list http://www.spout.com/ Recent community activity around My Best Friend on Spout Copyright 2005-9 Spout, LLC Spout RSS http://www.spout.com/images/SpoutLogoRSS.jpg http://www.spout.com/ 136 30 http://www.spout.com/films/My_Best_Friend/291412/default.aspx Title: My Best Friend
Year: 2007
Director: Marie-Eve Graviou Dural, Patrice Leconte
Plot: After business associates chide him for his indifference to other people, high-powered art dealer François (Daniel Auteuil) is challenged to produce an actual friend in only ten days, or lose a valued vase. His search sets off a witty and thoughtful look at the meaning of friendship from prolific French director Patrice Leconte. An IFC Films Release. ~tribecafilmfestival.org
Times Tagged: 13
Number of Lists: 3
Number of blog posts: 3
SpoutRating: 3
]]>Mon, 28 Jan 2008 14:39:21 GMTMy Best Friend2007Marie-Eve Graviou Dural, Patrice LeconteAfter business associates chide him for his indifference to other people, high-powered art dealer François (Daniel Auteuil) is challenged to produce an actual friend in only ten days, or lose a valued vase. His search sets off a witty and thoughtful look at the meaning of friendship from prolific French director Patrice Leconte. An IFC Films Release. ~tribecafilmfestival.org13Tag Target (>10)333http://www.spout.com/ProductImages/s291412.jpghttp://www.spout.com/films/My_Best_Friend/291412/default.aspxFilm http://www.spout.com/blogs/moviebabe/archive/2007/7/26/16607.aspx Post By: MovieBabe
Post To: MovieBabe Blog
Post Date: 7/26/2007 7:17:00 PM
Body: By Tricia Olszewski Vitus asks you to believe in a myth that pops up in film from time to time, usually in the most melodramatic of family dramas: the precocious little boy who prefers to dress like Tucker Carlson. The tiny vests and ties denote a type, to be sure. This kid is gifted. Serious. Far smarter than the adults who are nurturing him. And he knows it. If you’re familiar with this particular personality, your first glimpse of the latest incarnation will likely give a good indication whether you’ll love him or hate him. Vitus’ titular character is introduced in a way that may not win him fans immediately. A boy of 12 is wearing a suit and shuffling on a sunny morning toward the runway of a small airport. The gate is padlocked shut, so he climbs over and hops into a plane. No one notices until he turns on the engine, at which point an employee waves his arms frantically and pleads with the boy to shut it off. Instead, Vitus gives a thumbs up, and away he goes. Away he goes? Please. Mercifully, writer-director Fredi M. Murer immediately turns back the clock to when Vitus (Fabrizio Borsani) was a much more darling tyke of 6. His parents, Helen and Leo (Julika Jenkins and Urs Jucker), are just realizing how gifted their son is—he’s a natural on the piano, terrifically bored in kindergarten, and takes it upon himself to look up words that Dad doesn’t have time to define for him. They feel pressured to nurture Vitus’ talent, but, you know, it’s not so bad. After all, the kid can be trotted out at dinner parties to show up snooty co-workers who expect that Leo’s boasting means that the boy can play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Vitus’ grandfather (Bruno Ganz), meanwhile, is more of a salt-of-the-earth type and has his grandson help with small construction projects while Gramps talks about his own dreams of being a pilot. Metaphor alert! Vitus is being piano-benched by one generation and receiving hushed odes on the beauty of flight from another. For a while, it’s captivating. Vitus isn’t quite enough of a smartass to be irritating at this stage (see the recent Joshua or 2002’s Valentín for good examples of how exasperating these characters can become), though, admittedly, it’s mostly because Murer focuses more often on the boy’s incredible performances instead of, say, his arrogant ways with a babysitter. The awe of—and sympathy for—the child who is too smart to fit in anywhere dissipates, however, when the film skips ahead a few years. Vitus is now 12 (played by real-life pianist Teo Gheorghiu) and rebelling against whatever the world’s got. He’s sick of his mother’s stage-momness and those teachers who think they know everything. But really, he just wants to be normal. Vitus, co-written by Peter Luisi and Lukas B. Suter, devolves