Magimel, Benoit

Subterms

    Latest story

    150 Shares199 Views

    Juliette Binoche on Working With Benoît Magimel in “The Taste of Things.”

    by

    The star of “The Taste of Things” explains why working with her former romantic partner Benoît Magimel was freeing, and weighs in on an Oscar controversy.Some actors come to embody a national cinema through an alchemical combination of demeanor and film choices. You might say that Clint Eastwood is the quintessential American icon, for example, or that Hugh Grant is the embodiment of a certain kind of Britishness.When it comes to France, one of the country’s archetypal stars is Juliette Binoche, whose understated elegance and cryptic smile have graced art-house and popular movies alike since her domestic breakthrough playing an ingénue actress in “Rendez-Vous” (1985), followed by worldwide fame a decade later with the romantic drama “The English Patient” (1996), for which she earned an Academy Award.Now Binoche has two projects arriving at the same time in the United States: Tran Anh Hung’s “The Taste of Things,” in which she plays a self-effacing 19th-century cook, and the Apple TV+ series “The New Look,” in which she portrays Coco Chanel — meaning Binoche essentially carries the flags of food and fashion, the most visible signifiers of French culture abroad.During a recent interview in New York, the actress looked amused when asked about being a national symbol. “I’m fine taking on that role,” she said, laughing. “What’s important is what people feel, because the audience relates to something that is unsaid, something beyond ideas. Of course, the theme is food in ‘The Taste of Things,’ ” she continued, “but it’s also love and creating together” (Which, come to think of it, is also associated with the French.)Adding seasoning to the pot-au-feu, the movie paired Binoche with her former romantic partner Benoît Magimel. Although they broke up two decades ago, the actors’ intimacy seemed to return onscreen, like muscle memory.Tran recalled that Magimel went rogue while shooting the complex finale. When Binoche’s character, Eugénie, asked whether she was his cook or his wife, Magimel’s gourmand was meant to say, “You are my cook,” to acknowledge her mastery. Except that the actor added “… and my wife.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

    More stories

    • 138 Shares189 Views

      in Movies

      ‘The Taste of Things’ Review: Love, Loss and Loins of Veal

      by

      Juliette Binoche stars in an instant culinary classic that exquisitely captures the kitchen’s bittersweet blessing.At the center of everything good in the world is a bittersweet kernel: All things pass away. The grandest cathedral, the most vibrant painting, a beautiful harmony, a perfect aperitif — none of it will last forever. And all great love stories end, one way or another, in sadness.This will break your heart if you think about it very long, as much with grief as joy. Yet somehow it’s also what makes life worth living. This conundrum lies at the heart of “The Taste of Things,” a magnificent culinary romance from the French-Cambodian director Tran Anh Hung. The couple living the conundrum are Eugénie (Juliette Binoche), a brilliant cook, and the well-known gourmand she works for, Dodin Bouffant (Benoît Magimel). It is the late 19th century, and they live in an idyllic house in the French countryside, where Dodin entertains friends and visitors. The kitchen is the beating heart of the house.Nothing matters more to Eugénie and Dodin than crafting exceptional meals, from simple omelets to the kinds of feasts that linger in memory for a lifetime. Nothing except, maybe, each other. They aren’t married, despite Dodin’s pleas over the past 20 years. Eugénie smiles enigmatically and shakes her head; she doesn’t wish to change anything. But it’s inevitable, in the end, that the autumn comes.The film premiered at Cannes with the title “The Pot-au-Feu,” named after one of its central dishes, a rustic meal of boiled meat and vegetables. In French, however, the title is “La Passion de Dodin Bouffant,” which is also the title of the 1920s novel on which it is loosely based (published in English under the name “The Passionate Epicure”). That novel features one of the most indelible characters in culinary fiction, a gourmand whom the author Marcel Rouff loosely based on the French culinary writer Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, born in 1755. (Yes, the cheese is named for him.)Brillat-Savarin is perhaps best known for his book “The Physiology of Taste: Or Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy,” which tells you a little bit about him, as well as about the protagonist of “The Taste of Things.” His book has recipes, but really it’s an often funny rhapsody of awe at the joy allowed humans in the simple act of eating. Brillat-Savarin famously quipped, “Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are,” an aphorism it’s easy to imagine Dodin trading with his friends around the dining table. In the eyes of men like these, food reveals character. For a host, a meal carefully constructed is evidence of his care for the guest as well as his self-image: Is he boasting? Pleading? Displaying his insecurities? Or inviting others to taste the divine? A guest’s willingness to dive with gusto into a meal prepared before them shows not just care for the host, but for the bounty the earth serves up.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

