Ils se marièrent et eurent beaucoup d’enfants (2004) - film review

Vincent and Georges are two 40-somethings who are both beginning to hanker after a more exciting love life.  Each man feels he is trapped in a long-term relationship with a woman who, on the face of it, would appear to be his ideal partner.  They look with envy on their friend Fred, a committed bachelor who barely has enough time to eat and work, so busy is he servicing the needs of his constantly expanding female entourage.  Whilst Vincent still loves his wife Gabrielle and their young son Joseph, he cannot prevent himself from embarking on an affair with another woman.  He does not realise that Gabrille is also unsatisfied with her love life...

Yvan Attal’s second directorial offering, after his well-received debut film Ma femme est une actrice (2001), is this exquisitely truthful reflection on a very modern malaise - the difficulty of forming a life-long attachment in an era when relationships are increasingly ephemeral and shallow.  As in his first film, Attal stars alongside his wife Charlotte Gainsbourg, again playing husband-and-wife, this time joined by their impossibly cute nine-year old son Ben.  That Attal is an incurable romantic, still deeply in love with his wife, is evident in virtually every shot in which the seemingly ageless Gainsbourg appears, and this gives the film an added warmth and poignancy.  Ils se marièrent et eurent beaucoup d’enfants is nothing less than the cinematic equivalent of a love poem from a director to his muse, but it is also an honest acknowledgement of the fragility of romantic love and how difficult it is for couples to honour their wedding vows when the institution of marriage no longer enjoys the sanctity it once had.  

Making his French film debut - in the film’s two most memorable sequences - is Johnny Depp, not long after the actor settled in France to embark on a new career as a viticulturist with his partner Vanessa Paradis.  The sequence in which Gainsbourg first encounters Depp in a Virgin Megastore and the two make an instant connection via Radiohead’s Creep (as you do) is particularly effective and beautifully rendered, a sure sign that Attal has matured as a filmmaker since his first feature.  Without dialogue, simply by means of the subtlest gestures and some inspired camerawork and editing, this sequence conveys such a wealth of feeling that it is hard not to be blown away by its romantic lyricism.  The film’s surprising ending comes close to replaying these magical moments but doesn’t quite make it, marred as it is by an unfortunate slip into cliché, although the two charm-encrusted actors carry off the sequence magnificently.  Of course, we can never be sure whether this final scene, which is as provocative as it is moving, is real or imaginary...

If the film has any failings these are mainly to be found in the screenplay, which has a slight tendency for caricature.  Fortunately, Attal’s imaginative mise-en-scène more than compensates for this, and the director is greatly helped by his cast, who put in some remarkable performances.  Gainsbourg and Attal are at their best in the scenes where they appear together, especially the good-natured domestic brawl, which owes something to Jean Vigo and Mack Sennett.  Alain Chabat and Emmanuelle Seigner also make a convincing couple, both actors distinguishing themselves with performances that are nuanced, witty and true-to-life.   Making his first film appearance in almost thirty years in a substantial role is Alain Cohen, who made his film debut at the age of nine in Claude Berri’s Le Vieil homme et l’enfant (1967).  Cohen had given up acting to pursue a career as an architect and then supplier of fruit and vegetables to Parisian restaurants; he acquits himself admirably here with a performance that is both funny and touching.  The film’s producer, Claude Berri, also makes a cameo appearance in the film, along with Anouk Aimée.

Sensitively scripted, imaginatively directed and performed with flair by a talented and likeable cast, Ils se marièrent et eurent beaucoup d’enfants is an unpretentious and thoughtful little film that engages both the heart and the intellect.  Whatever faults the film may have (some ill-judged humour and an occasional whiff of derelict cliché) are easily forgiven, such is the observational intelligence, tenderness and sincerity that actor-director Yves Attal brings to his most personal and authentic film to date.

© James Travers 2011

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