into a ridiculous adolescent fantasy from this point. Try to keep liking the kid as he pulls off an act of supreme manipulation after deciding he no longer wants to pursue a career in music. Or becomes a whiz at the stock market. Or woos his former babysitter, going so far as to buy her a diamond ring and using statistics about death rates and peaking libidos to argue his case. This downturn is a terrific disappointment considering the film’s achievements: The acting, particularly Jenkins’ turn as Vitus’ cool, aristocratic mum and Ganz’s charming grandfather, is excellent, and the score (all piano, naturally) remains enjoyable even when the story goes downhill. It’s nearly enough to fool you into believing you’re watching one fine film—but like its main character, Vitus tries so hard to be intelligent that it forgets to be likable. My Best Friend suffers from nearly the opposite problem: Its main character spends the movie trying to figure out the secret to being liked, but it’s unclear why those around him think he’s a git in the first place. François (Daniel Auteuil) is a French antiques dealer who owns a gallery with his partner, Catherine (Julie Gayet). François isn’t exactly the bleeding-heart type—he attends a former client’s funeral only to procure one final piece of furniture from the man’s estate—and at an associate-attended birthday dinner later that night, his colleagues accuse him of not having any friends. Now, you’d think such a charge would be made lightheartedly, especially considering that the discussion begins not a minute after François smilingly joins them. But these people are rather serious: You don’t bother to notice anyone, they say. No one’s going to come to your funeral. Catherine goes so far as to guess that François doesn’t even have one close friend. In fact, she bets on it. If he can’t present a best bud to her within 10 days, a valuable Greek vase that the dealer impulsively bought that afternoon will be hers. So François spends the evening struggling to come up with a list of pals, shooing away his loving, obviously devoted girlfriend (Elisabeth Bourgine) as he works. Writer-director Patrice Leconte’s film (co-written by Jérôme Tonnerre) has two major strengths. One is the uniqueness of the script. It’s not often you see stories that are strictly about friendship—sure, there’s guy-love in plenty of films, but its portrayal is inevitably accompanied by explosions, sexy women, or other devices that are distracting enough to show grown men liking each other without making it seem as if they like like each other. The other plus is its leads: Auteuil, always a charming presence from such fluff as Après Vous… and The Valet, is—in what will prove to be the film’s undoing—also quite likable here, as is Dany Boon (also from The Valet), playing Bruno, an easygoing, trivia-obsessed cab driver sought out by François for advice on how to make friends. The problem with My Best Friend, however, is that its execution is as strained as its idea is unusual. After that first, mean-spirited dinner—at which point we’ve yet to see any red flags regarding François’ personality—the writers never bother to layer their main character, instead showing him approaching people from his past, all of whom act like he’s murdered their families. Even his college-age daughter tells Bruno that her dad “stinks.” (François’ sin against her? He thought she had a dust allergy, when really it was pecans.) Meanwhile, François’ predicament is played for laughs. He’s thrilled about his apparent instant rapport with salespeople and goofy when he asks two gentlemen in a restaurant how they cultivated their relationship. In other words, he’s funny and personable. Not exactly what the script ordered. Worse, the plot takes turns contrived enough to get a sitcom canceled. Bruno and François develop a friendship, of course, but just as predictably things get strained—because François, you know, just can’t help screwing up. But the film wipes its hands of all plausibility in its final chapter. Let’s just say it involves Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and those lifelines. Against all odds, there are a few chuckles in this predictable arc, and the sentiment expressed about true friends is touching. But My Best Friend is ultimately a trifle that's too labored to be sweet.