    • 113 Shares99 Views

      in Movies

      ‘The Taste of Things’ and a Lovingly Prepared Meal

      by

      How a movie announces itself to you is everything, and “The Taste of Things” begins in a kitchen.Well, a kitchen garden. It’s dawn, and someone is crouching near the rows, cutting heads of lettuce, pulling up a few carrots, unearthing a white knobby thing and bringing it all indoors. The light is coolly blue-tinged. The day is just getting started.I think it’s fair to group the garden with the kitchen. A garden doesn’t spring up overnight. Seeds are planted in the spring, sometimes before, and the gardener can’t control the results. If all of the elements cooperate — sun, shade, water, soil nutrients, shifts in climate and weather — then you get a head of lettuce, some carrots, some herbs, a perfectly pink radish. The same combination of skill and luck gets a cow to produce milk, a chicken to grow fat and tender, a cheese to ripen properly. Expertise, patience, attention and care, renewed every season.Those same ingredients govern the kitchen itself, and that’s where this opening scene continues, ushering us into the world we’re about to inhabit, tummies growling. “The Taste of Things,” written and directed by Tran Anh Hung (based on a 1924 French novel but set in 1889), is one of those instant gastronomical classics designed to be savored over and over, like “Babette’s Feast,” “Big Night” or “Tampopo.” As in all great food movies — and shows, too, like “The Bear” — the food is both the point and not the point at all. A great feast says something about the world and everything in it. In the case of “The Taste of Things,” a meal is about time, and longing, and seasons.All of which is evident in this first extended scene, which runs about a half-hour. The day has barely begun, and a fish is gutted, its innards dropped into a pan to fry. The kitchen is warm and convivial. Two people weave around one another as if in a pas de deux: a man and a woman whose ease instantly indicates a long, trusting relationship. Meanwhile, eggs cook. Vegetables are chopped. A younger woman helps, following their gentle orders. She’s brought a girl with her, maybe 11 years old.Stéphanie Branchu/IFC FIlmsLater we will find out that the man is Dodin Bouffant (Benoît Magimel), a famous gourmet, and that the woman, Eugenie (Juliette Binoche), is both his cook and his dearest and most intimate companion. Their kitchen help is Violette (Galatéa Bellugi), who lives nearby; the girl she’s brought, Pauline (Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire), is her niece. But for now we know very little about any of them, and the movie intends to keep it that way for a while. The focus here is not their station in this household, or even where, exactly, they are — somewhere in France, presumably. The focus is on the food and the act of cooking. A meal that’s not just nourishing, but transcendent.They all sit down to eat omelets, fortification before the grand task. “I advise you to eat it with a spoon,” Dodin tells Pauline, who is new to this kitchen. “It makes all the difference.”From that sentence we learn a lot. First, for that suggestion to work, this must be a perfect omelet: soft, tender, buttery, not an overstuffed American lump but a soft roll of egg, with no filling at all. Using a spoon preserves the texture of the finished egg, instead of harshly severing its strands. But from this exhortation we also discover that Dodin is a man who cares for the small things that make “all the difference,” as he puts it. Why simply eat some eggs for breakfast when you can savor them?Onward they press — there’s a meal to prepare, elaborate and intricate. (Heaven help the audience member who skipped lunch, gnawing on stale popcorn.) Loins of veal, roasted vegetables, stews and sauces, crackling and boiling and frying and searing. Pastry so light and flaky you can very nearly taste it. Pans go in and out of the oven; mixtures are strained and pressed from one pot into another; fat melts and browns, onions grow soft and caramelized, lettuce is blanched and squeezed and cooked in butter. Consommé, vol-au-vent, veal loin with braised lettuce, turbot, a baked Alaska: Everything is being perfectly prepared and timed for its starring role in the dining room.This all will be served, eventually, to a group of men, Dodin’s friends and associates. They will trade aphorisms and discuss wines and eventually go to the kitchen to ask Eugenie why she never joins them in the dining room. (“I converse with you in the dining room through what we eat,” she explains, smiling.) Later we will find that Dodin’s greatest passion in life is not actually food, but the woman who cooks with him, and that their romance is the sort that unfolds over time and seasons very like the lettuce growing in the garden. We will even learn, alongside him, that the beauty of love is much like the beauty of a pristinely cooked meal: It is precious because it will, like all things, eventually be only a memory.But for now we are focused on the balancing act of the kitchen, the way ingredients come together like magic. In the hubbub, Dodin finds a lull in which to conduct a lesson. Pauline’s been watching the activity with wide, fascinated eyes. He hands her a spoonful of some liquid, a sauce, and asks her to name what’s in it.She closes her eyes and concentrates. She has no training, but her senses are keen. She starts to name elements, from bacon and red peppers to specific herbs and cognac. As she lists them, we see what’s in her mind’s eye: the elements being seared and sifted and combined, stirred together and cooked to the perfect texture.Dodin’s eyes, meanwhile, are filled with excitement at her rare talent. Across the room, Eugenie is listening, the same joy reflected in her face. What Pauline can do is what luck cannot: She can sense the elements, and also understand the balance between them, how they come together to make something quite perfect. What’s more, she feels great emotion in the task, her pleasure as palpable as theirs. Later, when she tells Eugenie that she almost wept when she tasted another dish, she cannot explain why; it just affected her in a way she can feel in her soul.I understand. It’s the same emotion I feel when I watch a movie like this one, where elements of joy and sorrow, humor and intensity, beauty and light and shadow combine in a perfectly balanced experience. It takes patience and skill, but also nerve and luck for a work of art to achieve elegance and piquancy in equal measure. You might try to reduce it to a recipe for success, but you can’t scientifically force a movie to work, any more than you can batter a meal into perfection like a blunt object. This attention, and patience, and care: It is what makes all the difference. More

