Wild Grass (Review)

At one point in French filmmaker Alain Resnais’ latest effort, a character looks at another and says, exasperatedly, “This is absurd.” No doubt.

Of course, Resnais, now 88 and showing no signs of slowing down, has always been one to fuck with viewers’ perceptions (this is the same guy who gave us one of cinema’s all-time head-scratchers, 1961’s Last Year at Marienbad), and Wild Grass is no different.

Based on a novel by French writer Christian Gailly, the film’s madcap, often nonsensical narrative is set into motion when Georges Palet (André Dussollier) finds the recently stolen red wallet of Marguerite Muir (longtime Resnais muse Sabine Azéma) in a parking garage. Georges, who we’re led to believe has been married to the same woman for 30 years despite having a wife (Anne Consigny) who looks no more than 40, is immediately intrigued by the possibility of meeting Marguerite, a dentist and weekend aviatrix who sports a wild thatch of red hair and who possesses a stylish apartment that’s a character in its own right.

A series of awkward encounters — which start via phone calls and letters before evolving into late-night coffee meetings and ultimately home visits — occur between the two, little of which make any logistical sense.

Resnais still has an eye for composition and a nice feel for editing (though the sporadically florid score seems a poor choice). Better yet, cinematographer Eric Gautier’s vivid, color-splashed (red and green are symbolically employed) visuals keep one’s interest even when bordering on the farcical, which is more than can be said of Georges and Marguerite.

Wild Grass is a comedy of manners with no comedy and endless mannerisms. Grade: C

This article appears in Aug 11-17, 2010.