]]>Thu, 26 Jul 2007 23:17:00 GMTMovieBabeMovieBabe Blog7/26/2007 7:17:00 PM By Tricia Olszewski Vitus asks you to believe in a myth that pops up in film from time to time, usually in the most melodramatic of family dramas: the precocious little boy who prefers to dress like Tucker Carlson. The tiny vests and ties denote a type, to be sure. This kid is gifted. Serious. Far smarter than the adults who are nurturing him. And he knows it. If you’re familiar with this particular personality, your first glimpse of the latest incarnation will likely give a good indication whether you’ll love him or hate him. Vitus’ titular character is introduced in a way that may not win him fans immediately. A boy of 12 is wearing a suit and shuffling on a sunny morning toward the runway of a small airport. The gate is padlocked shut, so he climbs over and hops into a plane. No one notices until he turns on the engine, at which point an employee waves his arms frantically and pleads with the boy to shut it off. Instead, Vitus gives a thumbs up, and away he goes. Away he goes? Please. Mercifully, writer-director Fredi M. Murer immediately turns back the clock to when Vitus (Fabrizio Borsani) was a much more darling tyke of 6. His parents, Helen and Leo (Julika Jenkins and Urs Jucker), are just realizing how gifted their son is—he’s a natural on the piano, terrifically bored in kindergarten, and takes it upon himself to look up words that Dad doesn’t have time to define for him. They feel pressured to nurture Vitus’ talent, but, you know, it’s not so bad. After all, the kid can be trotted out at dinner parties to show up snooty co-workers who expect that Leo’s boasting means that the boy can play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Vitus’ grandfather (Bruno Ganz), meanwhile, is more of a salt-of-the-earth type and has his grandson help with small construction projects while Gramps talks about his own dreams of being a pilot. Metaphor alert! Vitus is being piano-benched by one generation and receiving hushed odes on the beauty of flight from another. For a while, it’s captivating. Vitus isn’t quite enough of a smartass to be irritating at this stage (see the recent Joshua or 2002’s Valentín for good examples of how exasperating these characters can become), though, admittedly, it’s mostly because Murer focuses more often on the boy’s incredible performances instead of, say, his arrogant ways with a babysitter. The awe of—and sympathy for—the child who is too smart to fit in anywhere dissipates, however, when the film skips ahead a few years. Vitus is now 12 (played by real-life pianist Teo Gheorghiu) and rebelling against whatever the world’s got. He’s sick of his mother’s stage-momness and those teachers who think they know everything. But really, he just wants to be normal. Vitus, co-written by Peter Luisi and Lukas B. Suter, devolves into a ridiculous adolescent fantasy from this point. Try to keep liking the kid as he pulls off an act of supreme manipulation after deciding he no longer wants to pursue a career in music. Or becomes a whiz at the stock market. Or woos his former babysitter, going so far as to buy her a diamond ring and using statistics about death rates and peaking libidos to argue his case. This downturn is a terrific disappointment considering the film’s achievements: The acting, particularly Jenkins’ turn as Vitus’ cool, aristocratic mum and Ganz’s charming grandfather, is excellent, and the score (all piano, naturally) remains enjoyable even when the story goes downhill. It’s nearly enough to fool you into believing you’re watching one fine film—but like its main character, Vitus tries so hard to be intelligent that it forgets to be likable. My Best Friend suffers from nearly the opposite problem: Its main character spends the movie trying to figure out the secret to being liked, but it’s unclear why those around him think he’s a git in the first place. François (Daniel Auteuil) is a French antiques dealer who owns a gallery with his partner, Catherine (Julie Gayet). François isn’t exactly the bleeding-heart type—he attends a former client’s funeral only to procure one final piece of furniture from the man’s estate—and at an associate-attended birthday dinner later that night, his colleagues accuse him of not having any friends. Now, you’d think such a charge would be made lightheartedly, especially considering that the discussion begins not a minute after François smilingly joins them. But these people are rather serious: You don’t bother to notice anyone, they say. No one’s going to come to your funeral. Catherine goes so far as to guess that François doesn’t even have one close friend. In fact, she bets on it. If he can’t present a best bud to her within 10 days, a valuable Greek vase that the dealer impulsively bought that afternoon will be hers. So François spends the evening struggling to come up with a list of pals, shooing away his loving, obviously devoted girlfriend (Elisabeth Bourgine) as he works. Writer-director Patrice Leconte’s film (co-written by Jérôme Tonnerre) has two major strengths. One is the uniqueness of the script. It’s