Annette bugs the hell out of me because, on paper, it’s a film I should love. It’s directed by French arthouse provocateur, and cinéma du look proponent Leos Carax, whose work I usually adore (2012’s Holy Motors, his last feature, is, as the kids don’t say, a trip). The script and the music come from cult musicians Ron Mael and Russell Mael, aka Sparks, who are having a bit of A Moment thanks to the recent documentary on their joint career by director Edgar Wright, Shaun of the Dead (2004), et al. The cast includes Adam Driver and Marion Cotillard, who rock very hard under normal circumstances. Simon Helberg, who will carry the stink of The Big Bang Theory (2007 – 19) with him for the rest of his life (I don’t hate it, but it seems everyone else I know does and with a fierceness), crops up in a supporting role and is very, very good.
But I don’t dig it. I don’t hate it either. I nothing it; I’ll have trouble remembering it before too long if I don’t watch it again, and there’s not much likely to make me want to do that. It’s a middling movie: midbrow, midrange, probably mid a lot of Year’s Best and Year’s Worst lists come December.