.) But the plot here is rather convoluted. Needless to say, the Corleone family has hundreds of millions of dollars to throw around and/or launder.

The first 20 minutes or so involve an elaborate party thrown by the Catholic Church in Michael's honor, recognizing him for his charitable work. This is supposed to mirror the original film and its extended opening scene surrounding Connie's big Italian wedding (and its contrast with business being conducted behind closed doors); but here, things are morose and awkward, and it's an unflattering comparison to the 1972 original. But we are introduced to Vincent Mancini, an illegitimate son of Michael's brother, Sonny, who, it is obvious from the start, will be Michael's heir to the Corleone throne.

Andy Garcia plays Vincent, and he comes off like a high school thespian doing an Al Pacino imitation. His big rival is Joey Zasa, a preening kingpin played by Joe Mantegna, coming out of David Mamet's left field to throw off the cadence of Coppola's operatic display of drama. Vincent has a fling with a journalist played by Bridget Fonda, who sticks out like bowl of potato salad and whose pointless character disappears without explanation before the halfway mark of this 162-minute marathon. (But first she must get naked and terrorized to advance the plot.) Vincent also toys with the emotions of his cousin, Mary, who falls head over heels for him.

Not to get overly nostalgic about the original cast (which was deep and uniquely talented), but this whole production plays out like a dish of cold baked ziti. Pacino, mesmerizing in the first two films, had already crossed the rubicon with cartoonish roles in "Scarface" and "Dick Tracy," and he was on the eve of all-out cheese with all that "Scent of a Woman" hoo-ha. He had turned into an actor who either yelled or whispered, and here he mostly whispers. He does ham it up in a Shakespearean manner at times, especially when, forever haunted by his decision to order the death of brother Fredo, he suffers some sort of diabetic stroke, during which he blurts out hysterical confessions. Huh?

Keaton and Shire get thankless roles, which was par for the course throughout the macho Corleone saga, and Shire just doesn't have the chops to play the tough ol' matriarch. Watching Garcia made me wonder whether he ever was better than merely average. Robert Duvall refused to come back as consigliere Tom Hagen, so we end up with George Hamilton. No, really. John Savage is wasted as Hagen's son, who is now a priest, installed by the Corleones as their in at the Vatican. Eli Wallach sleepwalks through his role as a fading don.

Coppola tops off this ridiculousness with an over-the-top hit scene straight out of the Michael Bay playbook. It involves a helicopter attack. No, really. (There also is an attempted assassination by cannoli. Mm-hmm.) A climactic scene at the opera in Venice is drained of tension and is another pale imitation -- of the christening scene in the original. 

A perfect example of the watered-down nature of the film comes when Coppola feels compelled to duplicate the scene in the original in which Sonny speaks out of turn at a meeting with a rival, prompting Vito to chastise him: "Never tell anyone outside the family what you are thinking again." Here it's Michael, after having shared his thoughts with an outsider, chastising Vincent, "Never let anyone know what you are thinking." It just makes no sense without the nuance. And neither does the idea or execution of "The Godfather: Part III."

Noir Chronicles: Fly by Night

 

THE NAKED KISS (1964) (B) - Samuel Fuller ("Pickup on South Street," "The Big Red One") nearly careers off the rails with this neo-noir about a prostitute trying to go straight in Small Town, USA. TV veteran Constance Towers is riveting in the lead role of Kelly, whom we first meet in the crazed opening scene beating up the pimp who stole from her and shaved her head.

 

When she lands in "Leave It to Beaver" pleasantville, she meets a detective who samples her wares but then sends her across the river to a whorehouse. (His description when he first sees her walking off a bus: "That's enough to make a bulldog bust his chain.") Kelly declines the opportunity to work with nasty madame Candy, though, and instead returns to the town to work in a hospital for handicapped children. Fuller then busts out in several directions, teasing us about when and how Kelly's past will come back to bite her. (It will involve a rich dreamboat who eventually reveals a dark secret.)

