2 Filling-but-bland-dishes out of 4
Short stories, much like scenes in a film are often more enjoyable to discuss than novels because there is little additional context to consider. Characters act and engage with their environments in individual, simple settings, and though history, philosophy, and the real world may often provide insight into characters and their actions, the plot is only affected by what happens in the moment. Similarly, film scenes are analyzed for their ability to provide information regarding events occurring at a precise moment – or moments – in time. What does the camera’s movement suggest? Why does an actor move their body in a certain way? How does the interplay between light and dark suggest a more complex reading of the scene? Scenes are like paintings brought to life by a camera – all that matters is what’s onscreen.
It’s often that films created by talented directors – individuals whose artistic merits cannot be questioned – fall apart because they consist of a small handful of interesting, powerful, moving scenes, instead of a collection of connected moments. The forces that bring together a strong movie, and the circumstances that contribute to a powerful scene, are often antithetical to each other.
…a small handful of interesting, powerful, moving scenes…
Director Christian Vincent’s Haute Cuisine is an often interesting film comprised of gorgeous scenes, but an overall narrative that is otherwise dull and flavourless. Vincent’s film tells the story of Hortense Laborie, a renowned country chef who is picked up from her roots and thrust into the hustle-and-bustle of the city. This French film of a woman’s journey towards empowerment is firmly rooted in the cinematic offerings of the American Lifetime Channel. Over the course of the film, Hortense is underestimated by no less than six individuals in positions of greater power, but her resilience and devotion to cooking always leave her critics eating their words.
Written by Christian Vincent and Etienne Comar, Haute Cuisine’s main plot of Hortense in the city is framed as a flashback. In the present, Hortense works at a research base, cooking delicious food for a hungry staff of scientists. The film promises its audience an explanation for Hortense’s displacement from the Elysee Palace to the base; while the films’ script eventually delivers on its promise, the story lands with a decidedly dull thud. Indeed, much of the film fails in a similar manner. Situations are set up with the promise of a climactic delivery, but scenes stick their landings in the stalest of manners.
Much of my problems with the film have to do with Hortense’s personality. When Hortense is faced with conflict, her default reaction is to be as prickly and unapproachable as possible. The film suggests that Hortense’s personality is a result of working alongside sexist chefs in restaurant settings – by having her chief critic serve as the head chef of the Elysee Palace’s central kitchen. His all-male staff welcomes Hortense with crude reminders that her cooking has no place in the French capital. Their behaviour is often framed as childish and impetuous, but Hortense’s responses are equally juvenile.
…her resilience and devotion to cooking always leave her critics eating their words.
Yet again I wonder: why are French chefs always portrayed as so unsympathetic? Why do filmmakers insist that French chefs are unapproachable, pretentious, self-absorbed children? Would a chef – or any artist, for that matter – not be more suited to produce great art if they open their minds to new possibilities? Haute Cuisine offers no opinion on the matter, as Hortense decidedly wins each of her conflicts by convincing her critics of her cooking’s superiority.
As a result of the character, Catherine Frot plays Hortense with haughty despair. From the beginning, Frot makes it clear that her Hortense is in no way interested in pursuing meaningful relationships with any of her cohorts. Her chief intention is to cook delicious food, and nothing will stop her from achieving this single, weak motivation. Alongside Frot is legendary writer Jean d’Ormesson, who plays the unnamed President of France. Though his delivery and dedication to the role are admirable, Vincent and Comar give his character very little to work with. More often than not, d’Ormesson plays the idea of a man rather than the man himself.
There are valid reasons why I chose to conclude this year’s column with Haute Cuisine – chief among them is the fact that this year’s reviews have featured more food films than ever before. However, an auxiliary reason is to highlight the fact that weak films are not always comprised of weak content. This movie earns the title of “full-length feature” based purely on the fact that it is a series of scenes strung together to form a coherent, 95-minute narrative. Those scenes, created by director Vincent, cinematographer Laurent Dailland, and editor Monica Coleman, are stunning. It’s a shame that Haute Cuisine does so little to rise above being a dull literary offering, whose actors and plot are far too restrained to offer their audience an affective connection.