OnScreen Review: "Annette"
When Leos Carax's fever-dream of a movie musical "Annette" premiered at Cannes, a lot was made about a scene where Henry, naked in bed with his wife Ann, pauses mid-lovemaking to sing. "We love each other so much," he repeats a few times until Henry puts his mouth to a more pleasurable use.
While this coital singing shocked some reporters, I couldn't help but think that Sondheim did it first (and not shockingly) better when it was Clara singing to Giorgio, "I'm so happy I'm afraid I'll die." I don't say that because Carax (a French filmmaker known for "Holy Motors") or brothers Ron and Russell Mael (who wrote the story and songs) are cribbing from The Master. "Annette" is many things – surreal, pretentious, dour, creative, strange – but a copycat is not one of them. I bring that up because the hoopla around that scene is a lot like the film itself. It thinks it's saying something meaningful and unique; it believes it's brazen and boundary-pushing. It really isn't. The production looks gorgeous and the actors are top-notch, but without the positive Cannes reviews clouding my vision, I'm pretty sure this is just gussied-up nonsense.
"Annette" is swimming in a sea of Big Ideas about the toxicity of fame, love, obsession, parenthood, exploitation, masculinity, and the creation of art. The film starts with an overture of sorts where Ron and Russel Mael (with their band Sparks) begin recording the film's opening song in a studio. They eventually walk away from their microphones and are joined outside by the film's cast, who all sing a meta ditty asking the audience, "may we start." By the song's last lyric, the actors have donned costumes and wigs; the lines between actor and part are immediately blurred. It's an intriguing way to start a movie musical, but like so much of "Annette," it brings up interesting ideas and then squanders them.
Let me backtrack for a moment. Adam Driver plays Henry McHenry, a successful stand-up comic whose shtick seems to be delivering angry on-stage rants in a bathrobe. (I couldn't help but draw comparisons to Bo Burnham's "Inside." Both, incidentally, play with the idea of art vs. reality and the relationship between artist and audience. Both use music. But the statement Bo is trying to make is crystal clear.) Henry, whose off-stage persona seems to be as sullen, weird, and angsty as his on-stage one, is in love with Ann Defrasnoux (a criminally underused Marion Cotillard), an opera singer known for her dramatic, triumphant death scenes. Eventually, Ann gives birth to their daughter – the titular Annette portrayed by the creepiest cinematic puppet since that bicycling Jigsaw. I'll end my synopsis here to avoid spoilers but suffice it to say that while "Annette" is a tedious, indulgent 140 minutes, it feels both overly drawn out and thinly sketched. It's overflowing with style and anemic with substance.
This might all be ameliorated (or at least forgiven) had the music been decent. I'll admit that, despite their 20+ album discography, I've never heard of Sparks before "Annette." According to Wikipedia, they have influenced art pop, new wave, indie, electronica, and disco. I'll buy into the fact that these guys know how to write good music, but that isn't reflected here. For a sung-through musical, there is a shocking dearth of actual songs. Most dialogue is spoke-sung to a tuneless melody, lost notes in search of a musical idea. The lyrics are either clunky or overly repetitive; the overall flatness of the words may be indicative of something to the Maels, but it comes across lazy. An example: "You used to laugh but now you sure ain't laughing at me no more / You used to laugh but now you sure ain't laughing at me no more / What's your problem? / What's your f*cking problem? / What's your problem?" Another: "All the girls I see look so great to me / What amazes me is what they see in me." There's barely a clever rhyme or arresting melody to be found. It's a whole musical made from pallid knockoffs of those book-songs you find in Andrew Lloyd Webber shows ("Magical Lasso," "Then We Are Decided"), the ones you always skip on the soundtrack. Adam Driver is no classically trained singer, but he is a dynamic performer and at least makes a meal of his role and these songs. He's the film's biggest asset.
A criticism of "Passion," the musical I referenced earlier, is that the score is dull and hookless. Even by Sondheim standards, there are no toe-tappers. But if you can sink into the show's melancholia, you'll find exquisite melodies and deep, penetrating lyrics that peel away the characters' psyche one onion-skin layer at a time. "Annette" is all surface, pretty or evocative images to no real end. Two hours later, I don't really understand anything more about Henry than when I started. The same goes for Simon Helberg's character, Ann's longtime musical director who harbors romantic feelings for his leading lady.
And then, just when I was resigned to slog through the rest of "Annette," something happened. The last sequence – a meeting between Henry and his daughter – is transcendent. It's a perfectly acted duet, sung to an engaging melody. The lyrics have depth! The tune has purpose! The puppet metaphor comes full circle! It's one of the best ten minutes I've seen on screen this year. If only the 130 minutes leading up to it had such clarity.
"Annette" is a polarizing film and while it may seem startling fresh in 2021, it isn't particularly unique. The easiest comparison may be to "Tommy," another surreal rock opera about fame and violence. But Sparks doesn't have The Who's skill when it comes to translating concept albums to a full musical. There are some stunning images in "Annette" – Henry bathed in the colorful glow of his daughter's nightlight, Annette floating above a proscenium stage, Ann on the deck of an ill-fated boat – but for a film about passion and music, it left me feeling nothing. For a film like this, that's a fatal sin.
Rating 2 out of 5
"Annette" is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.