Fuller's script, straight out of the gate, wants to repeatedly poke us in the nose. Journeyman Anthony Eisley struggles to imbue his hard-ass detective with the necessary grit, and the tough-guy lines he spouts tend to land with a clunk. Veteran Virginia Grey has a lot more vinegar on the tongue as Candy. Sore about getting knocked around by Kelly, Candy has zero sympathy for the call girl trying to go straight, uttering the memorable line "Nobody shoves dirty money in my mouth!"

This is "Peyton Place" on steroids, and it's hard to take your eyes off of Towers, even when she is enduring recurring psychedelic serenades from her sad-eyed wards (the creepy dirge "The Little Boy and the Old Man"). Towers sells this without fear.

THEY LIVE BY NIGHT (1948) (B-minus) - This is the debut from Nicholas Ray ("Rebel Without a Cause") and it's a grim, sluggish tale of an outlaw on the run. Uninspiring Farley Granger is the handsome escaped con who teams up with a sidekick's plain-jane daughter (Cathy O'Donnell) to try to keep one step ahead of the good guys while dodging the former gang trying to lure him back for another score.

The older veterans -- including Howard Da Silva and Jay C. Flippen -- envy young Bowie, who has managed to save his proceeds from a bank job and seeks an off-ramp to the simple straight life. The story can get convoluted, and Granger has neither the bad-boy allure of a Robert Mitchum nor much za-za with O'Donnell, who is allowed to grow a little more glamorous with each scene, evolving from farm girl to would-be ingenue.

Ian Wolfe injects some much-needed black humor as a minister who not only will marry a couple for $20 but also knows a guy who can help folks lam it to Mexico. ("Rings for sale or rent.") Byron Foulger (who boasted 489 acting credits on IMDb) provides a little screwball comedy as an overeager landlord. And don't miss Will Lee -- Mr. Hooper from "Sesame Street" -- as the jeweler.

That's Entertainment

 

LIVE AT MISTER KELLY'S (B+) - Back to Chicago and back in time for this fond remembrance of the famed Rush Street nightclub that hosted some of the biggest singers and comedians of the postwar era. (This is also a long-overdue return to the Santa Fe Film Festival for us, the only one we caught this year; time was, we would catch 4 or 5 titles per day during the festival's heyday in the Aughts.)

Journeyman Ted Bogosian works with David Marienthal, the son of one of the brothers who ran Mister Kelly's and sister club London House, to conduct a deep dive into the archives of not just the two venues but also the history of comedy and jazz in Chicago between 1953 and 1975. Experts in music, comedy and photography (our friend Richard Cahan) add critical context to the era and convey what made the clubs special in the Second City. 

The film is packed with talking heads -- from the famous to the not-so-famous -- who look back fondly on their days performing at Mister Kelly's. Barbra Streisand (by audio only) talks about her getting her big break there in 1963. We also see Lainie Kazan (who was performing the night one of the two notorious fires broke out), Bob Newhart, Herbie Hancock, Robert Klein, Ramsey Lewis, the comedy team of Tim Reid and Tom Dreeson, Shecky Greene (still alive!), local folkster Bonnie Koloc, and interviews with a trio of entertainers no longer with us: Dick Gregory, Fred Willard and Mort Sahl. Grumpy David Mamet even shows up, for some reason.

 

Bogosian and his crew really do their homework on this one, and they pay fine tribute to Oscar and George Marienthal, who worked hard to bring top talent to the clubs, which served as the host to a good share of live albums, by the likes of Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald, Flip Wilson, Woody Allen and Freddie Prinze. It can be a kick to watch such a parade of stars in the clips do their shtick and then reminisce about a special place. Points off, though, for hiring the ubiquitous Bill Kurtis to narrate. His over-the-top diction is a distraction, though he does disappear for a good chunk of the middle of the film. 

This gets the job done in less than an hour and a half and should lift the spirits of anyone with even a vague memory of the '60s. Note: The venue eventually would be converted to another city institution, Gibsons Bar & Steakhouse.

JUST DON'T THINK I'LL SCREAM (2019) (B) - Almost too overwhelming to truly comprehend in one sitting, this documentary is a visual diary created by French filmmaker and musician Frank Beauvais as he chronicles a challenging year in his life. Reeling from the death of his father and the terrorist attack at a Paris club in late 2015, Beauvais seeks exile in the small-town strangeness of the Alsace-Lorraine region, an apt no-man's-land on the German border, as he proudly dons the cloak of the outsider.

