Like most movies at Cannes this year, A Man of His Time is at least half an hour too long. It is handsomely crafted and features a fantastic leading performance from Swann Arlaud, but by golly does it drag. It's also the second film about the French resistance at the festival, and the third to deal with French war history. Almost as if European cinema had something on its mind in these tumultuous times.
A Man of His Time is written and directed by Emmanuel Marre, who based the story on his grandfather, Henri (played by Arlaud). In reality, Henri really did hold a minor post in the Ministry of Labour, where he, along with other unremarkable men, played a part in assisting Germany in their eradication of Jews during the occupation of France.
In Marre's hands, Henri is neither demonized nor spared harsh criticism. Instead, A Man of His Time stands out for its even-handed and almost brutally unflinching depiction of predatory survival. Henri is neither hero nor villain, but painfully average and uninspiring. He arrives in town with the same hubris as Charles Guiteau and is only marginally more successful in his pursuits of greatness. When he finally starts to realize the effects of his actions, he's so deep in the quicksand that all he can do is gasp for air.
Henri has written a book, Notre Salut, from which the film gets its name. It means "Our Salvation" in French, and has all the political grace of a sophomore manifesto. But, true to life, it's not the quality of the product but how you sell it, and Henri is a persistent merchant, if nothing else. Throughout the film, we hear of his past exploits, all of which have been failures. Yet it's hard not to feel for something as everyone, including his wife and kids, kicks Henri when he's down. He might be a screw-up, but underdogs have a strange kinship, even when it's unhealthy.
Where A Man of His Time shines is in its depiction of the mysteriously dangerous machinery that is middle management. By definition, it is the playground of the untalented and those lacking in vision. Yet it is also where most things end up happening, whether we like it or not. In Marre's depiction, Vichy France rises and falls through the paper-pushing bureaucracy of Henri's department, where nobody is appreciated, and that bitterness seeps into the decisions they make.
The great tragedy is that in a more compassionate world, Henri may have grown in a different direction. He isn't stupid, even if he's short-sighted and petty. He's vulnerable, often kind, yet vindictive as well. Arlaud plays the part beautifully, always toying with our empathy and expectation.
At multiple points throughout the film, I anticipated the moment where Henri would turn it all around and make the right call. But this is not a fairy tale, and such momentous events rarely happen all at once. Instead, A Man of His Time fixates on the series of seemingly inane moments that trickle into a current that changes the tide of history.
If it were a half-hour shorter, A Man of His Time would be a better, more efficient film. There are instances where Marre's tremendous vision breaks free and hints of a stronger, more poignant experience. The scenes where he juxtaposes 80s and 90s Europop with seminal events of the 1940s are among the best. They remind us how history isn't some different world simply because our culture has changed. This kind of vacant evil happens every day, and it's so easy to blind ourselves from it.
Anchored by Arlaud's tremendous performance, which is likely to garner awards recognition at the end of the year, A Man of His Time is a good movie that often teeters on the edge of greatness. It is, in a way, very much like its main character.
