Emile
Directed and written by Carl Bessai
Starring Ian McKellen and Deborah Kara Unger
Classification: 14A
Rating:**
At least give him marks for consistency. The films of Carl Bessai are remarkably similar on two fronts: (1) They all have a single name for a title — first Johnny, then Lola, now Emile; and (2) They just aren't getting much better.
Here, Bessai has not only written the screenplay, but also directs and serves as his own cinematographer — laudably ambitious, to be sure, yet a tad blameworthy when things go wrong. And they do, badly, if not immediately.
In fact, the opening frames are enticingly ambiguous — this is the kind of story that's most interesting when it's least advanced. Emile (Ian McKellen) is an aging professor enjoying the tenured life somewhere in England. We first spot him in his book-lined digs with a packed suitcase, preparing to cross the ocean to receive an honorary degree from the University in Victoria, B.C. Turns out he's a Canadian by birth and this is a homecoming of sorts — his plan is to spend the visit remaking the acquaintance of Nadia (Deborah Kara Unger) and her 10-year old daughter.
Cut to his arrival on their front doorstep, where Nadia — she has recently separated from her husband — greets the old guy with guarded politeness, with a reserve that borders on rudeness. For his part, Emile responds with enthusiastic good cheer, either oblivious to her tension or blithely ignoring it. They obviously know each other, but what is their exact relationship? And why the unease? Our curiosity is piqued, and the actors — McKellen as splendid as ever, Unger rising to his level — are both doing a nice job of playing the two levels simultaneously, both the surface civilities and whatever darker stuff lies beneath.
This makes for an interesting 15 minutes or so. Unfortunately, the little mystery loses its intrigue as soon as the revelations come. They arrive in the form of intermittent flashbacks, the kind that are ponderously cued and garishly lit and fraught with all manner of silly melodrama (including the ill-conceived gimmick that has McKellen stepping into the flashbacks to double as the professor's teenaged self). In these rear-view mirror episodes, we discover the source of the Emile-Nadia tension, along with the tale's twin themes of guilt and abandonment. In other words, the plot's conflict takes place in the past, while its resolution occurs in the present. The problem is that the former is ineptly dramatized and the latter is too easily gained. That doesn't leave us with much to watch — no wonder the picture feels static.
It looks static also. Bessai is fond of posing his characters in doorways or windows, a frame-within-a-frame device presumably designed to reflect the story-within-a-story narrative. Nice try, but the conceit seems contrived and self-conscious — lifelessly arty. No less enervated is Bessai's lone attempt to get away from the claustrophobic interiors and shoot some scenery — specifically, a seaside sequence where the principals are supposed to be feeling the first hints of release from the prison of their past. But his style actually negates the content — the camerawork is literally uptight, boxed-in and stiff, and lacking any fluidity. This isn't direction, it's misdirection — good for magicians but not for movies.
Worse, as Emile's background gets revealed, we're faced with another troubling "mis" — miscasting. McKellen is always a delight to watch (even in windy epics about Lords and rings), but with his Brit accent unchanged, is he really credible as an expatriate Canuck who spent his teenage years as a strapping farm boy on the Saskatchewan prairie? Oh, well, ours is not to reason why — ours is but to judge on the fly.