The filmmaker, who also just ended a relationship, is suffering from writer's block, and he engages in a sort of post-terror lockdown that presages the COVID crisis.  "My Stockholm syndrome," he calls it, "like bailing out a boat." He is also weighed down by his massive tranche of stuff -- books, CDs and DVDs -- which he liquidates via the internet. 

To further pass the time and keep from going off the deep end psychologically, he engages in a massive binge of four to five movies a day, every day. He refers to it as "film bulimia." Beauvais takes those movies -- which fall broadly across genres and eras -- and chops them up, using specific scenes to illustrate his running narration about the psychic trauma he is trying to work through.

And therein lies one of the main problems with the movie. The images change and flash every few seconds, with no let-up, as Beauvais drones on in French, requiring subtitles, which are hard to keep up with while you are racing along with the pictures. The filmmaker probably would consider this heresy, but it would have helped a lot to have had the voice-over dubbed in English, which would have saved viewers the stress of trying to keep up.

Despite this challenge, Beauvais' observations and working-man's philosophy can be fascinating to watch and experience. His use of images is clever, utilizing deep cuts from a lot of films you've likely never heard of. In some ways, this shares a kinship with John Wilson's gonzo semi-autobiographical HBO show that wanders New York City and seeks answers to some big questions about existence. It's a neat experiment, but it can be quite a stress test, too.

BONUS TRACKS

Our title track:

And from the end credits of "Just Don't Think I'll Scream," Bonnie Prince Billy with "I See a Darkness":

And Sarah Vaughan, live at Mister Kelly's in 1957 with "How High the Moon":

Significant Others

 Two films involving animals and one with regular old humans:

PIG (B) - The latest Nicolas Cage freakout is a touching but often ludicrous tale of a societal dropout on a mission to find his stolen pig. So at least the title is truth in advertising.

Debut writer-director Michael Sarnoski (co-writing with Vanessa Block) has a way of upending expectations -- but only sometimes for the better. Viewers who saw the trailer might be expecting a knockoff of a Liam Neeson revenge flick, but they will either be disappointed or pleasantly surprised. Instead this is more of a plodding odyssey. 

The new voice can be a bit refreshing, but this grimy drama alternates between being painfully predictable (Cage's lines, especially) and wildly inscrutable. A scene straight out of "Fight Club" is wholly unnecessary to the plot, and it comes at the 20-minute mark, providing an off-ramp to viewers who, just, you know, can't even. 

Cage is engaging as Rob, a mountain man in rural Oregon who uses his faithful pig to help dig up truffles that he sells each Thursday to a bro-buyer for a high-end restaurant. But ne'er-do-wells grab the pig and clang Rob in the skull with a cast-iron frying pan. Between that and the inexplicable fisticuffs, Rob will proceed through his old stomping grounds of Portland with a bloodied face, assisted by the bro-buyer, Amir (Alex Wolff). 

The only other cast member to stand out is Adam Arkin, who almost literally sinks his teeth into the role of Amir's more successful and cutthroat father, who might have some key information about the whereabouts of this pig, which is prized by Rob not so much for his hunting skills but his companionship -- because, of course, Rob (this being movieland) is still mourning after the death of his true love, an event that apparently sent him from great acclaim into this Unabomber tailspin.

Sarnoski definitely has an eye and ear for storytelling. This mix of cliche and misdirection is worth sticking around for, even if you might hate yourself a little afterward.

DOG (B-minus) - Speaking of cliches, movies don't get more '60s Disney than a soul-tugging road movie featuring two wounded veterans -- one human (in the sculpted form of Channing Tatum as an Army Ranger) and the other animal (three pups sharing the role of a K-9 hero).

If you watch this and can't predict every plot turn and the story's path right up to its ending, then congratulations on experiencing your first movie. Don't worry, they're not all like this; at least not in the 21st century. Tatum does his moody aw-shucks routine as the ruggedly named Jackson Briggs, who teams up with a dead cohort's canine partner, Lulu, who might as well have been named MacGuffin.

