Saturday Night at the Movies
Our vines have sour grapes
By Dennis Hartley
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| I hate you: You Will Be My Son |
You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family. C’est la vie. That’s the gist of Gilles Legrand’s You Will Be My Son, an oft-told story of a dysfunctional family; in this case a vat of seething resentment fermenting in the confines of a Bordeaux region heirloom vineyard. I may not know a bottle of Batard Montrachet 1990 magnum from a boxed mountain Chablis in a taste test, but I do know my whines, and this vintage-style melodrama has a fine woodsy bouquet of neuroses; albeit with a rather predictable finish.
The relationship under examination is between father and son. Paul (Niels Arestrup) is a successful winemaker and owner of an estate valued at 30 million Euros. His son Martin (Larant Deustch) lives on the estate with his wife Alice (Anne Marivin) and helps with admin duties. Martin yearns to be given more responsibilities that will groom him for taking over the mantle one day, but the demanding and domineering Paul (a classic narcissistic personality) views Martin as the not-so heir apparent to the family business. Paul mocks his son when Martin reminds him about his college degree in winemaking, telling him you simply must “have the palate” for it, and that he can only learn by doing.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to assess that Paul’s daily nitpicking is taking a psychic toll on Martin (“Do something about those nails,” Paul berates him at one point, grabbing his hand, “It’s unbecoming for a man.”). While Martin continues to sublimate his growing anger at his father (much to his wife’s chagrin), all those poisons that lurk in the mud are about to hatch out after Paul’s longtime family friend/estate manager Francois (Patrick Chesnais) reveals that has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. When Francois’ son Philippe (Nicolas Bridet) who has a stateside gig as “Coppola’s chief winemaker” comes home to spend time with his dying father, Paul’s mood palpably brightens. It turns out that Philippe, with his winemaking talents, business savvy and personal charm, has all the requisite attributes of Paul’s idealized heir. Paul’s wishful thinking moves beyond the academic when he consults with his lawyer about the plausibility of adopting Philippe as his son. To Paul’s surprise and delight, it turns out to be doable (“It’s a wonder of our civil codes,” his lawyer says, adding a glib caveat: “It’s led to many marvelous family feuds.”)
While it takes a while for the narrative to catch fire (the script, co-written by the director with Delphine de Vigan and Laure Gasparotto could have benefitted from a little tightening), I found myself pulled in enough to develop a morbid curiosity as to which character was going to take the most shrapnel when this emotional powder keg inevitably made its earth-shattering ka-boom. I should warn you that none of the players in this soap opera are particularly likable, so it could be an uphill battle all the way for some viewers. Like some wines, you could store this one in the cellar to uncork when the mood dictates.
Previous posts with related themes:
Places she remembers
By Dennis Hartley
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| Good Ol’ Freda: Coolest office job ever |
No one can complain about a dearth of documentaries released over the years delving into the the public and private lives of John, Paul, George and Ringo, nor claim with a straight face that there has been a severe lack of painstakingly annotated critical analysis regarding their music, album by album, song by song, lyric by lyric…and as an unapologetic Beatle freak, God (as a thing or whatever it is) knows that I’ve seen ’em all. Filmmakers have taken every tack, from cheap, breathless tell-all sensationalism to sober, chin-stroking dissertation about the Mixolydian constructs of “Norwegian Wood”.However, jaded as I am, I have to say I’ve never seen a Beatles doc as touching, unpretentious and utterly charming as Ryan White’s interestingly titled Good Ol’ Freda.
The unlikely star of this breezy study is an unassuming, affable sixty-something Liverpudlian woman named Freda Kelly. At the tender age of 17, she was hired by manager Brian Epstein to do odd jobs around the office while he focused on the then-fledgling career of his young proteges. A year or so later, she became the chief overseer for the band’s fast-growing fan club, embarking on what was to turn into an amazing 11 year career as (for wont of a better job description) the Beatles’ “personal secretary”, from Cavern Club days to the dissolution of the band.
What makes Freda unique amongst the members of the Beatles’ exclusive inner circle (aside from the fact that she remains a virtual unknown to the public at large) is her stalwart loyalty to this day, vis a vis protecting the privacy of her employers; she’s never written a “tell-all” book, nor cashed in on her association with the most famous musical act of all time in any shape or form.
Granted, after appearing in this film, she won’t be so unknown, but she makes it abundantly clear this represents her finally caving in and appearing on camera to say her piece (since we’re all so damn nosy and insistent), then she’ll be done. And she does tell some tales; although none of them are “out of school”, as they say. But that’s okay, because she is so effervescent and down-to-earth that its like having her over for tea to peruse her scrapbooks and enjoy a pleasant chat about times that were at once innocent, hopeful and imbued with the fleeting exuberance of youth. OK, she had me blubbering like Boehner by the end..happy now? You could do worse with 90 minutes of your time.
Note: Good Ol’ Freda is in limited theatrical release and on PPV (check local listings!).
Previous posts with related themes:
I Saw a Film Today, pt. 1
I Saw a Film Today, pt. 2
I Saw a Film Today, pt. 3
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