Film Review
In a remarkable but unconventional feature debut, director
Aurélia Georges delivers an intensely poignant portrait of a
writer who, unable or unwilling to move with the times, ends up
spending the last few decades of his life crossing a cultural
desert. The film was inspired by the real-life story of the
Russian writer Vladimir Slepian, whose only published work was
Fils de Chien (1974). It is
a haunting and strangely beguiling work which conveys the helplessness
and tragedy of a talented artist who finds himself trapped outside the
Zeitgeist of the time in which he lives. In such a situation, the
artist has two choices: to sell out and climb aboard the first passing
bandwagon, or else remain true to his aesthetic and take the slow path
to oblivion and starvation. It is the latter of these two
possibilities which most interested Aurélia Georges and
motivated her to make this extraordinary film.
L'Homme qui marche would be
quite a difficult viewing proposition were it not for the arresting
central performance from the talented Spanish actor César
Sarachu. Sarachu's portrayal possesses something of the
tragicomic quality of Jacques Tati's Monsieur Hulot. There is a
self-sufficiency, a slightly creepy eccentricity that sets the lead
character apart from the crowd and makes him look like an alien
struggling and failing to integrate with the people of planet
Earth. It is not that the character doesn't want to fit in, he
just cannot do so. He is trapped in his own little bubble whilst
the world around him moves on, a train that is going too fast for him to
climb aboard. Artistic integrity comes at a price, but for
some the price is well worth paying. Don't be put off by the film's apparently bleak
subject matter. This is a highly engaging and beautifully
composed piece which provides a pointed reminder of the ephemeral
nature of art, its melancholic mood lightened by its humanity, its
compassion and some deliciously quirky humour.
© James Travers 2010
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Film Synopsis
In the 1950s, Viktor Atemian is a forty-something Russian immigrant who
makes a living as a translator in Paris. One day, Victor decides
to become a writer, so he sells his apartment and moves into a modest
hotel. He divides his time between scribbling in his notebook and
giving Russian lessons. The years pass. Twenty years later,
Victor still hasn't published anything. He has become a poor,
solitary old man who appears to have wasted his life...
© James Travers
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.