not often you see stories that are strictly about friendship—sure, there’s guy-love in plenty of films, but its portrayal is inevitably accompanied by explosions, sexy women, or other devices that are distracting enough to show grown men liking each other without making it seem as if they like like each other. The other plus is its leads: Auteuil, always a charming presence from such fluff as Après Vous… and The Valet, is—in what will prove to be the film’s undoing—also quite likable here, as is Dany Boon (also from The Valet), playing Bruno, an easygoing, trivia-obsessed cab driver sought out by François for advice on how to make friends. The problem with My Best Friend, however, is that its execution is as strained as its idea is unusual. After that first, mean-spirited dinner—at which point we’ve yet to see any red flags regarding François’ personality—the writers never bother to layer their main character, instead showing him approaching people from his past, all of whom act like he’s murdered their families. Even his college-age daughter tells Bruno that her dad “stinks.” (François’ sin against her? He thought she had a dust allergy, when really it was pecans.) Meanwhile, François’ predicament is played for laughs. He’s thrilled about his apparent instant rapport with salespeople and goofy when he asks two gentlemen in a restaurant how they cultivated their relationship. In other words, he’s funny and personable. Not exactly what the script ordered. Worse, the plot takes turns contrived enough to get a sitcom canceled. Bruno and François develop a friendship, of course, but just as predictably things get strained—because François, you know, just can’t help screwing up. But the film wipes its hands of all plausibility in its final chapter. Let’s just say it involves Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and those lifelines. Against all odds, there are a few chuckles in this predictable arc, and the sentiment expressed about true friends is touching. But My Best Friend is ultimately a trifle that's too labored to be sweet. http://www.spout.com/blogs/thereeler/archive/2007/5/8/8412.aspx Post By: TheReeler
Post To: The Reeler on Spout
Post Date: 5/8/2007 12:50:00 PM
Body: Friends forever: Daniel Auteuil and Julie Gayet in My Best Friend By Eric Kohn So much of the festival environment relies on finding new talent that the presence of established artists practically seems like an afterthought. The tenuous relationship between career success and festival recognition doesn’t apply to filmmakers whose name alone attracts a crowd. This year, Tribeca held a spot for Patrice Leconte, one of the finest contemporary French filmmakers, for his sizably budgeted comedy My Best Friend. The movie arrived at the festival with a distribution deal through IFC Films in place (it hits theaters July 13), meaning that its inclusion in the festival primarily serves to guarantee that some quality offerings that only a veteran can provide. But what’s in a name? Not everything, unfortunately. I’ve admired Leconte’s inquisitive character studies for years; his magnificent reworking of The Prince and the Pauper in 2002’s The Man on the Train transcended the simple concept of a switcheroo to arrive at a simultaneously touching and engaging thriller; Intimate Strangers magnificently interrogated the relationship between a therapist and his patient without laying down too much psychobabble. My Best Friend shows Leconte’s fondness for personalities wrapped up in quixotic conflicts, but the premise is too incredulous even by his own standards: A heartless art dealer (Daniel Auteuil) learns from his colleagues that he has no friends (business partners don’t count). Fiercely intent on proving them wrong, he sets out to find a perfect candidate to fill in the blank. He eventually settles on an affable taxi driver (Dany Boon), whom he attempts to cajole into friendship. Naturally, the poor guy finds out, they have a few arguments, and a major reconciliation scene takes place on a French version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Really. I get the sense that Leconte got too ambitious with the material. Rather than trusting the round-up highly amusing personalities, he allows them to fall into highly incredulous situations that diminish the potential for believable humor and the possibility that the movie contains any real message other than “friends are good.” For a more intricate study of character relationships, check out Fiestapatria, a sensationally moving drama centered on family dynamics across generations in Chile. Director Luis Vera shoots his story on with the tried-and-true shaky cam aesthetic, recalling successful Dogme entries like The Celebration, where the viewer gets treated to clandestine secrets that stretch across the secretive boundaries of parents and children. In this case, a teenager struggles to uncover her father’s dark past from the bloody time of the Pinochean dictatorship, culminating in a shocking confrontation more chilling than any typical squabbling over curfew. Fiestapatria is about family, but it’s also about mortality. Death