Briggs wants back in action despite his traumatic brain injury, so he makes a deal with his captain:  Briggs will drive the dog to the buddy's funeral, and the captain will make a phone call clearing Briggs for active duty. Fire up the rundown SUV and point it south toward Nogales.

The screenwriters -- Reid Carolin (from "Magic Mike," who also co-directs with Tatum) and newcomer Brett Rodriguez -- have been to script-writing school, and they know that the hero's journey must involve obstacles. First, Lulu is ferocious, and is a destructive travel companion. Second, Briggs needs to make some pit stops, mainly to exorcise his demons. For example, this being a damaged war vet, there needs to be an estranged wife and daughter who happen to live along the way. He also bonds with another vet, Noah (when did Ethan Suplee get so swole?), who adopted Lulu's brother and can offer brotherly guidance to Briggs.

Despite this being quite sappy (and obsequious to the military and its macho fraternity), it does have its moments, and Tatum and the dog can be charming and entertaining together. (And cameos by Jane Adams and Bill Burr (as a disgruntled vet whose now a grunt of a cop) hit the spot.) It really is a lot like a '60s Disney movie. I was surprised to see so many kids in the audience at the screening. Yes, it's a movie about a dog, but it can get dark as hell at times.

UNCLE FRANK (B-minus) - Alan Ball, a long ways from "American Beauty" and TV's "Six Feet Under," dials up this TV movie-of-the-week nostalgia exercise about a young woman in the 1970s getting to know her closeted gay uncle who has been traumatized by his narrow-minded southern family. A few heartfelt performances lift this above the mawkishness that Ball threatened to trap them into.

Sophia Lillis ("It") is always nuanced and engaging as the niece, Beth, and Paul Bettany just barely succeeds in walking a tightrope across misery and moping as Frank, who agrees to take a road trip with Beth from his enlightened existence in New York City back to his backward hometown for the funeral of his brutish father (Stephen Root, stuck in the thankless role of a crude bigot). Peter Macdissi brings humor and heart to the role of Frank's longtime partner.

Ball's overall story is just barely convincing, and he undercuts it with clunky dialogue. He gives Frank a tragic backstory, and you can picture ball slathering Vaseline all over the lens for the flashbacks to Frank's harrowing teenage experience. It's quite a mess at times, but there is a pulse here, and the three leads give it their all to make it passable.

On the Water Front

 

AQUARELA (2019) (B) - This is not much more than a visual think-piece, but this homage to 71 percent of the planet conveys the beauty and power of water in all its forms. Viktor Kossakovsky, as he did more recently with "Gunda," works in a virtually wordless environment, featuring only incidental dialogue and letting the grandeur of his images tell the story. 

If it could be said to have any sort of narrative progression, it is that the movie seems to move south, from the Arctic down toward the equator. We see men toiling in the frigid climes somewhere in Russia, retrieving vehicles that have fallen through the winter ice. We visit the streets of Miami ravaged by Hurricane Irma. And in a mirror image of the glacial cliffs featured in the beginning of the film, Kossakovsky gazes upon the epic waterfalls along the coast of Venezuela. 

Is this a polemic about climate change? Maybe. Or perhaps it is just an excuse to convey the majesty of the oceans and seas, from the loud cracking of ice floes to the rage of storm squalls. You can see a horse swim and likely the biggest wave -- a wall of water -- you have ever seen. It's all both calming and intimidating and at times fascinating to watch.

HARPOON (B-minus) - This seafaring menage a trois is a bloody, gory mess, both literally and figuratively. It's just a little too cute and cartoonish for its own good, though the story of two men and a woman stranded at sea has some juicy repartee and compelling plot twists.

Emily Tyra is the glue holding this together as Sasha, the woman caught between her smart-ass boyfriend, Richard (Christopher Gray), and his gloomy best pal, Jonah (Munro Chambers), who is suspected of sleeping with Sasha by Richard. Thus the opening scene, in which Richard storms into Jonah's apartment and slugs him. This triggers a call for payback, since Sasha (not so convincingly) insists that the accusation is false. 

