Although you end up with a remarkable mental and physical patty (in my case it is impossible for me to find a more or less fixed and comfortable position in the armchair when the movie session is marathon and it does not manage to hypnotize me either), after attending without respite to three films with a collective seven-hour footage, I can’t complain excessively about what I’ve seen. They have not caused me very pleasant sensations, I will have forgotten them with the same haste that I have consumed them, but none of them is a horror. In other words, the one who does not console himself is because he does not want to.
Red Rocket bears the signature of Sean Baker, a highly celebrated independent film director who made among others The Florida Project, of which I keep good memories. In this one, he recounts the return to his hometown of Texas of a porn actor who is already doing very badly after having had his moment of glory. It is embodied by Simon Rex, a man endowed with spectacular virile attributes and who is said to have also dedicated himself to porn. He returns to be welcomed by his old wife, who was abandoned and is in dire condition. The pornographic man deals with weed, tries to be accepted by the neighboring Puritans and convinces himself that he can successfully return to the old profession if he seduces a very young waitress in whom he senses great erotic potential. Everything borders on grotesque, grace is very limited, but it lets itself be seen and heard.
There is also nothing that causes an allergy in The story of my wife, from the Hungarian director Ildikó Enyedi, but it would have been nice if she shortened the three-hour duration. I think we would have fully understood what he is trying to tell if he had put the scissors in the editing. It narrates the romantic and fulminant meeting between a ship captain and a mysterious and sophisticated lady, the immediate wedding, the ravages, jealousy, infidelities, lies and reunions in that atypical relationship over time. The protagonists have assumed the “neither with you nor without you” and the outcome can only be devastating for both parties. The director has a visual sense and a lyrical vocation, although she cannot get too involved in the fever felt by the characters.
Jacques Audiard, author of The Olympics, created justified expectations. His cinema has always been of interest and in the case of A prophet his talent, toughness, and cloudiness reached high levels. Here he talks about youthful love affairs, about new forms of relationship between a black boy and two Asian girls and another white girl in the Chinatown of Paris. It is acceptably narrated, but there is nothing exceptional about it.