Ma femme est une actrice (2001) - film review

Yvan is a young sports journalist who still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that he is married to a successful film star, Charlotte.   On the one hand he can’t believe his good fortune to have such a beautiful and affectionate wife; on the other hand he resents her success and popularity.   Whilst Charlotte is away making a film in England, his bruised male ego begins to be overtaken by an obsessive jealousy.  After a conversation with a stranger about actors and love scenes, he begins to suspect that his wife may be having an affair with her latest co-star, John.   Determined to know the truth, he races over to England, only to have his worst fears confirmed...

Yvan Attal wrote, directed and starred in this light romantic comedy which takes a wry look at the downside of being married to a famous person.  The film has an obvious autobiographical element but avoids appearing complacent or self-indulgent.  It is sad that, despite having a dozen or so impressive film credits to his name and having won a César in 1989 (for his role in Éric Rochant’s Un monde sans pitié ), Yvan Attal is still best known as Mr Charlotte Gainsbourg.  Whilst his wife enjoys international celebrity (partly assisted by the fact that she is the offspring of Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin), Attal’s own career hasn’t really taken off, even in his native France.  For this, his first full-length film, Attal manages to express his feelings about his own life (the frustrations, the jealousies, the lack of self-esteem, etc.) whilst at the same time giving the impression he is writing an affectionate love letter to the woman he so clearly adores.

It is Attal’s personal touch (and the fact that he can call upon his own experiences) which gives Ma femme est une actrice its charm and freshness.   Although the film is uneven in places, with perhaps a few sub-plots too many, it resonates with energy and style and is, overall, a pleasure to watch.  The film’s strengths lie in the calibre of its acting (which includes an unmissable turn in introspective self-mockery from English actor Terence Stamp), its well-synchronised jazz score and its skilful use of comedy.   The latter is best illustrated by some unforgettable set pieces - such as Attal’s surreal yet oddly endearing impression of a flower being born and the distinctly risqué all-nude studio shoot).  In both his writing and direction, Yvan Attal shows great comic flair and imagination, and you do get the sense that perhaps his real talents do lie behind the camera.

© James Travers 2003

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