An adaptation of Proust's "La Prisoniere" (book five of "Remembrance of Things Past"). Set in Paris, France, it is a serious tale of a tragic and dysfunctional love.
|Original Title||:||La Captive|
|Release Date||:||September 27, 2000|
|Genres||:||Music, Drama, Romance|
|Production Company||:||Canal+, Gemini Films, Arte France Cinéma, Paradise Films, Centre National de la Cinématographie (CNC), Gimages 3|
|Production Countries||:||Belgium, France|
|Writers||:||Chantal Akerman, Eric De Kuyper, Marcel Proust|
|Casts||:||Sylvie Testud, Stanislas Merhar, Olivia Bonamy, Liliane Rovère|
|Plot Keywords||:||paris, transvestism, love triangle, female nudity, painter, taxi, prostitute, sex, hotel, sexuality, drowning, based on novel, jealousy, servant, beach, bar, boat, obsession, self-destruction, shower, restaurant, chauffeur, lie, paranoia, flower, grandmother grandson relationship, passion, suspicion, chase, boredom, normandy, lover, song, kiss, champagne, limousine, painting, promise, friendship, ladder, wine, road trip, swimming pool, liar, love, friends, surrealism, betrayal, singer, food, lesbian, telephone call, memory, allergy, aunt niece relationship, crying, singing, doctor, car accident, fear, bathtub, moving out, tears, pianist, trust, swimming, interrogation, father daughter relationship, captive, surveillance, desire, apartment, following someone, death, seaside, illness, happiness, fatal attraction, stranger, unhappiness, trapeze, pick up, odor, sleeping, subjective camera, theater, home movie, listening to music, shadow, driving, traffic, woman director, invitation, courage, tunnel, beach ball, award, stage performance, willing captive, theatre bar, singing lesson, sleeping in a chair, singing duet, sense of smell|
I'm currently studying Proust, and so looked forward to this. I figured the other review HAD to be wrong about how bad this was. But they weren't! I love slow, ponderous French movies. But this one absolutely killed me, bludgeoned me with a big fat dull fence post and left me by the side of one of the many long roads I'd watched the actors drive interminably and wordlessly down. I finally had to watch it on fast forward, because NOTHING HAPPENS time and time and time again for minutes at a stretch. I don't envy a director/scriptwriter who takes Proust on, because so much of the richness of his characters and stories is interior. But, God! You've got to at least TRY to convey those depths by something other than static shots of actors doing and saying nothing. Boo. Hiss. Just awful.