offers easy access for creating drama, but it doesn’t ensure quality in the execution. Nanking, a documentary about the bloody 1937-1938 Japanese occupation of China’s formerly flourishing establishment, certainly hits a nerve: Women were raped and families were torn apart before a resident Nazi and a few stray American missionaries were able to kickstart a means of restoring order. The photos and brief film clips included in Nanking aren’t for the squeamish, but the strange technique that directors Bill Guttentag, Dan Sturman and Elisabeth Bentley use for their storytelling is questionably disingenuous. They hired several actors (including Woody Harrelson) to sit on a stage and read from letters written by the people who were in China and observing the massacres at the time. It’s an earnest attempt to let the realism levitate to a theatrical plane, but there’s something troubling about watching the dude from Cheers when you’re trying to take the images seriously. A more conventional -- and satisfying -- approach to the study of death and disorder can be found in Lillie and Leander: A Legacy of Violence. Starting with the shocking legend of a black man hanged in the late 1800s for supposedly slitting the throat of a woman in a small American town. Years later, the woman’s great-great niece set out to make a documentary of the event, quickly discovering that it was only a small part of a largely horrifying story. That lynching set off a slew of violent, murderous attacks against the local African-American population, turning the forest into a virtual burial ground. Jeffrey Morgan, the movie’s director, stumbled upon this story as it was developing and caught the process of discovering human remains as it took place. Although the pace occasionally lags, Lillie and Leander gives an essential portrait of the role the past plays in understanding the present. With such unsettling material, it’s hard to imagine switching gears for a tamer documentary, but at least the festival provides some variety. Music Inn tells the story of an annual gathering of legendary jazz musicians in Lennox, Massachusetts. What began as a few impressive jam sessions eventually developed into a functional hotel, school and festival host. Music junkies will find the role of the Music Inn in the history of America’s most diverse music genre to be instantly compelling; the inn essentially functioned as an artists’ haven, which makes its eventual fate as a collection of condominiums especially revealing. In the East Village, another area slowly vanishing in the face of skyrocketing real estate, Samuel R. Delany lives a messy writer’s life. The remarkably talented prose composer and sci-fi scribe, who sports a Ginsbergian mustache and rambles enthusiastically about his '60s sexual exploits, serves as the subject for Fred Barney Taylor’s enlightening The Polymath or, The Life and Opinions of Samuel R. Delany, Gentleman. Following Delany from book readings to writer conferences and into the claustrophobic confines of his home, Taylor lets his subject guide the piece, and the result is all across the board, and consistently fascinating. Delany is a contradictory figure, at once self-depricating and self-absorbed. Striding along a dense Manhattan street, he claims to be a “boring, dull, black faggot.” As if. Discuss these and other Tribeca titles at Spout: My Best Friend Fiestapatria Nanking Lillie and Leander: A Legacy of Violence Music Inn The Polymath or, The Life and Opinions of Samuel R. Delany, Gentleman Syndicated Feed From:The Reeler
]]>Tue, 08 May 2007 16:50:00 GMTTheReelerThe Reeler on Spout5/8/2007 12:50:00 PMFriends forever: Daniel Auteuil and Julie Gayet in My Best Friend By Eric Kohn So much of the festival environment relies on finding new talent that the presence of established artists practically seems like an afterthought. The tenuous relationship between career success and festival recognition doesn’t apply to filmmakers whose name alone attracts a crowd. This year, Tribeca held a spot for Patrice Leconte, one of the finest contemporary French filmmakers, for his sizably budgeted comedy My Best Friend. The movie arrived at the festival with a distribution deal through IFC Films in place (it hits theaters July 13), meaning that its inclusion in the festival primarily serves to guarantee that some quality offerings that only a veteran can provide. But what’s in a name? Not everything, unfortunately. I’ve admired Leconte’s inquisitive character studies for years; his magnificent reworking of The Prince and the Pauper in 2002’s The Man on the Train transcended the simple concept of a switcheroo to arrive at a simultaneously touching and engaging thriller; Intimate Strangers magnificently interrogated the relationship between a therapist and his patient without laying down too much psychobabble. My Best Friend shows Leconte’s fondness for personalities wrapped up in quixotic conflicts, but the premise is too incredulous even by his own standards: A heartless art dealer (Daniel Auteuil) learns from his colleagues that he has no friends (business partners don’t count). Fiercely