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How entertaining? ★★☆☆☆
Thought provoking? ★☆☆☆☆ 16 November 2012
This article is a review of CONFESSION OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY. |
“I can neither love her, nor love another,” Octave
An anachronistic but compelling soundtrack, and jittery camera, aim to add hipster cool to a period melodramatic potboiler; though only goes to draw attention to the shoddy acting of Pete Doherty. Not to be too hard on him, Doherty starts out well. Quickly establishing a wounding, both physical and the deeper emotional, his Octave loses a dual, getting shot in the arm. It is over betrayal: his friend making overtures towards his mistress. Not only is his pride wounded, and trust broken, but Octave’s heart is sundered – said mistress, Elise (Lily Cole), reciprocates his bud’s (lustful) feelings. The ending of the protagonist’s relationship with Elise shapes his interactions with women for the rest of the film.
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The stunt casting of an indie musician, and paparazzi fodder, at first fascinates. His softly spoken tones are everywhere, in dialogue and sole voice over. Mellifluousness evolves into grating frustration however, as too much is asked of Doherty. He is fine being morose and lovelorn, but eventually gets tiring to witness. And as the misery finds an outlet in debauchery and then another woman, there is no second or third gear cranked into. CONFESSION OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY feels like a vampire-less TWILIGHT meets BARRY LYNDON, and not in a good way. That anachronistic score sets the tone for an emo performance that is out of place with the surroundings.
Escaping Paris to the French countryside, and after just missing the passing of his father, Octave stumbles one winter’s day across Brigitte (Charlotte Gainsbourg), an older widower living with her aunt. Gainsbourg outclasses everyone by firing on all cylinders attempting to overcome the shoddy script. And boy is it ropy – striving for poetry and passion, and ending up pretentious and insipid. Brigitte becomes the focus of Octave’s attentions, seeing her as salving balm. The widow’s reticence, due to her suitor’s younger age, provides him a project. Love is eventually mutually professed. Happiness is short-lived.
Stunningly shot by Nicolas Gaurin – there’s a reason his name is first out of the gate when the credits roll – giving grandeur, and elevating what might otherwise have been too tedious. Ennui sets in after an hour, and unfortunately there’s another 50 minutes of watching mumbling and repetitiveness and cod philosophising.
Maybe the director is saying something about the petulance and self-absorption of the modern Western world? Maybe. Either way, an eclectic cast has not been utilised.
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