The trio heads off on Richard's boat for a day trip, but recriminations and double-crosses soon arise, and when the boat's motor dies in the middle of nowhere, this turns into a contest for survival, with no food or water in sight. When Jonah gets one of Chekhov's harpoons shot through his hand, he becomes the weak link and the most likely candidate to be cannibalized. 

Yes, this one gets pretty dark, though it never loses its playfulness. Writer-director Rob Grant is comfortable surfing along horror tropes, and he has no fear of crafting an ending in which each character gets a unique comeuppance that just barely makes this worth your 83 minutes.

BONUS TRACK

The "Aquarela" trailer:

Bourgeois Blues

 Filling a gap and catching up with Luis Bunuel late in his career, as we complete quite the Francophilic run in the past week:

 

THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOISIE (1972) (B-minus) - In which a group of middle-class French folks try and fail repeatedly to enjoy a meal together. Or, in which a sub-group of them have weird dreams and tell the others about them.

Don Rafael Acosta (Fernando Rey) is an ambassador from the fictional nation of Miranda trying to socialize with the others. He occasionally is confronted by a pretty member of a domestic terrorist group, and he lusts after a friend's wife. Absurd events disturb their gatherings, whether its a law-enforcement raid or merely that their hosts have gone out back to shag and failed to alert the help to serve the dinner.

This is as droll as you can imagine. Some of it hits as knowing satire, but much of it plays like Monty Python without the wit. Maybe more "Love, American Style," know that I think of it. Either way, finally catching up with Bunuel is the equivalent of doing one's due diligence, completing the homework necessary to speak with any authority on the subject of French cinema.

THAT OBSCURE OBJECT OF DESIRE (1977) (B-minus)  - In which a middle-aged widower creeps on the 18-year-old help, launching an elaborate cat-and-mouse game from Luis Bunuel that is not so much surrealistic as it is tedious. Not only is this from a much earlier era of gender politics, but it's an offering from a onetime wunderkind in the twilight of his 50-year career. So, yeah, it's dated.

Sophisticated Mathieu (Fernando Rey, again) gets crushy on a chambermaid, Conchita, who, for absolutely no reason is played by two actresses alternating in the role (Carole Bouquet and Angela Molina). The narrative is told in flashback after we see Mathiew board a train, dump a bucket of water on a young woman, and then settle in to tell the tale to his fellow passengers. 

Mathieu is also hounded by terrorist types, and at some point it appears that Conchita might be conspiring with them against Mathieu. Things tend to go in circles over the course of 103 minutes, and there really is no satisfactory resolution. This absurdist nugget is a curiosity at this point.

BONUS TRACK

Our title track, from Leadbelly:

Sex Education

 Teens from two different worlds, connected only by a common language:

LINGUI (THE SACRED BONDS) (B+) - From Chad, this luxurious drama features a mother navigating a strict religious patriarchal society to help her teenage daughter get a safe abortion. This is another leisurely paced character study from writer-director Mahamat-Saleh Haroun, who scored in 2010 with "A Screaming Man."

He is blessed her with a fresh pair of newcomers, Achouackh Abakar Souleymane as the iron-willed mother, Amina, and Rihane Khalil Alio as the moody 15-year-old Maria. Amina was quite young when she had Maria, and she is determined to not doom her daughter to a life of lost opportunities. Maria can be quite irascible, and she is constantly telling her mom not to touch her, as if the pregnancy has traumatized the young girl and turned her into a leper.

Haroun has a sharp visual flair, comfortable flaunting colors in bright open spaces as well as building intrigue in the dim shadows of forbidden lairs. Amina struggles to earn a living, stripping the steel from vehicle tires to fashion rustic cookers, while getting both harangued by the local Imam for being single and hit on by a neighbor seeking to exploit her vulnerability.

Amina and Maria set out on a journey through the underground medical system. But this is less of a cold procedural than it is a warm tribute to mother-daughter relations and a paean to individual freedom to pursue a full life.

SLUT IN A GOOD WAY (2019) (B+) - From Quebec, this lightweight comedy dabbles in the sexual politics of teens, albeit in a rosy-cheeked aw-shucks manner. TV actress Sophie Lorain settles in behind the camera to direct a script by Catherine Leger (they previously teamed on a film called "The Little Queen") to follow three teenage girls who bring their own unique take on entering the world of relationships.

