Actor and director performs Barbara, a biopic on the fascinating French singer starring his wife, Jeanne Balibar
The window of Parisian hotel resists. In person Mathieu Amalric ( Neuilly-on-Seine, Hauts-de-Seine, 1965) possesses same playful spirit that many of its characters on screen, goblins who take refuge behind its big eyes and its enormous smile of joker. And with those weapons he has involved journalist in attempt to open a window so that actor and director can smoke. There is a padlock in between and an alarm that jumps somewhere in reception. Amalric doesn’t stop laughing with little girl. “We can’t even kill ourselves here!” Until a conical waiter appears. Impossible. Amalric looks at him and in 30 seconds he coaxes with his chatter. Result: The filmmaker smokes in room thanks to a cup reconverted into an ashtray. Continue reading “Mathieu Amalric, the vibrant goblin of the French cinema”
The great lady in black of the French song inspires Mathieu Amalric with a biopic sketch in the form of a declaration of love. Sublime.
As it is difficult to pin down the singular charm of Barbara’s words, melodies and voice, it is equally perilous to sum up the poisonous and heady beauty of her weird biopic. This is perhaps the most striking proof of the success of Mathieu Amalric’s daring venture. Cleverly refusing to yield to the agreed cinematographic hagiography, the actor-director composes a very modern elegy, a succession of moments, a sum of dotted lines which draw in an impressionist way the complex and mysterious silhouette of the singer.
Continue reading “Seen at Cannes 2017: Barbara “