‘The appearances’: the bad arts of the cultural elite | Culture


Something curious happens with certain films, neither good nor bad, but quite the opposite, of which little more than the cast remains in memory, if it is covered by familiar faces, and a nebula about the plot and the main theme: years later it is They can remember ugly details about the director’s bad arts to make his characters on a whim; unjustified peculiarities that, separately, may define a person but that together in a story are not enough for the complex qualification of the human being, and yes to reveal a screenwriter who prefers the thick brush and the middle street to help himself himself in his narrative turns.

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Occur in Appearances with two of its secondary characters: the respective lovers of a haughty French marriage in Vienna made up of a famous conductor and the director of a media library. The first, a punctual roll of a single night of the wife, who is presented polite and handsome, charming and with a novel in his hands reading in a bar, then turns towards the dangerous madman, after passing through a striking break in his sock at the time of sex. And the second, a lover of the husband for a long time, an attractive teacher of the couple’s young son, who is disfigured physically and mentally when appropriate, in a story with critical possibilities but with great development.

None of this was necessary in Appearances, otherwise interesting film about the obstinate maintenance of the facade of a lying and mean, arrogant and classist bourgeoisie. A chauvinist cultural elite of deep endogamy, inhabitant of another territory of the first world like Austria, but that hardly mixes with others, whom they watch from their vantage point with their steely moral lie, despising people, social classes and even countries in their whole.

The fierce portrait of those denizens of superiority, actually as gossipy and trolling as anywhere else, visualized by Marc Fitoussi and written by Sylvie Dauvillier, is very well interpreted by Karin Viard and Benjamin Biolay, and it is suggestive at times, turning towards the thriller evil in the line of Claude Chabrol. If not, yes, for the narrative shortcuts of the couple of creators. Tricks very similar to those exercised in Paris lights (2014), the only work by the French director so far released in Spain, also scripted by Dauvillier. There, another impossible character, a young man who was presented with a book by Italo Calvino in his back pocket and then plunged by putting him to make a joint with one of its pages, had remained in the head of this critic. Now there are already two young people from Fitoussi films with books in their hands that what they reveal is the creative inconsistency and lack of veracity of their author.


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