The general attitude around Cannes is that the opening movie is rarely a good one. In my four years at the festival, I've enjoyed the offerings more than most, but even I'd agree that the honor of being selected as the gala premiere offering is a dubious one. Expectations are high, and there's even a remote sense of everyone wanting to get this over with so the actual festival can begin. It's not a fair proposition at all.
But that doesn't mean the first film can't surprise us. Last year, I was delighted by Leave One Day, a bittersweet jukebox musical that was as charming as it was quaint. The year before that, I laughed my way through Quentin Dupieux's uneven, but often blisteringly funny, The Second Act.
No such luck this year, even though on paper, I should be the target audience for The Electric Kiss, a whimsical and macabre romantic comedy of errors about a con artist who pretends to be a medium between the deceased wife of a grieving painter, and ends up falling in love with him.
Right off the bat, The Electric Kiss sets itself up for an uphill battle. It plays like something Jean-Pierre Jeunet would make, with toybox music implying something sinister behind the whimsy, and handsome set design that evokes a romanticised, fairy tale era of Paris that never existed.
But underneath the sugary coating, there are deeply unnerving elements involving suicide, betrayal, slavery, and sexual assault. In its attempt to balance these together while still delivering on the farcical meet-cute romantic comedy, The Electric Kiss stumbles early and never recovers, even with its far-too-long runtime.
Part of the problem is that the plot is overstuffed with ideas, and none of them get a chance to breathe before the film rushes off to the next one.
Our hero, Suzanne (AnaĂ¯s Demoustier), lives as an indentured servant to an abusive and violent circus owner, who all but prostitutes her in an act where she kisses men on stage with the promise that their chemistry sparks electricity from the unspoken passion. Her parents sold her to the circus when she was fifteen, and there are unspoken horrors that go with that simple statement. Only she drops this knowledge offhandedly about halfway through the film, and it never features in the story again.
Antoine (Pio MarmaĂ¯) is a grieving painter who lost the love of his life, or so he claims. He is supposedly a genius, a savant ahead of his time, yet the film never gives us a reason to believe this claim. His former lover, Irène (Vimala Pons), died some time ago, and he can't paint without her. In flashbacks, we see how Irène's hand guided him to become a successful and celebrated artist, and how quickly their relationship soured afterwards. In Suzanne, Antoine finds someone new to cling to and to bring life to his work.
Aha, I thought, perhaps this is where the film is going. It is meant to break down the myth of the struggling, tortured artist and the pain they cause to those they claim to love.
But wait, there is also Armand (Gilles Lelouche), Antoine's manager, who pays for Suzanne to keep up the charade, because it makes Antoine paint again. He makes a killing from Antoine's work, but also claims it is because he loves his friend. In the past, he was close to both Irène and Antoine, and the film dives into their messy backstory through extensive flashbacks as Suzanne reads Irène's diaries to learn more about the person she pretends to be.
This is only a small part of the overtly complicated plot The Electric Kiss offers. If you're already confused, you will be doubly so by the time it ends. As if well-aware that it has painted itself into every corner it can think of, the film simply ends with a dull, one-note flourish that could work in Vaudeville, and even there elicit jeers for such a cop out.
It's a frustrating experience, as there are momentary glimpses of a better, more interesting picture. Lelouche is tremendous as the conniving, but potentially loving friend, and the leading trio behind Suzanne, Antoine, and Irène make the most of their thinly drawn characters.
But The Electric Kiss can't decide which thematic elements it wants to explore, or what kind of story it will be. In Jeunet's hands, it could just as easily be a chaotic romp, where the darker elements fall aside in favor of the sumptuous fantasy. Yet the darker story of timeless tragedy and the stories we tell ourselves to cope with loss is just as compelling. Together, though, they constantly clash and only rob each other of their effectiveness.
By the end, The Electric Kiss is unsatisfying because it tries too much with too little. It's too dark to be funny, too funny to be tragic, and too long to linger in a way that would allow me to love it even with its faults.