    • 138 Shares149 Views

      in Movies

      ‘The Taste of Things’ and the Transcendence of a French Meal

      by

      “The Taste of Things” is the latest movie to luxuriate in France’s gourmand tradition, a safe way of attracting audiences outside the country.In France, a robust appetite is a virtue if not a heroic trait.Eating gratifies all the senses: We take in the aroma of a handsome dish, delight at the sound of a sizzling steak or crave the crunch of a crusty baguette. So to fully appreciate the various sensory dimensions of a fine French meal is, essentially, to express a sophisticated artistic judgment.“The Taste of Things,” by the director Tran Anh Hung, is a 19th-century French romance powered by this understanding of food’s transcendence. The feature opened in theaters Wednesday in France and will play on screens at New York’s Museum of Modern Art on Nov. 10 before its Oscar-qualifying run in mid-December.The movie is about a distinguished gourmand, Dodin (Benoît Magimel), and his preternaturally gifted chef, Eugénie (Juliette Binoche). They live together in the French countryside and together concoct lavish meals for themselves and Dodin’s coterie of foodie friends. Their lives entirely revolve around the cultivation and creation of these dishes, which Hung emphasizes through long, elaborate cooking scenes.“The Taste of Things” is an 18th-century French romance powered by this understanding of food’s transcendence. via Carole Bethuel/IFC FIlmsWhen I first watched “The Taste of Things” at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, I was surrounded by a delightfully vocal audience. The oohing and ahhing was ubiquitous and, apparently, a visceral response, similar to what is elicited by beholding Monet’s water lilies or being wrapped in the velvety textures of Whitney Houston’s voice. Savoring a tasty meal (or even just watching one come together on a big screen) brings a kind of joy that can’t be explained by logic or reason.Reviews of the film in France have been mixed. Le Monde’s Clarisse Fabre found its blissful atmosphere and near-absence of dramatic tension perplexing and boring. Olivier Lamm of Libération wrote that there’s much more to the film than its food-porn attractions — it’s also about the assault of junk food and globalization on French standards.“Chocolat,” starring Juliette Binoche, also celebrated the French devotion to the culinary arts and made a lot of money at the U.S. box office.AlamyThe country’s rich gastronomic tradition — and its long history of federally regulating the quality and authenticity of its wines and produce — is a particular point of national pride, and French film industry leaders have embraced the gourmand label. This year, “The Taste of Things” was selected as the French submission for the Oscar’s best international film category over Justine Triet’s Palme d’Or winner, “Anatomy of a Fall.”The decision was met with objections from French critics, who said Triet was punished for the political charge of her acceptance speech at Cannes. However, the selection of Hung’s film isn’t all that surprising given the selection committee’s evident partiality to films commenting on the country’s national identity — or, from a more cynical standpoint, films that offer Oscar voters a tourist-friendly idea of France.The French devotion to the culinary arts is a bit of an onscreen cliché, and Hollywood films like “Ratatouille” and “Chocolat” (the latter, also starring Binoche, made big money in the United States, but fared far less well in France) have relied on stereotypically French settings, like a rustic village and a Parisian bistro, to communicate lessons about food’s revolutionary and unifying powers.More rewarding — and complex — is the 1956 French classic “La Traversée de Paris,” starring the Frenchest of