I’ll cut to the chase: Midnighters is usually my most anticipated sidebar of any festival (from last year’s Cannes alone, they treated us to “Exit 8” and I was higher than most in “Honey Don’t!”), so I go into the films premiering in this section with an open mind and an eager heart. Save for one good-looking animated film, almost everything else is a disappointment. It’s entirely possible that films that would have played well here are managed in other categories (see: “Victorian Psycho” and “Too Many Animals”), but we hope that future interpretations of this category will not sound like leftovers to others.
Quentin Dupieux returns to English-language films with “Full Phil,” and it is clear that the time in between did not keep his pen sharp. Of course, it doesn’t make sense, so its overly literal dialogue and awkward lines from the father-daughter duo played by Woody Harrelson and Kristen Stewart can be read as a bit too much commitment. But it oscillates between absurd absurdity and an uncanny realism that in the end, you’re not sure what the point of it all was. It reminds me of those Michelin-starred meals that are sweet to the point of saccharine; they look nice, but not much in the way of nutrition.
What feels so sad is that Dupieux is wasting the talents of great actors like Harrelson and Stewart, who are trapped in archetypes that prevent them from getting into anything remotely like the interior. Harrelson has played the know-it-all diva many times now, and in his role as the respectable Phil, a wealthy tycoon, he delivers some fun but different songs. The first half of the film sees him arguing with his daughter, Madeleine (Stewart), about how she closed the toilet on her side of their Paris suite. It’s a little bit that feels like it goes on for way too long, and there’s only so many ways you can get into a variety of “You shouldn’t have flushed the toilet / Well, too bad I did” type of dialogue exchange that goes crazy.
To Dupieux’s credit, he clearly understands that there is something attractive about witnessing beautiful people eating. It is with Stewart’s Madeline that the film enters its most extreme aspects: for all their bickering, she orders extra room service, never showing signs of satiety. Stewart enjoys literally chewing the cud, eating all manner of Parisian cuisine in such extravagant ways that it’s a stark contrast to the aesthetic appeal of the dishes. There is a joy in watching Stewart indulge in ways that the creator of those dishes might not have intended.
The actor seems to realize that the way an actor eats reveals as much about the actor as the conversation. One big one comes when he gets a tomahawk steak, grabs it on the bone, and eats it like a Harold’s Chicken Shack drum; apparently he has an unusual appetite. He can’t escape the clutches of poorly written dialogue at all; “I like boys,” she said to her father at one point, and I could have sworn I saw Stewart wink at how untrue that statement was.
Between bites, Madeleine watches a black-and-white monster movie where a “Shape of Water”-type sea creature terrorizes characters played by Emma Mackey, Tim Heidecker, and Eric Wareheim. A film that is far more interesting and crafted with greater care than the live story we are watching unfolds. The more Madeleine eats, the more Phil grows in size, at one point seeing a stomach so full he worries that the long movement might cause it to pass out, sending organs and blood everywhere.
Perhaps this is all a metaphor for how mindless child labor becomes a burden to their parents? It’s hard to tell, and as the film goes down, it feels like Dupieux and his collaborators just threw everything in a pan and cooked everything to the same temperature, unable to get the ingredients into anything cohesive. I’m a firm believer that a healthy cinematic diet should also have some junk food, but “Full Phil” doesn’t have the dignity to be that. Just empty calories,
There is a culinary carryover “Sanguine (Types)” from the director Marion Le Corroller, which is one of those projects where the idea is more interesting than the execution. A body horror satire with a feminist bent that will no doubt draw comparisons to Coralie Fargeat and Julia Ducournau, but it’s more in line with Cronenberg’s “Dead Ringers” or Verbinski’s “A Cure for Wellness,” in the way it explores how the horror of our tragic consequences affects our dirty voices. Making a film about the horrors of work burnout is an interesting start, given the grinding culture and busy economy, but it’s too static in its action and not too invested in the lives of its characters to cut skin-deep.