The film centers around perky Charlotte (Margueritte Bouchard), who finds out her boyfriend is gay but is sexually adventurous enough to want to explore her own needs and desires.  She and pals Megane (Romane Denis) and Aube (Rose Adam) take jobs at a mega toy store because it's full of cute guys their age, the perfect laboratory for experimenting with the opposite sex. However, Charlotte dives into the deep end, having sex with nearly all the guys over the course of the first month, earning her an instant reputation from the staff, male and female. Aube, tall and shy, is at the other end of the spectrum, pining for one boy in particular.  Meantime, Megane is a leftist revolutionary in training; when told told that her strident politics is a turn-off to men, she spins it as merely her own system of natural selection.

Lorain and Leger immediately set a tone of light banter and blunt talk about sex, opening the movie with a scene set in an adult toy store. The dialogue is witty among the friends. The boys can be two-dimensional and interchangeable at times, but that might be the point. While the script, on average, deploys a smart, modern sensibility, it always seems headed toward a quaint John Hughes denouement, especially considering that the one boy at the store Charlotte hasn't slept seems like the perfect mate. 

It is refreshing to watch a young woman like Charlotte shrug off criticism as she seeks natural pleasure.  She does get nagged a lot and told that guys are an important part of her identity. Bouchard at times gives off a Jan Brady vibe, a budding beauty fending off criticism and self-doubt. In the end, this is fun and entertaining without getting trapped in those teen-romp tropes.

Libertines, Fraternity, Equality

 Digging deep into our queue for titles that have lurked for many years, we travel to France in the 1980s to explore the sexuality of young women.

LOULOU (1980) (B+) - You have to pause and think in order to remember a time when Isabelle Huppert wasn't a seasoned veteran with that face like a mask and when Girard Depardieu wasn't morbidly obese. But here they are, a handsome couple, 40+ years ago in the casual partner-swapping milieu of post-punk France.

Huppert plays Nelly, a bored wife of a bland husband (whom she also works for), who leaves one day to romp around with bad boy Loulou, who, like Depardieu, is a real lulu. He's not into much more than having sex with Nelly, but she's pretty cool with that arrangement. He's also an unemployed deadbeat who coasts along on her largesse. They are friendly with the woman he dumped for Nelly.

This being the end of the '70s, there is a brutish aspect to this class study by journeyman Maurice Pialat, who co-writes with Arlette Langmann. The hulking Depardieu doesn't do much more than brood and grunt. The waifish Huppert, in her mid-20s, is slinky and sensual while communicating volumes with her facial expressions, a true standout amid a so-so cast. In 1980 she was developing her stoicism but not the rough shell and taut mask that would define her in later years. She is a wonder to watch, and the film at times can be a fascinating sociological study.

36 FILLETTE (1988) (B+) - Ah, the reliable French coming-of-age story. This one gets more grit than sun splashes, courtesy of Catherine Breillat, the enfant terrible who often trafficked in sexual shock and awe ("Romance," "Fat Girl," though not much since). Here, Breillat throws a 14-year-old girl to the wolves, and it's a lot less creepy and a lot more insightful than you might have expected.

This is the story of Lili (Delphine Zentout), a frustrated, disagreeable adolescent who whines her way into an outing with her 17-year-old brother for a night on the town during the family's camping vacation. Lili meets up with Maurice (Etienne Chicot), an aging would-be playboy, who only half-heartedly makes a play for the underage girl. 

Lili toys with Maurice, eager to lose her virginity but too smart to make a mistake with a miserable cad. She brightens during a detour meeting a famous French actor, seizing the opportunity to have an intellectual conversation and explore her creative side. Zentout (about 17 when the film was made) is charismatic enough to carry the movie and make this story engrossing instead of gross. She knows how to narrow her eyes, even if she is still only a femme fatale in training. 

This is based on Breillat's novel, and you get the sense that this is personal for her. What are we to make of a teenager who has all the physical tools of a sensual woman and who toys with unleashing her sexual prowess but would so much rather be recognized and heard and understood. Lili is caught in a tug-of-war of societal expectations. She has desires, but not necessarily the kind you might expect.