David O'ConnellEvery Jack has a Jill (Jusqu'à toi) @ The French Film Festival
February 22nd 2010 03:17
A featherweight romantic comedy spanning two continents, Every Jack has a Jill at least provides another glimpse at the talents of Melanie Laurent, the rising French star who made such an impression in last year's Inglourious Basterds. There is far less meat on the bones of Jennifer Devoldere’s debut but its tried-and-tried formula is amiable fluff armed with a couple of winning performances to keep it afloat.
Laurent’s Chloe is a character replete with eccentricities and phobias; vibrant, intelligent, and sensitive but with more of an affinity for idealised notions of people – acquired from film and literature - than the real thing. Returning from a work-related trip, her luggage gets mixed up with that of an American, Jack (Justin Bartha), who has won a holiday in a lucky Coke can competition. He has issues of his own, including an aversion to travel. Why bother, he says, deducing that any place you pinpoint on a map is just the same as the next.
Despite advice to the contrary, Chloe peeks at the belongings within the suitcase. Intrigued by the owner's various possessions – including a copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude, which she’s read 37 times - she begins to assimilate a portrait of the owner's identity. Could this stranger be her perfect match, the man who encourages belief in a corporeal version of all those daydream conceptions?
Their paths teasingly cross on a couple of occasions, but neither knows the other exists - yet. During this time Chloe is earning unsolicited advice from her bickering neighbours, while Jack is holed up in a Parisian hotel with only dimwitted tourists who annoyingly try to attach themselves to him, and a vindictive manager – who later becomes an ally in an unsurprising about-face - for company. Every element of the narrative is riddled with mildly forced clichés, but there are scattered laughs to be had and the winsome Laurent is a pleasant distraction. Finally Chloe decides to return the misplaced suitcase, redirecting it back to its rightful owner, but with a slew of snapshots of herself, revealing snippets of personal information, and an assignation date tucked inside.
Predictably Jack is intrigued enough to participate, memories of his American girlfriend's rebuff fresh in his memory. Sparks fly upon first meeting, before the first cracks appear in the armour of Chloe’s glowing white knight. The intrusion of reality - summoned to teach us all a valuable lesson – is what hardens the core of Devoldere’s screenplay, warning us of the dangers of placing faith in something that seems too good to be true. That’s usually because it is, for perfection is a highly polished surface, hardly existing at all. Casting aside those idealised notions of prospective partners clogging her head is the only way for Chloe to forge a real connection with another person. The outcome is a low-key, very comfortable compromise, and possibly the most plausible element of the film.
Every Jack has a Jill (2009) ultimately has a lot going for it, including sympathetic, not uninteresting main characters. There’s a spirited sense of frivolity that keeps it ticking along too, best exemplified by Chloe’s interactions with her jealous work colleague and the airport attendant she ends up swapping phobic experiences with as if they were recipe ingredients. The film’s brevity – it clocks in at less than 80 minutes – is also in its favour. Laurent affirms her rising star status, whilst Bartha makes the slightly plodding Jack an affable lug. Billy Boyd as Jack’s never-serious best friend provides some underwritten comic relief.
The encumbrance of what is surely the worst title ever assigned a French film in this country is another matter altogether however. Yes, it’s a relatively trivial issue, but you can’t swerve away from it: that title is utterly diabolical. Nonsensical, irrelevant and, frankly, embarrassing. The original French title is Jusqu'à toi. Let's just call it that.
Laurent’s Chloe is a character replete with eccentricities and phobias; vibrant, intelligent, and sensitive but with more of an affinity for idealised notions of people – acquired from film and literature - than the real thing. Returning from a work-related trip, her luggage gets mixed up with that of an American, Jack (Justin Bartha), who has won a holiday in a lucky Coke can competition. He has issues of his own, including an aversion to travel. Why bother, he says, deducing that any place you pinpoint on a map is just the same as the next.
Despite advice to the contrary, Chloe peeks at the belongings within the suitcase. Intrigued by the owner's various possessions – including a copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude, which she’s read 37 times - she begins to assimilate a portrait of the owner's identity. Could this stranger be her perfect match, the man who encourages belief in a corporeal version of all those daydream conceptions?
Their paths teasingly cross on a couple of occasions, but neither knows the other exists - yet. During this time Chloe is earning unsolicited advice from her bickering neighbours, while Jack is holed up in a Parisian hotel with only dimwitted tourists who annoyingly try to attach themselves to him, and a vindictive manager – who later becomes an ally in an unsurprising about-face - for company. Every element of the narrative is riddled with mildly forced clichés, but there are scattered laughs to be had and the winsome Laurent is a pleasant distraction. Finally Chloe decides to return the misplaced suitcase, redirecting it back to its rightful owner, but with a slew of snapshots of herself, revealing snippets of personal information, and an assignation date tucked inside.
Predictably Jack is intrigued enough to participate, memories of his American girlfriend's rebuff fresh in his memory. Sparks fly upon first meeting, before the first cracks appear in the armour of Chloe’s glowing white knight. The intrusion of reality - summoned to teach us all a valuable lesson – is what hardens the core of Devoldere’s screenplay, warning us of the dangers of placing faith in something that seems too good to be true. That’s usually because it is, for perfection is a highly polished surface, hardly existing at all. Casting aside those idealised notions of prospective partners clogging her head is the only way for Chloe to forge a real connection with another person. The outcome is a low-key, very comfortable compromise, and possibly the most plausible element of the film.
Jack (Justin Bartha) and Chloe (Melanie Laurent)
Every Jack has a Jill (2009) ultimately has a lot going for it, including sympathetic, not uninteresting main characters. There’s a spirited sense of frivolity that keeps it ticking along too, best exemplified by Chloe’s interactions with her jealous work colleague and the airport attendant she ends up swapping phobic experiences with as if they were recipe ingredients. The film’s brevity – it clocks in at less than 80 minutes – is also in its favour. Laurent affirms her rising star status, whilst Bartha makes the slightly plodding Jack an affable lug. Billy Boyd as Jack’s never-serious best friend provides some underwritten comic relief.
The encumbrance of what is surely the worst title ever assigned a French film in this country is another matter altogether however. Yes, it’s a relatively trivial issue, but you can’t swerve away from it: that title is utterly diabolical. Nonsensical, irrelevant and, frankly, embarrassing. The original French title is Jusqu'à toi. Let's just call it that.
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Comment by David O'Connell
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Comment by Paul Martin
I wonder what I would have thought of this film if I didn't have such a fascination with Melanie Laurent. It's certainly an unremarkable romantic comedy and yet I found it quite enjoyable. I saw similarities to L'appartemente/The Apartment which endeared it to me. It certainly looks nice in a naturalistic way (and the self-conscious colouring appeals, too). Ultimately, though, I think it's the depth and breadth of Laurent that makes it, and highlights Tarantino's good luck in finding her. She was perfect in Inglourious Basterds. I also saw her recently in Don't Worry, I'm Fine - again, not a remarkable film, but worth seeing for Laurent.
Comment by David O'Connell
Screen Fanatic
I too get frustrated by the ridiculous lack of straight translations at times; I know they wouldn't always make for attractive titles but this is a glaring example of one that couldn't have been worse. You're right about Fat Girl too, that was another shocker - but what a great film! Will never forget that final scene!
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