all Frenchmen, Jean Gabin, as an artist-turned-black market courier in Nazi-occupied Paris. This black dramedy stars Gabin and the comedian Bourvil, who play a bickering duo who must transport four suitcases of contraband pork across the city while evading the authorities and a horde of hungry hounds.Political instability not only cuts off access to revered foodstuffs, it drains the very spirit of those committed to the art of eating. In the 1987 Danish film “Babette’s Feast,” Babette (Stéphane Audran), a French chef, is forced to flee from her Parisian neighborhood when the Paris Commune, an insurrectionist government, seizes power in 1871.Seeking refuge in the Danish countryside, Babette moves into a spartan Protestant household manned by two Protestant sisters accustomed to eating the same brown fish stew, which has a mudlike consistency. Fourteen years into her employment with the sisters, Babette miraculously wins the French lottery and, rather than fund her return to France, spends all her winnings on a multicourse dinner for the townspeople.Stéphane Audran as Babette in “Babette’s Feast.”Entertainment Pictures, via AlamyThe feast — a turtle soup, stuffed quail, rum sponge cake and more — breaks the guests’ brains, while Babette, in the final scene, emerges as an emissary of the sublime. Her culinary gifts, her cooking’s ability to disrupt the very foundations of what her Danish friends perceived to be reality, make her angelic.At the same time, isn’t fine dining — like certain kinds of music, literature and art — rather bourgeois? Nothing screams upper middle class like the prim and proper dinner scene. This is delightful in films by, say, Éric Rohmer, who was fond of depicting the natural choreography of mealtime, the mess of wine glasses and plates of fruit and cheese floating between guests in the middle of a meandering conversation.In other films, dinnertime can seem ridiculous. Consider Luis Buñuel’s “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie,” in which three couples try over and over to enjoy a white tablecloth feast, but do not actually eat. Over the course of the film, their polite mannerisms and refined gestures become increasingly absurd.Marco Ferreri’s “La Grande Bouffe” plays like a glutton’s version of “Salo,” linking the pleasure of eating to consumerist society and the gross hedonism of the leisure class. In the film, four friends literally feed themselves to death, feasting on an endless parade of shrimp, turkey, pot roast and sausage while reading excerpts from canonical works of literature and, notably, Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin’s gastronomical bible, “The Physiology of Taste.”Philippe Noiret, Ugo Tognazzi and Andréa Ferréol in “La Grande Bouffe,” which links the pleasure of eating to consumerist society.Alamy“La Grande Bouffe” is a nauseating showcase and a welcome retort to the glorification of tunnel-vision foodies like Brillat-Savarin. Ferreri was also a gourmand, and he reportedly had difficulties keeping himself from binge eating. His film points a finger at himself as well as society at large.“The Taste of Things” is an adaptation of the 1961 novel “The Passionate Epicure” by Marcel Rouff, which was itself inspired by none other than Brillat-Savarin. “The Physiology of Taste” is supposed to be about the science of eating, but it often veers off into discussions about sex, love and sensuality.Brillat-Savarin’s passion for food is not unlike the passion he might develop for another person, a dynamic that Hung’s film depicts with a hypnotic warmth. When I see Binoche’s Eugénie, laboring away on a buttery risotto or a vegetable omelet, I’m overcome by the sense memory of something deliciously intimate, like being held tight or a loved one’s scent. In that moment, nothing else seems to matter. More

