In a box office filled with teenaged blood suckers, it’s easy to feel like Hollywood is in a season of creative drought. That’s why when I went to see Café de Flore (2011) in a nearly empty theatre (the only other patrons being senior citizens), I was gladly reminded that hope for creativity in an industry that seems to only be interested in sequels and spin-offs is still alive and kicking here in the north. Café is the latest from Québécois-director-turned filmic-DJ Jean-Marc Vallée, who returns to his specific brand of musically driven filmmaking that gathered the world’s attention in 2005 with his earlier release C.R.A.Z.Y. Now, six years later, Café shows that Vallée’s passion for mixing stunning imagery and philosophical flair hasn’t waned one bit.
Café follows three different storylines, often shifting terrains in a ghostly fashion, alternating between various time periods and events that are shown in a wilfully disorienting manner. Vallée is no stranger to having his films span over the course of a lifetime, but this film dashes routine story telling aside in search of a style that is surprisingly more mature than his past work. Café tells the story of middle-aged DJ, Antoine Godin (Kevin Parent) who, after leaving his wife of 20 years for his considerably younger mistress Rose (Evelyne Brochu), feels that his life is incomplete. Meanwhile, Antoine’s ex-wife (Hélène Florent) is deeply troubled by their divorce and starts to have terrifying nightmares in which what she calls a “little monster” haunts her. Throw in the other narrative about how a strong-willed single mother named Jacqueline (Vanessa Paradis), whose determination for her mollycoddled son with Down syndrome (Lucas Bonin) to have a “normal” life becomes a psychotic obsession, and you have your hands full with this plot. Café makes us work at every twist and turn of the story, and in the process of our connecting the dots, Vallée delivers his own doctrine about the enduringly trangressive nature of love and the odyssey of human existence.
In Café, Vallée maximizes the use of nostalgic songs where most directors who overuse cinematic musical scenes (Zack Snyder, ahem) fall incomparably short. Vallée enlists some big-name sounds (Sigur Rós, Pink Floyd, The Cure) in an effort that helps to translate the film’s moods and thoughts into smooth crystalline scenes. Café asks us: how does one show the multifaceted nature of human relationships and co-dependency? Vallée’s answer, of course: with stark visions and a damn good soundtrack. Café isn’t for everyone, but for those who can deal with the film’s brainteaser style, a true reward is to be had (and sit through the credits for this one).
