Can she survive the loss of her fortune?

 

    Whether F. Scott Fitzgerald actually said "the very rich are not like you and I" or some approximation thereof, the words seem to have lodged themselves in the popular consciousness.

   The new movie, French Exit, suggests yet another twist: The very rich are not like you and I -- even after they lose their money.

   Based on a novel by Patrick deWitt who also wrote the screenplay, French Exit tells the story of Frances Price (Michelle Pfeiffer), a Manhattan widow who has spent her entire fortune and has been told by her accountant that penury awaits.

   Ill prepared for a life without funds Frances tells her accountant that she never planned to outlive her money. 

    After selling her remaining belongings, Frances and her son Malcolm -- Lucas Hedges as a young man whose every gesture suggests defeat -- head for Paris. A friend has loaned Frances an apartment in the City of Light.

      Frances might be thinking of killing herself. Why else would she wantonly spend the money she collected selling off the contents of her New York apartment? She seems dedicated to reaching the end of her rope.

    But that's only half the story. Under the direction of Azazel Jacobs, the movie morphs into a collection of eccentricities, many found in the person of Francis, who's played by Pfeiffer with a mixture of rue, raised eyebrows, and shrugging indifference to the pain of others.

    Not long after arriving in Paris, Frances and Malcolm dine in a restaurant where they're served cold omelets. Eager to leave, Malcolm requests the check. A waiter makes a show of ignoring them.

Frances's response: She sets a table vase containing small flowers on fire. 

    Pfeiffer takes full advantage of the showcase, proving herself a master of understated sarcasm and of unjustified nonchalance in the face of extreme adversity.

     But, oh, those eccentricities just won't quit.

      Danielle Macdonald turns up as Madeleine the Medium, a fortune-teller hired by Frances to conduct seances so that she can communicate with her late husband. 

      A terrific Valerie Mahaffey tempers a comic turn with sadness as a woman who befriends Frances in Paris.  Isaach De Bankole appears as a private detective who's hired as part of Frances's effort to locate the pet cat she has smuggled into Paris. The cat has run off.

   According to Frances, the cat embodies the spirit of her late husband Franklin and, thus, is called Little Frank. This, I hope, explains the earlier-mentioned seances.

   For most of the movie Malcolm remains a drip who abandons his fiancee (Imogen Poots) to move with his mother to Paris. He’s a young man locked into dependency on an unreliable mother. 

    Frances's morbid and mordant ways seem to have infected the proceedings which build toward a near farcical assembly of all the characters in Frances's borrowed Parisian apartment. 

   French Exit can be amusing, but spending time with these characters also can feel enervating. Despite some last-minute attempts to open emotional doors, the characters live in a movie that feels apart from us — not, as I said at the outset, like you and me.

    Put another way, the characters in French Exit aren’t weird enough to be inescapably interesting or likable enough to spend much time caring about.

  

 

Married, but philandering

Debra Winger and Tracy Letts are fine, but the characters in The Lovers aren't drawn with enough vigor.

Like an overdose of maple syrup, a lush musical score flows over The Lovers, a laid-back look at a marriage gone stale. Yuk.

Debra Winger and Tracy Letts play the movie's principal roles, a husband and wife whose marriage has gone well past its expiration date. Despite that, neither character seems able to shake free.

Both Winger and Letts appear game for either a comic look at withered love or a serious drama about a husband and his disillusioned wife, both of whom are involved in extramarital affairs. Director Azazel Jacobs seems to split the difference. He alternates between one affair and the other without lighting any real fire, and The Lovers feels wan.

Winger's Mary has become involved with a writer (Aidan Gillen) who wants a more serious relationship. Same goes for the dancer (Melora Walters) with whom Letts' Michael is having an affair. She, too, craves a "relationship" that involves more than sex.

To keep things running smoothly, Mary and Michael have promised their respective lovers that they will resolve issues in their marriage and move on -- just as soon as the couple's son (Tyler Ross) finishes a visit during a break from college. This visit provides the catalyst that upsets the status quo and forces the story off dead center.

Winger ably portrays an unsatisfied woman who also struggles with a conflicted conscience, and Letts does his part as a husband whose philandering seems to have a longer history than his wife's. But few scenes reach a boiling point, and Jacobs, who also wrote the screenplay, focuses his energy on two characters who aren't as interesting as the situation in which they find themselves -- and that's not all that intriguing, either.

The actors, especially Winger, keep The Lovers watchable, but ultimately can't give it memorable life.

A troubled kid breaks the movie mold

A quietly funny teen drama that's capable of surprise.

I've come to dislike almost every quality the movie Terri promises to exude. A staunchly independent spirit makes Terri immediately recognizable as a Sundance entry. Moreover, the movie's not beyond indulging in moments of off-kilter quirkiness. On top of all that, Terri takes us into the world of another troubled adolescent, a young man whose obesity makes him a target of derision for his schoolmates. *** Yes, I'm suspicious of all such trappings, but I found myself wrapped up in Terri, a movie full of unexpected soul, quiet humor and an unassuming sense of itself. *** Credit director Azazel Jacobs (Momma's Man) for finding precisely the right teen-ager to play Terri. Jacob Wysocki portrays Terri, a kid who wears pajamas to school, and lives with his uncle (Creed Batton), a man who seems to be suffering from a dementia that allows him only limited periods of lucidity. *** John C. Reilly brilliantly complements Wysocki's performance as a kid on the verge of self-discovery. Reilly's Mr. Fitzgerald -- the assistant principal at Terri's school -- tries to develop relationships with all the school's misfit kids. Fitzgerald seems to care about his charges, youngsters with whom he's inappropriately but refreshingly honest. Reilly is developing into a kind of comic treasure, and he gives tremendous credibility to a slightly implausible character. *** In a late scene, Terri almost discovers the mysteries of sex with Heather (Olivia Crocicchia), a girl who has earned the scorn of her classmates for precocious sexual behavior and who Terri chooses to defend. The scene is terribly awkward, which perhaps fits the situation: Terri, Heather and a much-less appealing misfit buddy (Bridger Zadina) get drunk together. *** Terri distinguishes itself and its director by rising above almost all the cliches suggested by its overly familiar subject matter. Terri is the kind of movie about a teen-ager that probably will mean more to adults than to kids. That's a good thing.