L’Art d’aimer (2011) - film review

At the exact moment that one falls in love, one becomes aware of a very distinctive music, an ethereal sonata that seems to speak of eternity and promise all the delights of paradise.  This peculiar air is different for everyone and can enter our consciousness  at the most unexpected of moments...

As its title suggests (at least for the classically minded), Emmanuel Mouret’s latest humorous study on the vagaries of the human heart takes its cue from Ovid’s Ars amatoria (The Art of Love), a first century handbook on how to snare your ideal partner and stop others from filching her.  Mouret sticks to his tried and tested formula, combining a Rohmeresque acuity for romantic entanglement with a penchant for farce that lies somewhere between Marivaux and Woody Allen, but on this occasion he departs from the complex extended narrative of his previous films and opts instead for the skittish lightness of the anthology film.  Backed to the hilt by an all-star cast of jaw-dropping proportions, the director explores the many facets of desire and seduction through a series of amusing vignettes, in what is very nearly an updated version of the classic French film La Ronde (1950), only much, much funnier.  

By its very nature, L’Art d’aimer doesn’t have quite the gravitas of Mouret’s previous films.  No sooner have we settled down to enjoy one promising flight of fancy, we are whisked away to the next, and so attempts to expand on more complex themes are brutally curtailed or left dangling in midair.  This is more the fault of the anthology format than of the film itself, which could explain why this kind of film has gone out of fashion - these days, cinema audiences expect something far more substantial than a mere collation of tasty titbits.  An accomplished screenwriter as well as a fine film director, Mouret manages to get round the limitations of the format by ensuring that the separate stories do interlock together well and ultimately succeed in forming a coherent and satisfying whole, whilst having sufficient diversity to prevent the audience from losing interest.

Like Woody Allen (a director he greatly admires and is clearly most influenced by) Mouret has a particular talent for finding absurdity in everyday situations and developing these into irresistibly funny routines without losing sight of the underlying reality.  No matter how utterly absurd and contrived the situations become in Mouret’s films, they all retain that essential ring of truth about them, and so whilst it is easy to laugh at his protagonists as they become hopelessly tangled up in Cupid’s machinations, we cannot but reflect on the sad truths that underlie each of their predicaments.  Comedy and tragedy are, as we all know, two sides of the same coin, if not the same side viewed from different angles.  

Whilst all of the vignettes are well-scripted and superbly performed, the one that stands out is that which features François Cluzet and Frédérique Bel, an improbable pairing that works so well you can’t help wishing the duo will headline Mouret’s next film.  Ariane Ascaride, not particularly well-known as a comedy performer, gives great entertainment value as a female Don Juan whose amorous proclivities can be put down to a tragic inability to find her ideal soul mate.  Gaspard Ulliel and Elodie Navarre are equally delightful as a young couple whose seemingly perfect romance is threatened (as it always is) by an adulterous interlude.  Other stars include Julie Depardieu, Judith Godrèche and Louis-Do de Lencquesaing, all surprisingly at home with Mouret’s blend of off-the-wall humour and Rohmeresque introspection.

For anyone who has yet to enter the wacky world of Emmanuel Mouret, L’Art d’aimer is probably the best introduction to his work, something to give you an appetite for his previous, meatier offerings, such as Changement d’adresse (2006) and Un baiser s’il vous plaît (2007).  For those who have already succumbed to Mouret’s unique brand of flirtatious comedy, his latest galloping dose of sentimental education will not disappoint, and will doubtless leave you hungry for more.

© James Travers 2012

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