| JEANNE AND THE PERFECT GUY Director: Olivier Ducastel and Jacques Martineau Sex sells movies, especially foreign movies, and nowhere is this more true than way back in the 1950s and 1960s, when foreign films were promoted for having more sex and salacious material than anything seen in Hollywood up until then. The PR people of the day exploited the sexual material enough that the reputation for foreign films as having risqué substance are still a primary selling point today. Hollywood used to just suggest sex in vague ways. Audiences went to see Greta Garbo, Jane Russell or Marylyn Monroe for their pretty faces and for what was suggested under their clothing. But then along came films from far away countries like Italy, France and the Scandinavian countries, which gave audiences something to really get excited about. Forget the intellectual content when young men could see a sultry Sophia Loren (Boccaccio ’70), a vivacious Anita Ekberg (La Dolce Vita), a seductive Brigitte Bardot (And God Created Women), a bodacious Simone Signoret (Casque D'or) or a provocative Harriet Anderson (Monica). The sexual material probably didn’t faze anyone in his or her own country, but when these celluloid sex goddesses crossed the Atlantic to the shores of puritanical America, they became instant hits. To a lesser degree in foreign films this is still appealing to audiences today, which is why the new French film Jeanne and The Perfect Guy is bound to be more memorable here for the sexiness of its star Virginie Ledoyen than it is for its ultimately tragic love story. The story is about a nymphomaniac front desk receptionist who falls in love with a man dying of AIDS. The premise -- both humorous and serious -- is set up as primarily drama and should be powerful. But the directors Olivier Ducastel and Jacques Martineau decided to make it into a musical with candy-colored production design and numerous singing and dancing numbers. The directors are undoubtedly influenced by the most famous French musical The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, directed by Jacques Demy. (This is most evident with the casting of the lead Mathieu Demy, who is the son of the famed director). As great as the film looks and sounds, the use of flatly sung lyrics and awkwardly choreographed scenes can’t help but take something away from the desired effect. But there is always Virginie, a new sex goddess who exudes sexuality in her tight-fitting clothes -- as if posing in a Calvin Klein commercial -- or without clothes in a couple of explicit sex scenes. It takes nothing from the story but clearly the filmmakers love the curves of her body and want to exploit her virtues to the fullest. As the film proceeds it takes on a serious tone as it tries to grapple with the AIDS epidemic. Olivier (Demy), the young man with AIDS, is a former drug user who has become infected by needle sharing, is now doomed to an early death and is unable to enjoy his newfound love because of his worsening condition. Despite the film's title, the film is less about poor Jeanne -- who loses the one person she ever really loved -- than about the tragedy of AIDS and what it does to relationships. The odd mix of colorful musical numbers, sexual frankness and dour drama can’t help but take something away from the over-all message of the movie, but it somehow works, especially with the political subplot about a mutual gay friend who is taking part in organizing ACT-UP demonstrations designed to make people aware of the AIDS epidemic. By the end the sex has played itself out, the colors have faded, the music has disappeared, and we’re left with a tragedy. Thus proving that even though sex sells. The operative question is, 'what does it sell?' In some ways Fellini, Godard and Bergman too used sexual elements to service bigger and sometimes more tragic themes. - Matt Langdon |