Trying out my new Netflix subscription (thanks dad! also, I really think VR has many useful business applications, you should think about getting that as well), I ended up watching a little French romantic comedy last night. Full disclosure, 2016 hasn’t been a great romancing year for me, so I get easily irked by too much quirky stuff or unsubstantiated love kernels. And for the most part, easy-breezy romcoms tend to consist of a string of those. So it’s at least partly my fault that Un peu, beaucoup, aveuglément! (you know I can’t pronounce that, so let’s just go with the English title: Blind Date) didn’t stick.
Then again, it felt like all the creators were working with was a concept and a final scene: the former bordering on the absurd, the latter more romantic than I was set up to expect, by the look of things. Everything else was filled in with a competent, but cloggy and predictable plot and endearingly cardboard-y characters.
OK, that’s harsh.
The leads have a tinge of something special about them, both reclusive introverts, passionate creatives – playfully nicknamed Machine and Machin. Separated by a thin and not at all soundproof wall, they get to organizing their lives around one another and ultimately fall for each other. The secret sauce lies in them not having seen each other and therefore being able to focus on the essence of what’s being conveyed. At times, the two even have enough personality to be more than cardboard cut-outs. Also, ‘Machine’ (Mélanie Bernier) is adorable.
Instead of spending more time with them, we’re served with two second-hand supporting characters, the adulterous sister (or was it friend?) of ‘Machine’ and the overly supportive friend of ‘Machin’. The problem with these two is that they bring nothing to the story. Instead, they are classic counter-points – the rebellious matron to the timid girl, the happy-go-lucky fellow to the misanthrope. This makes them superfluous, because no time is dedicated to truly fleshing them out enough for anything they do to even matter.
Coming back to our protagonists, their purpose is to free one another of what’s tying them down, while also coming together. For one, it’s a perfectionist obsession with the creation brain-teaser games; for the other, it’s a perfectionist obsession with playing the piano. It fits, we do like fixing in others what we can’t fix in ourselves. This takeaway, so common to romantic comedies, is the bane of my existence. To its defense, Blind Date tries to nuance the matter, as one might find motivation in another, but still needs to independently commit to change. There’s just an excessive amount of wish fulfillment about the movie, as too much is left unexplored to really make it worthwhile. Luckily, the bits of Chopin scattered throughout offer a helping hand.
People seem to like the flick, so with my disclaimer in mind, take what you will out of this review. Yet I cannot help being disappointed, because while it does feel authentic at points, it predominantly appears trite. Maybe I should just lower my pretentious romcom bar a notch or two.
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