bjacob

I watched this film as a kid and it might be one of the reasons for my lifelong love of Jeff Goldblum. I rewatched it out of nostalgia or curiosity.

Sadly, it's just not very good. There are funny bits, like the character of Atkinson, and some of the asides during parties or group scenes. However, it's not enough to elevate a very conventional script: you see all the tropes that will reappear in later Curtis movies, and it's just a bit too transparent, perhaps also because of the benefit of the insight. Most of the jokes fall flat, or sound dated.

Another weakness is that Jeff Goldblum is miscast. Are we really supposed to believe he's an insecure wreck unable to ask a girl out, while all of his body language and demeanour indicate that he, in fact, owns the place, the city and most of the hinterland? Emma Thompson is rigid as a plank, and they have zero chemistry.

In short, some thirty-five years later, I see its flaws. Nostalgia is a very.deceitful thing.

Marco likes the spotlight, and dramatic stories are for him a viable mean of obtaining it. In his youth, he tries his hand at telling imaginary feats of heroism, but later he will fly even higher, so close to the sun indeed. He will become the president of an association of deportees: a much loved president, working tirelessly and effectively to raise the profile of the association. Problem is, he's not a deportee.

His story reminded me of the lady who pretended to be black, in the strict sense that Marco too believes strongly in the cause, and believes himself to be useful to it: the lady probably believed it was just an accident of birth that made her be actually white, Marco similarly believes that him not being a deportee is just a detail, an accident of history. He will go to great lengths to reconcile his personal truth with the "real truth", or more exactly with the public truth, the mediatic narrative.

This is a character study, not a thriller, albeit there is strong tension in the first half. Ultimately, the authors tell us, what we present to the world is never truly what we are: Marco just went a bit higher, just a bit too close to the sun.

This is one of my very few "10 out of 10" movies. I cannot find any flaw in it, however minor: it's meant to be a reflection on the possibility and nature of happiness, and it does so with profundity and grace. But it's also one of the rare films that made me empathise with every single character; even the least pleasant ones are presented which such careful insight, that you can't help but understand where they're coming from; also, their stories are genuinely affecting, and interesting.

The thirteen vignettes have often a relationship of cause and effect between each other, but in the end we don't really know where did it start from, what the "filmic present" is; perhaps it was all a flashback, or a flash forward, or, more likely, the end contains the germ of the same/new beginning, in a cyclical inevitability. Yet, despite this subtle yet piercing pessimism, like an ultrasonic wailing, the film manages to close on an incredibly uplifting note.

What happened to the Sprecher sisters? This film was a portentous omen of future cinematographic glories, yet it ended up virtually forgotten. I hope you'll be able to see it, be it in a vintage film festival, or on a second hand dvd.