Just a Cannes Job? (Page 2)

People say Rosetta is a slice-of-life drama; and that description, too, is accurate in fact. But it says nothing about the whirl of three or four extended scenes--set pieces, in effect--which rise to such a pitch of irony that realism falls away. By the end, the buzz of Riquet's motorbike sounds like the wings of the Furies; the weight of a propane tank in Rosetta's arms becomes as inescapable as the rock of Sisyphus. Big dramas are enacted by these little people in the trailer park, even while their physical presence remains hard and irreducible.

Rosetta was written and directed by Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne. Their previous film, La Promesse, also took the outward form of a social-problem picture, about undocumented workers from Africa and the people who smuggle them into Belgium. It was a good piece of work; but I thought it was a little too flattering to the audience. Whenever the main character faced a moral choice, he did exactly what you thought he should.

Rosetta is not so convenient. Its protagonist does what she thinks she must. Her choices will probably sit uncomfortably with you; but there's an almost fanatical integrity to them, which is matched by the integrity of the filmmaking. For the Dardennes, good direction is not just a question of maintaining an honest viewpoint, or telling a story with all due economy. If they found even one frame in Rosetta that struck them as a lie, you feel, they would go to the projection booth, tear it from the reel and burn it.

Would Rosetta herself watch Rosetta? I don't think she'd want to. She'd probably believe that movies, like sex and booze, are dangerous luxuries; if she dared to indulge, she would choose one that "normal" people were going to see. But if she found herself in the dark with these images, I think she would recognize herself. Maybe then she'd say, "Your name is Rosetta. You are worthy of attention," and quietly answer, against all odds, "My name is Rosetta. I am worthy of attention."

And now, for something that's American and very easy to like: Being John Malkovich.

If the film doesn't leave you self-deafened by laughter, you should begin at some point in the screening to hear a small, insistent voice in your head, which will ask a lot of questions. What if celebrity, that most American of virtues, exists next door to nonentity? How come people fall in love with an "inner self" but get picky about its wrapping? Must thin, sarcastic, helmet-haired women with cigarettes always be irresistible? Must artists always be pouty manipulators? Could chimpanzees enjoy a greater degree of free will than humans? And, most frightening of all, is it possible that promotional films tell the truth?

You will want some plot to go with these riddles. Very well: Craig (John Cusack) is an embittered and impecunious puppeteer who cannot understand why the public rejects his streetcorner re-enactments of the lives of Héloïse and Abélard. Desperate for money, he takes a job as a file clerk on floor 711/2 of a Manhattan office building, where everyone has to stoop. There he encounters thin, sarcastic, helmet-haired, cigarette-smoking Maxine (Catherine Keener), for whom he conceives a passion. He also discovers a wee doorway, which might have been left over from Alice in Wonderland. Crawl through the door, and you suddenly plummet into a point-of-view shot that turns out to belong to John Malkovich.

It's thrilling to be John Malkovich. Craig wants to go back inside him right away. So does Maxine, once she visits. So does Craig's wife, Lotte (Cameron Diaz), who suddenly feels so complete, so right, in Malkovich's body. She just has to use him again. And Maxine has to use him, from the outside, while Lotte is inside. Then Craig, being a master puppeteer, learns to use Malkovich better than Lotte does. You can see how complicated this all gets, especially for Malkovich, once he finds out what's going on. But who cares about him, anyway? Everybody knows he's famous, but they think it's for "that jewel-thief movie," although Malkovich insists he never made such a thing.

What the chimpanzee has to do with all this, I leave you to discover. Some things shouldn't be tampered with. One of them is the inside of Malkovich's head. Another is the pleasure you'll get from watching Being John Malkovich.

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