Comme une image

a.k.a. Look at Me is a sweet French film that I'm not going to do justice to, mainly because yours truly - Mr. I Yearn for the Drug of Cinema -- watched it while drowsy, and because I got up to pee during what may have been a key moment of exposition. (I headed for the bathroom when one character was crying, and after a long piss which I just didn't feel like rushing, they were all were driving somewhere in the country for reasons I didn't understand.) Still, it's the kind of movie that I can see myself absolutely loving if I saw it again; in fact, I'm already rather attracted to it. It's a kind of Mike Leigh-type film, not because it's improvised or made up as it went along, but because not a whole lot happens, and you're not sure where it's going or why, and which finds its story in the emotional life of its characters. It's a deeply human and humane movie whose every character wants to be loved but is a little too self-absorbed to love anyone else. The exception is the lead character, a plus-sized young singer curiously named Lolita -- played by a remarkable life-force named Marilou Berry -- who strives for the love of her famous writer father, who is too wrapped up in his own career and his hot new wife to pay any attention to his daughter or her burgeoning talent. The same goes for boys, who only pretend to be attracted to her so they can meet her father. Lolita more or less feels rejected all around by everyone but her vocal coach -- who spends most of her time babying her husband, a mopey writer who has endured years of failure and is about to become a celebrity. Then there's this boy she meets who seems like the real thing. It wends its melancholy way toward an unforced happy ending between Lolita and her beau, walking with her bicycle against a starry sky.

This is easily the slackest review I have ever written. My others will be better. I'll get more sleep ahead of time, and I will drink less cola. But do see the movie. You'll like it.