Posted: 03/31/2003

Man on the Train [L’Homme du Train]

(2002)

by Parama Chaudhury

A retired poetry teacher and a robber cross paths and ponder their own personal roads not taken.

Those around me know that my new movie obsession is “ordinary” French cinema; I am trying to find out whether the people who have established themselves as the undisputed masters of the cinematic language, perform as well on small canvasses using simple concepts as they do with the high art for which they are better known. The Closet, an office comedy which opened stateside a couple of summers ago, was one of the most compelling pieces of evidence that the French can excel at what we in America call mainstream cinema. A cute story, run-of-the-mill characters and an acute sense of proportion were all this little movie needed to show how a well-made piece of art can also be an audience show-stopper. Last year’s Sur Mes Levres also proved this point again, albeit in a somewhat less spectacular manner, while Amelie, though a little too cute for my taste, was by any standards, a more than decent effort. L’Homme du Train appeared to be this year’s contribution to my stock of evidence, so I went to see it with great anticipation. The fact that director Patrice Leconte counts among his credits offbeat sex comedies like The Hairdresser’s Husband and more solidly mainstream stuff like The Widow of Sainte-Pierre and Ridicule, only increased my expectation that this movie would only add to the mounting evidence.

So does L’Homme du Train line up neatly behind The Closet in the “hit” column on my chart? Well, the first part of it - everything leading up to that eventful Saturday -certainly does. Superb performances from both the leading men and the tangible chemistry between them add up to a cinematic feast. But then suddenly, director Leconte yields to temptation and the movie slips into a ridiculous reverie which can only be attributed to an overriding desire for a happy ending. In the production notes, Leconte justifies this abrupt turn of events by saying that he was tired of the “dark, fateful” way in which many of his recent movies have closed. Unfortunately, Leconte offers us an alternative that is neither charming nor clever, and a movie that could have been an undiluted triumph for popular French cinema ends up being merely an enjoyable experience.

The plot of L’Homme du Train is almost a cliché: two men from very different walks of life meet by chance and form an unlikely friendship. Milan, played by French pop icon Johnny Halliday, is a rough-and-tough loner who turns up in a lonely provincial town for a planned heist. He runs into Manesquier, a retired schoolteacher played by venerated French actor Jean Rochefort, at the local pharmacy. As the only hotel in town is closed, Milan is forced to accept Manesquier’s hospitality. Manesquier is a cheerfully voluble old man, and he soon coaxes the sullen Milan out of his customary reticence. A sort of companionship builds up between the two men, as one awaits a heart operation and the other, the arrival of his bank robber buddies. I read somewhere that the Anglo-Saxon equivalent of the Rochefort-Hallyday pairing is to have Laurence Olivier star opposite Elvis Presley. But even if you’re not totally immersed in French popular culture of the last thirty years, the actors are so brilliant in playing their complementarities and contrasts against each other, that you can appreciate the casting coup. Rochefort, who had a small but important role in The Closet and starred in Leconte’s The Hairdresser’s Husband, eases into the role of the poetry teacher who has a secret yearning to be a cowboy, and invites our comradeship rather than our sympathy. He tries on Milan’s leather jacket when the younger man steps out, and performs a little John Wayne-type routine in front of the mirror. The sincerity of this little performance is apparent, and this is what saves it from dissolving into an exercise in self-pity or a display of buffoonery. While not as impressive an execution, Hallyday’s turn as Milan is also solid; there isn’t a single false note when on a whim, Milan pretends to be a poetry professor, and tutors a young boy with very little affinity for poetry. At the same time, he is completely at ease, when he plans the bank robbery with his accomplices in a true cowboy style back-alley rendezvous.

Apart from the acting, the most memorable aspect of L’Homme du Train is the blend of colors used. Most of the town, even in the light of day, has a bluish gray tinge, and the only light on the streets at night is the eerie green of the flashing pharmacy sign. Manesquier’s house and the boulangerie are lit up by a warm yellow light, which spills out onto the street. Wisely, Leconte does not milk the parallel between the contrast in the lighting and the difference between the two men. Similarly, he chooses a mellow classical score to accompany Manesquier’s every move, while Milan’s music is more jazzy. The most interesting visual and sound images are constructed in those scenes where both men are present, so that the colder, darker lighting continuously interacts with the genial one, while classical music engages the jazz.

Unfortunately, Leconte’s final treatment of the two men’s mutual desire to trade places, if even for a second, interrupts the smooth flow that the actors have built up. Since the early part of the film has such a grounded, realistic ambience, any flights of fancy at this point seem contrived. After all, both men were able to reach outside of their own experience and derive a vicarious pleasure during the course of the film, so a “sad” ending might actually not have been that sad after all. Nevertheless, Leconte’s direction is impeccable till right before the final sequence, and one hopes that in the future, he will resist the lure for novelty, and stick with convention if it is what comes naturally.

Man on the Train [L’Homme du Train] opens in NY and LA on May 9th, 2003.

Parama Chaudhury is a graduate student, an ex-writing instructor and a budding freelance writer based in New York City.

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