The Divorce
*/**** Image A- Sound B+
starring Kate Hudson, Naomi Watts, Leslie Caron, Stockard Channing
screenplay by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala & James Ivory, based on the novel by Diane Johnson
directed by James Ivory
by Travis Mackenzie Hoover Rejoice, America: now there's a movie that hates the French just as much as you do. Operating under the code name Le Divorce, it has infiltrated the ranks of the smelly Frogs, scrutinized their every failing and foible, and exposed them for the no-goodniks that recent events have proven them to be. Were the film only so good at keeping its own house in order; despite its ostentatious accusations of Gallic obtuseness, it fails to notice its own American brand of bourgeois superiority, which treats the continent and its culture as items to be collected when they're not being sold to the highest bidder. There's a lesson to be learned here, especially in these postwar times, about the nature of a certain country and its arrogance.
It's Yanks against Frogs from the get-go. Isabel Walker (Kate Hudson) comes to France to visit her sister, Roxy (Naomi Watts), but no sooner has she set foot on her property does she find a tearful and pregnant Roxy abandoned by her husband Charles-Henri (Melvil Poupaud). France's antiquated divorce laws prove, to say the least, unhelpful: not only will they give sole custody to the caddish Charles, but they might also award him a painting (rumoured to be a Georges de la Tour) that has been a Walker family heirloom. As Charles's family is–wait for it–supporting him completely, it looks as though Roxy is screwed, prompting much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Strangely, the matter isn't rendered with righteous anger as much as genteel distaste. So determined is the film to rise above the transgressions of the conniving French that it soft-pedals some potentially charged material, as when the pregnant and desperate Roxy attempts suicide: the distress lasts exactly one scene, the "oh no"s dispelled the minute Ma and Pa Walker (Sam Waterston and Stockard Channing) cross the pond to calm things down. Furthermore, Isabel is allowed to embark on a May/December romance with Charles's middle-aged uncle Edgar (Thierry Lhermitte)–a strange show of solidarity with one's broken sister. But no matter: it's just curiosity about the French other, which teaches her to decisively say "no" to French romantic mores. And what could possibly bring a family closer together?
After a while, it becomes obvious that Le Divorce, a Merchant-Ivory production, has less interest in its anti-French stance than in striking well-moneyed poses involving posh locations and ritzy expatriate job descriptions. The attitude seems to be that France would be a swell picturesque place to hold a poetry reading and/or dinner party were it not for its inhabitants, and therefore energies are concentrated on the rich Americans feeling smugly superior to their host nation. (Were it not for the frog-baiting, it would make a great double bill with Woody Allen's similarly odious Everyone Says I Love You). Nobody seems to notice that the Yanks are more than happy to hock their painting when it turns out to be a cash-cow la Tour, despite their attachment to their heirloom. And they're all completely thrilled to bask in France's glory when it serves their purposes–thrilled to point out the mote in its eye while drawing attention away from the Buick Regal lodged in their own.
Mention must be made of Matthew Modine's performance, the one harsh note in an otherwise mealy-mouthed movie. As the emotionally disturbed ex-husband of Charles's mistress (another wronged American!), he provides an emotional gravity that is sorely lacking in the picture. The ludicrous deus ex machina finale eventually betrays him, but Modine's character is also the only evidence that there might be something else going on inside people besides expensive dinners and country walks. While surely the French have their problems, the Americans of Le Divorce aren't much better: strangely hollow creatures, they're given to denouncing whole cultures when they don't get their way. Shield this picture from George W. Bush; it could only encourage him. Originally published: August 29, 2003.
by Bill Chambers Perhaps James Ivory deserves the wild-card slot in this year's Best Director race, for he's truly achieved the impossible with Le Divorce: he made me grow to dread the sight of Naomi Watts. (Not to mention the horrendous poetry her character writes.) Watts doesn't even look very good in this puked-up film (nobody does), released on DVD as a single-layer flipper with a 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen presentation on the one side and a heavily panned-and-scanned version on the other. The transfer is ever-diligent in reproducing one of the most flatly lit, lifelessly shot movies in recent memory; shadow detail is absent, but such is a lack native to Pierre Lhomme's cinematography. Surround cues are as good as imaginary, as well, in the aggressively bland Dolby Digital 5.1 mix. There are no extras on le disc–can't say I'm remotely disappointed.
117 minutes; R; 2.35:1 (16×9-enhanced), 1.33:1; English DD 5.1, French Dolby Surround, Spanish Dolby Surround; CC; English, Spanish subtitles; DVD-10; Region One; Fox
