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Man on the Train
One of life's great mysteries is how deeply another person can pass through our lives at unexpected moments and make significant changes while en route to their own grander plan. In The Man on the Train, the new French film by renowned European director Patrice Leconte, two strangers meet by chance and share a few quiet days forming a temporary, delicate friendship that enriches each before its inevitable final stop.
In a quiet French town, a pensive man gets off a train. We can see in his craggy face and weary expression that he's seen the world, or at least its underbelly. His leathery visage suggests a hard-living path. He's not young, but he still seems youthful.
In a local drugstore, he has a chance meeting with an older man. When the local hotel is closed, the older man offers the younger a room in his home. We're not quite sure why, and maybe he doesn't know either. The most obvious explanation doesn't interest Leconte. In actuality, their age difference may not be that great. But in demeanor, they're miles apart.
The younger man, Milan (French rock icon Johnny Hallyday), is quieter and reserved. He's a petty thief off the train to meet a gang of thugs and pull off a small-time bank robbery. The older man, Manesquier (Jean Rochefort), is a talky, retired literature professor and private poetry tutor who lives alone in his elegantly decrepit country home, passing life quietly with students, the piano and puzzles.
Their initial connection is tentative, and in a lesser film the discovery of Milan's gangster motivations and impending crime would take a control of the story. But Leconte and screenwriter Claude Klotz wisely put this issue in the backseat, allowing the men to quietly come together and discover what's valuable about the other.
In a sense, the two men long not for each other, but for each other's lives. Milan walks around the comfort of the quiet house in Manesequier's slippers. Mansequier receives shooting lessons and explains how he'd like to aid in the robbery, lost in the reverie of a firsthand connection to a lifestyle of excitement.
By the end of their time together, a remarkable tenderness and low-key camaraderie develops. The film concludes with each man living out his small destiny - Milan in a robbery gone wrong, and Manesequier on a hospital gurney under a botched heart bypass.
Though the two men have a number of affecting, subtle scenes together, the best scene in the film happens not between them, but rather between Manesequier and his distant, adult sister. Motivated by his new friendship to revisit his sibling relationship, the scene is a dissection and reconciliation of sorts that is perfect in its dialogue and delivery, ending on a high-angle shot that's heartbreaking.
Leconte ( The Girl on the Bridge, The Hairdresser's Husband, Ridicule) has always been one of my favorite European directors. His unforgettable Monsieur Hire is one of the all-time great tales of repressed eroticism and unrequited love. And there may be a bit of that going on here as well. We're never quite sure of the attraction between the two men, and curiously, at times it seems unexplainable. This deliberate vagueness adds a layer of emotional mystery to the story that's inviting in its ambiguity.
Working with his usual elegant widescreen compositions, Leconte and cinematographer Jean Marie Dreujou create a world of washed-out, cool tones that color the sparsely populated town with an air of sad gloominess. And the music is just fantastic, with a strum of an acoustic, rock-n-roll guitar heavy on the soundtrack, often accompanying Hallyday, propelling his mysterious stranger into pseudo-mythic dimensions.
Both performances are spot-on, with Rochefort capturing the loquacious cadence of a man who's finally reached outside his box, invigorated by an exciting stranger. His character is the most overtly rounded and transformed piece.
But the real star of the show is intense and sullen Hallyday, the kind of guy who just shows up, is photographed and gives a knockout performance with his charismatic look and ability to penetrate with a stare. Which is not to take away from his turn in the slightest. He has some gentle, kindhearted moments with Rochefort that suggest a wellspring of contemplative feelings and imaginings, longings for a different life and deep appreciation for the compassion he's been afforded.
The Man on a Train slips only in its closing moments, when the film abruptly takes a forced metaphysical turn that feels self-conscious and extraneous. Until then, it's a minor pleasure of small moments, observant performances and sweet transformation.
Recommended.
90 Minutes
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In French with English Subtitles
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Adult language and minor violence
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Lee Shoquist © 2003
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Rated R for some language and brief violence
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