intent on proving them wrong, he sets out to find a perfect candidate to fill in the blank. He eventually settles on an affable taxi driver (Dany Boon), whom he attempts to cajole into friendship. Naturally, the poor guy finds out, they have a few arguments, and a major reconciliation scene takes place on a French version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Really. I get the sense that Leconte got too ambitious with the material. Rather than trusting the round-up highly amusing personalities, he allows them to fall into highly incredulous situations that diminish the potential for believable humor and the possibility that the movie contains any real message other than “friends are good.” For a more intricate study of character relationships, check out Fiestapatria, a sensationally moving drama centered on family dynamics across generations in Chile. Director Luis Vera shoots his story on with the tried-and-true shaky cam aesthetic, recalling successful Dogme entries like The Celebration, where the viewer gets treated to clandestine secrets that stretch across the secretive boundaries of parents and children. In this case, a teenager struggles to uncover her father’s dark past from the bloody time of the Pinochean dictatorship, culminating in a shocking confrontation more chilling than any typical squabbling over curfew. Fiestapatria is about family, but it’s also about mortality. Death offers easy access for creating drama, but it doesn’t ensure quality in the execution. Nanking, a documentary about the bloody 1937-1938 Japanese occupation of China’s formerly flourishing establishment, certainly hits a nerve: Women were raped and families were torn apart before a resident Nazi and a few stray American missionaries were able to kickstart a means of restoring order. The photos and brief film clips included in Nanking aren’t for the squeamish, but the strange technique that directors Bill Guttentag, Dan Sturman and Elisabeth Bentley use for their storytelling is questionably disingenuous. They hired several actors (including Woody Harrelson) to sit on a stage and read from letters written by the people who were in China and observing the massacres at the time. It’s an earnest attempt to let the realism levitate to a theatrical plane, but there’s something troubling about watching the dude from Cheers when you’re trying to take the images seriously. A more conventional -- and satisfying -- approach to the study of death and disorder can be found in Lillie and Leander: A Legacy of Violence. Starting with the shocking legend of a black man hanged in the late 1800s for supposedly slitting the throat of a woman in a small American town. Years later, the woman’s great-great niece set out to make a documentary of the event, quickly discovering that it was only a small part of a largely horrifying story. That lynching set off a slew of violent, murderous attacks against the local African-American population, turning the forest into a virtual burial ground. Jeffrey Morgan, the movie’s director, stumbled upon this story as it was developing and caught the process of discovering human remains as it took place. Although the pace occasionally lags, Lillie and Leander gives an essential portrait of the role the past plays in understanding the present. With such unsettling material, it’s hard to imagine switching gears for a tamer documentary, but at least the festival provides some variety. Music Inn tells the story of an annual gathering of legendary jazz musicians in Lennox, Massachusetts. What began as a few impressive jam sessions eventually developed into a functional hotel, school and festival host. Music junkies will find the role of the Music Inn in the history of America’s most diverse music genre to be instantly compelling; the inn essentially functioned as an artists’ haven, which makes its eventual fate as a collection of condominiums especially revealing. In the East Village, another area slowly vanishing in the face of skyrocketing real estate, Samuel R. Delany lives a messy writer’s life. The remarkably talented prose composer and sci-fi scribe, who sports a Ginsbergian mustache and rambles enthusiastically about his '60s sexual exploits, serves as the subject for Fred Barney Taylor’s enlightening The Polymath or, The Life and Opinions of Samuel R. Delany, Gentleman. Following Delany from book readings to writer conferences and into the claustrophobic confines of his home, Taylor lets his subject guide the piece, and the result is all across the board, and consistently fascinating. Delany is a contradictory figure, at once self-depricating and self-absorbed. Striding along a dense Manhattan street, he claims to be a “boring, dull, black faggot.” As if. Discuss these and other Tribeca titles at Spout: My Best Friend Fiestapatria Nanking Lillie and Leander: A Legacy of Violence Music Inn The Polymath or, The Life and Opinions of Samuel R. Delany, Gentleman Syndicated Feed From:The Reeler http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/friendship/MemberTagFilms.aspxfriendship
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