The beginning begins with such promise that it is hard to accept the ways in which Le Corroller loses structure along the way. We’re transported to the inner workings of a fast food restaurant with a rhythm that feels like a concert: the lighting feels uniquely bright, and the sounds, from customers munching to ordering numbers being called, are an assault on the senses. In other words, it is understandable that these are the main conditions for a person to go crazy for this kind of work, and Le Corroller is happy to show how all these factors can lead to a crash, which gives the film its name. After a customer angrily demanded a Royal King burger even though the store didn’t have it on the menu, the cashier shot him and beat him to death before killing himself.
After a cold open, we meet Margot (Mara Taquin), who starts as an intern in a high-end Emergency Room, where the senior doctor treats patients like sweat. Margot faces her doubts and competition with her co-workers; he meets patients whose bodies are marked with masses of red veins and black eyes, not unlike the restaurant worker we see at the beginning of the film. When Margot begins to experience similar symptoms—due to a virus that infects overworked people—she discovers that everyone who works in this high-class environment can be a carrier.
Taquin makes a good lead, and the film is smart to focus on the drama by keeping the camera close to his face. She’s a problem solver at heart, and yet Taquin lets Margot’s soft, vulnerable side flow through her face in times of crisis. She is strong but justifiably frustrated by her family’s expectations. He feels the weight of being the embodiment of his family’s big dreams, because of the distance he has come in his education, and the outbreak represents not only a physical disturbance but an attack on his family’s hopes.
It’s a shame that the film around him is such a slog to get through. It has the sheen of a modern medical drama, but it takes too long to finally become interesting. Cinematographer Guillaume Schiffman has some fun with the cinematography at least, using wide shots and using a first-person POV on the infected, to make it seem like we’re in the middle of a zombie video game. This needs to be pierced quickly and with verve, but it feels like being stabbed in the gums when your mouth is on novacaine; the effect is greatly muted.
Featuring an electric soundtrack, a fun self-aware comedy, and great acting with its animation style, “Jim Queen” it has all the makings of a cult classic animation. Its narrative is slow, and it’s one of those films that pretends to have a single point of view with non-stop sight gags, but its confidence will have you griping quickly. It is an animated charmer that combines raunch and warmth into a memorable gem.
From the beginning, the directors Nicolas Athane and Marco Nguyen told you what kind of film this is going to be: to open the gun to the ripped men of history who are burdened, they begin to look at the mission statement of thor gym: “We like ripped bodies (big packages that are well hung)” they say, before some body songs enter the most important words. in French). We meet Jim Parfait (Alex Ramirès), a gym promoter and star who boasts 24-pack abs and consumes enough creatine and protein powder to wipe out an army of Victorian children.
The emotional intelligence of the film is refined in the first scene: everything is dialed to eleven, Jim’s abs look more like mountains than anything like what you would find in a normal body. There will be comments about the gay subculture and a strong sequence about learning to love yourself, but this is an unusually strong and irreverent entertainment. The animators are clearly having fun as they poke the film with one visual lump (and other kinds of binding tools) for you to count, inviting you to do the same.
If the film’s one-note sensitivity wasn’t already evident from that opening, its inspiring action will reiterate what Athane and Nguyen note: Jim is shocked to learn that he’s discovered a new STI called heterosis, which directs people straight. Scared that he is getting closer to the moment (evidenced by the way he holds feelings for his friend Nina (Shirley Souagnon) when he starts a journey to find a cure. Along the way, he runs into Lucien (Jérémy Gillet), who is infatuated with Jim. He is the son of the Prime Minister Elisabeth Witcher (Elisabeth Witcher’s leader), Elisabeth Witcher, the leader I could not be happier with the reduced animation style Bobbypills feels like a throwback to the best of Adult Swim, and it’s fun to see it cover the story with modern angsts and sensibilities.
To paraphrase what Jim said earlier, “Be yourself because everyone else is taken.” “Jim Queen” lives fully in his identity, inviting others to do the same. Its central arrogance may be terrifying, but there is horror too, that of living your whole life as a lie to appease a system that benefits from your oppression instead of celebrating your freedom. If pain is “weakness that leaves the body” (as the motivational poster of Planet Fitness would tell you), perhaps, as the film shares, the tears you feel when you finally accept who you are are long-term shame finally leaving the body.
