Le Week-End (2013)

Rating: 4/5

Making a movie with no real storyline or key events to act upon is a daring manoeuvre: films of this kind tend to be portraits of people, and their relationships with one another, and their validity and credibility relies entirely on making these relationships tangible and sympathetic. Of course, with the wrong script and actors, this can turn into a tedious nightmare, but correctly done, it can be very entertaining indeed. Le Week-End has exactly the right script and exactly the right actors to bring a few days in regular people's lives on to the screen. The only real set-up for the film is that Meg (Lindsay Duncan) and Nick (Jim Broadbent) have returned to their beloved Paris, where they honeymooned, for a little fun and freedom. From there, it's really only the couple we care about. 

Lindsay Duncan has, over the years, fallen into a similar category as Kristen Scott Thomas, for often playing icy, hostile or resentful females, and Le Week-End epitomises this. Meg is very difficult to like, as her miserable persona fades from being comical to being off-putting: in the opening scenes, we see her storm out of their Paris hotel for it being "too beige." Her adorable husband Nick quietly retorts, "There is a certain light-brownness about it," before fleeing after her in desperation. This display seems to be the norm for their relationship, to the point where an onlooker may consider Meg's treatment of Nick abusive. She makes unnecessary digs at him, insults him, gets upset over nothing, even hits him, and all he can do in response is that sweet, teeth-baring grimace that Broadbent manages to squeeze into almost every character he portrays. Perhaps it is this passively vulnerable quality about his face that lands him such roles.

Poor Nick is "congenitally faithful to his wife",  and discontented with what his life has become. "I'm surprised how mediocre I turned out," the Cambridge graduate comments. He misses having "smart, bearded friends to listen to Joni Mitchell records with," and he does very little in defense against his wife's mood swings and emotional blackmail. We find out she has a habit of imagining she has some terrible illness or other, and actually says to her husband that should she succumb to one of her non-existent ailments, "You'll be sorry you never loved me enough." I suppose this kind of drama is an example of dry British wit, in which the audience laughs a lot more at people verbally abusing each other than at physical violence.

Now, along comes 6 feet 5 inches of charming loveliness in the form of Jeff Goldblum, as Nick's former classmate and associate Morgan. He is just what the movie needs to have some uplifting, or at least amusing moments without seeming entirely miserable. Goldblum is a real star; he has such a warming presence, and a way of using his voice and manner to make any words sound sophisticatedly amusing. Morgan's life has turned out great. He is wealthy, just moved back to a suave Paris apartment having impregnated his latest younger model, and holds snooty soirees attended by poets and philosophers and artists with polo-necked jumpers draped over their shoulders. His teenage son resides in his bedroom smoking pot, but who cares?! Morgan's life is great! ("Does he ever not shout?")

A dinner party at Morgan's place is the setting of an opportunity being passed to Nick. Whether or not the opportunity should be used is unclear, but it feels darn good. Morgan insists Nick make a speech, having just summed up his own awesome existence to everyone, and he starts to reveal how bleak his life is in reality. His disappointing son, his struggling finances while Meg splurges on whatever she wants, and generally just how awful she really is. As I watched this scene play out, I wrote in my notes, 'Is the point for Meg to feel as embarrassed and oppressed as Nick?' The episode is perfectly concluded when Nick looks straight at his wife and asks, "Was that it? Did I leave anything out?"

While the preceding drama between the couple, and Morgan, is entertaining, and certainly not dull, the movie's payoff is its closing scene. Meg and Nick have fled their lavish hotel, unable to afford the bill, and sit for hours in a little cafe bar. As they sit, I started to consider why it is that ageing couples often look so melancholy, when they are actually happy. They sit and sit, taking a sip of their wine every now and then, and eventually Morgan puts in a final appearance to solve their problems. The juke box is powered up, and the three perform a heart-warmingly brilliant recreation of the famous Dancing in the Cafe scene from 'Bande à part'. This is one of the nicest conclusions to a film I've seen in recent times. It reinforces the faint threads of happiness and sincerity hiding throughout the movie, and leaves a really positive after-effect.