Isabelle Huppert, Chloe Grace Moretz, Maika Monroe, Zawe Ashton
Theaters everywhere on March 1st
Take a legend of the French game, add a starlet newly appeared in a Horror remake of high quality, sprinkle with a dash of Hearing and a liberal doll of Fatal Attractionand you mingle with a director who has made "high" genre films even before the term exists, and what do you get? Greta, The crying game The latest entry from director Neil Jordan in his long and often scathing book. It is a light film that will probably not be retained in the long term by all those who discover it during deep dives in his respective filmographies. But, oh, what a dizzying turn awaits them.
The main character is Isabelle Huppert, a seemingly innocent widow living in Brooklyn who first meets Frances, of Chloë Grace Moretz, after she found a boxy green handbag in the subway one night. Frances is a newcomer to New York, her charming life taking her directly from a wealthy private institution to the Soho loft of her friend Erica (Maika Monroe), whose parents bought her for the discount diplomas. Frances hands the bag to the address indicated on the piece of identity inside. She is immediately in love with Greta, whose desire to find her separated daughter seems to correspond to Frances' wish for her dead mother.
This is how the two men begin a family pantomime, fulfilling the roles of mother and daughter in everyone's life by cooking at home and walking in the park with Greta's new dog, which Frances helps to choose. in a shelter. Then Frances opens the wrong door in Greta's bathroom cabinet while looking for candles to light one of those homemade dinners. Inside, she finds half a dozen bags identical to the one she so kindly brought back to her new fake mom, each with the name and number of the sap that returned it. . Confused and betrayed, Frances cuts all contact with Greta. Greta, to let herself go to a dramatic euphemism, does not take rejection well.
The crazy stalker thriller: call it Fatal Mom-tractionThe following incorporates smartphone technology in a more organic way than many movies of this type and flirts with a feminist statement about the frequency and candor with which it communicates the inadequacy of current anti-stalking laws. But it is especially a joyful affair, which provokes laughter, designed to make Huppert's fans shout with joy: Isabelle Huppert lights a table in a crowded restaurant! Isabelle Huppert dances barefoot in her apartment, a syringe in her hand! Isabelle Huppert is loaded at the back of an ambulance in a straitjacket, squirming and shouting!
All the while, Huppert clearly amuses himself with playing a sort of frowning French Terminator, appearing with incredible rapidity and silence wherever Moretz surrenders, but not really devouring the scenery until the film returns to third position. And Jordan keeps the hysterical energy at its peak, punctuating the scenes with Javier Navarrete's screaming serial killer scoring and further reinforcing the absurdity by stacking superimposed dream sequences. If all that sounds complicated, that's the case. Greta there are undeniably some rhythm problems, especially in his first half, and the mechanics of the plot seems to be related to the gum that Huppert spits in Moretz's hair in another disturbed scene. But for those who worship at the camp altar, a story that does not make much sense is a feature, not a bug.