    • 63 Shares169 Views

      in Movies

      ‘Pacifiction’ Review: Trouble in Paradise

      by

      Albert Serra’s languorous new film is a dreamy meditation on post-colonial geopolitics.At sunset and at daybreak, the light in Tahiti glows orange and pink, as fragrant and moist as freshly cut fruit. “Pacifiction,” the sixth feature by the Catalan filmmaker Albert Serra, luxuriates in the Polynesian twilight, as if the camera’s lens could absorb humidity and make it visible.The movie unfolds over more than two and a half hours at a languorous pace, through episodes that sometimes seem linked by the serendipitous logic of a dream. At the beginning and the end, a small power boat plies the harbor, carrying French marines under the command of a sad-eyed admiral (Marc Susini). Their presence, in the bars and on the beaches, becomes part of the local atmosphere as well as the catalyst for a plot that connects local politics with geopolitical intrigue.It’s rumored that France is about to resume nuclear testing around the islands, something that was done frequently from the 1960s to the mid-90s. In the movie’s fictional present day, tensions are rising between Polynesian authorities and the French government, which administers the region as an overseas territory. Mysterious foreigners haunt the tourist hotels. At least one is believed to work for the C.I.A.At the center of it all is the French high commissioner, a government functionary in tinted glasses and an ice cream suit referred to only by his last name, which is De Roller. Played by Benoît Magimel with shambling delicacy, De Roller is like the French cousin of a character you might find in a Graham Greene novel or a tale by Joseph Conrad. He is a world-weary, somewhat dissolute avatar of colonial power — “a representative of the state” in his own assessment, which sounds both humble and boastful — going to seed in a tropical paradise. He is a diplomat, a fixer, a bon vivant and, thanks to Magimel’s louche charisma, a lost soul whose wandering and dithering carry a hint of pathos.Though De Roller is in constant motion — by foot, jet ski and prop plane as well as his cream-colored Mercedes — he is a curiously becalmed, passive figure. He listens, lectures, eats and drinks, enjoying the company even of people whom he regards as threats or annoyances. He hangs out backstage with nightclub dancers, lunches with Indigenous leaders and visiting cultural dignitaries and develops a special, possibly romantic relationship with Shannah (Pahoa Mahagafanau), a transgender hospitality worker.“Pacifiction,” which was filmed in Polynesia in 2021 under the shadow of Covid, is more interested in texture than plot. There is a thriller lurking around the edges of the movie, or perhaps in its subconscious, as if the conspiracies and acts of violence that are sometimes alluded to in De Roller’s conversations were buried in the subtext, just out of view. It suggests John le Carré by way of David Lynch — a feverish and haunting but also wry and meditative rumination on power, secrecy and the color of clouds over water at sunset.PacifictionNot rated. In French, with subtitles. Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes. In theaters. More