Frankie: Ira Sachs Disappointed (Critic)

The director of Brooklyn Village poses for the first time his camera in Europe without convincing. One of the rare disappointments in Cannes.

In a 2019 Cannes of an exceptional level, this Frankie was an exception. And bad surprise for all those that the filmmaker had seduced with Keep the lights, Love is strange or Brooklyn Village, all of which approached the American social reality without posing as donors of lessons. With Frankie , he crosses the Atlantic. Direction: Sintra, Portugal, where a French actress gravely ill has decided to reunite her relatives for her last vacation. Admittedly, we find here Sachs’s delicacy , which keeps this story far from any lamenting facility. Except in the long run, Frankietends to neurasthenia: by dint of poorly controlled ellipses giving rise to explanations of text clumsy, the film, which eyeing the side of Woody Allen forgetting its comic dimension, frays. And locks in a devitalized atmosphere and a sluggish rhythm, without ever being attached to Frankie ( Isabelle Huppert ). Sachs shows us all the flaws but not why all the characters around her are so attached to her. And just by multiplying these characters, Sachs traps himself. In 1:38, he can only stay on the surface of things and not dig any of the mini-stories that make up his story. With this movie ,Ira Sachs is therefore added to the long list of foreign filmmakers who, by moving away from their usual playground, lost on the way what made the salt, the singularity and the strength of their works.

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