He Loves me, He Loves Me Not (A la folie... pas du tout...)

The path of true love never runs smooth. Angelique (Audrey Tatou) has tried everything with her new man; sending him flowers, lionising him in a post-impressionistic portrait and even leaving him twenty seven answer phone messages of 'their' song. Yet square-jawed cardiologist Loic (Samuel Le Bihan) just keeps casting her aside for his pregnant wife. As the pretty young artist's efforts to consummate her infatuation become darker, we, the audience, start to wonder if we are seeing the whole story. Then suddenly her life flashes before her eyes and as she rewinds in her mind what has occurred, we hurtle back to a new beginning. The first act is officially over. Loic's version starts rolling. It is time for him, and us, to realise that true love really is blind.

The colourful opening moments of He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not resemble possible outtakes from Amélie (2001). Tatou emerges from a tropical jungle of pink and yellow bouquets and after selecting a rose, hurtles off on a scooter through a French metropolitan. Almost to forewarn us that this is a film of two journeys and very different ones compared with those of Jeunet's elfin creation, the screen separates to show a delivery boy taking an alternative route. For where as Amélie was a guardian angel for the loners and broken hearts of Montmartre, Tatou's new incarnation is a succubus who ruins the life of Loic from just outside the sphere of his perception. Despite what the trailer and first act suggest, this is not a Fatal Attraction (1987) scenario where the middle class male is persecuted by and for a one-night stand. Loic's forgotten connection with the girl who is discombobulating his life is far more innocent and random than one would expect.

It is to director and co-writer Laetitia Colombani's credit that not only does she tell her tale in an inventive way by shifting perspective but that she does not rely on this as a smokescreen to hide a bland story. There are many hidden surprises within this collaged yarn, not least of which is Colombani's remorseless stripping away of Loic's bourgeoisie existence. Not happy with injuring those near to him and ruining him professionally, Colombani finally takes away the virulent masculinity that first attracted Angelique's dubious attentions. This is all done with a humour and panache but very little emotional investment. In fact, this debut film has strong echoes of Kubrick with its cold treatment of characters, assaults on the middle-class family unit and visually reflective story telling.

The cardiogram monitor's peaks and the thorns of the rose stems that are the motifs of the text also serve as a neat representation of its narrative structure. With Tatou's infatuated wraith we see the peaks, where as with the chaos that descends on Bihan's unwitting hunk the heights flatline out to a more linear but equally impressive drama. Technically impressive as all this is, a little more real heart would be a fair trade for loss in overall conceptual perfection. While it is rare to criticise a director for achieving a flawless and consistently well thought out vision, one cannot help but feel that this lacks what makes the best first movies so exciting; rawness, edge and a certain amateurish abandon. Still Colombani has no real problems if the only criticism one can find is that her talent is too assured and controlled. Even Kubrick, Lynch and Coppola have never fully instilled you with the confidence that they know exactly what they are doing with every frame. And that is good company to keep at such an early stage of her career.

Reviewed by Bob Carroll