An aging Manhattan socialite living on what’s barely left of her inheritance moves to a small apartment in Paris with her son and cat.
If there ever was a star vehicle, Azazel Jacobs’ ambitious dark dramedy “French Exit” is it. The star in question is none other than the extraordinary Michelle Pfeiffer, who makes a refreshing detour from playing second-fiddle in Disney/Marvel fare (we’ll see her next in “Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania”). The living legend deserves better, and Jacobs does her talent justice. His film may be all over the place, but it’s enjoyably so, and Pfeiffer holds it all together like glue.
“French Exit” becomes progressively more entertaining and funnier as it progresses, perhaps because it takes some time to adjust to its rhythm — that is, if you can adjust to the tonal whiplash Jacobs concocts here. Shades of humanity begin to peek through the deadpan delivery, but then there are the absurdist swerves into paranormal territory, and deep tragedy, and, well, it’s as if the filmmaker attempted to encompass all of life (and beyond) and its peculiarities, via a Wes Anderson-like prism. If that sounds like something you can handle, delve right in.
After New York socialite Frances (Michelle Pfeiffer) goes bankrupt, she has no choice but to move into her friend Joan’s (Susan Coyne) Paris apartment (I know, white people problems), along with her son Malcolm (Lucas Hedges). She’s witnessed her husband’s death, she’s witnessed her socialite glamour dissipate gradually — now Frances is ready to witness her own undoing, planning to excessively spend what’s left of her money to expedite the inevitable. In the meantime, she reconnects with Malcolm (who’s experiencing amorous woes), befriends the lonely Mme. Reynard (Valerie Mahaffey), and perhaps even begins to reassemble a semblance of purpose.
Working off Patrick deWitt’s adaptation of his own book, Jacobs confidently marches to the beat of his (their?) own drum. The confidence certainly helps propel the narrative through all the crazed shifts in mood and momentum. Frances is lamenting her existence and contemplating suicide in one raw moment, which is followed by a bizarre séance sequence, wherein our heroine evokes her dead husband, whose soul resides in her cat and who speaks in Tracy Letts’ voice. With me?
The performances make it all more than worth it. Pfeiffer is absolutely radiant, oozing class, transcending mere “acting” with a feat that arguably encompasses her very essence, her entire career. Frances may mourn the loss of her identity, fearful of what lays ahead, but what about the stalwart playing her? “To be youngish and in love-ish,” France states bitterly, and that says it all. I also love the way she describes a cliché — as “a story so fine and thrilling that it’s grown old in its retelling.” There’s nothing clichéd about Pfeiffer’s achievement here.
But she’s not the only reason for taking this “Exit.” Valerie Mahaffey as the borderline-obsessive Mme. Reynard provides much of the film’s humor, with impeccable (and much-needed) comic timing (watch out for the “freezer surprise”). Lucas Hedges, in his 17th feature film role this past decade (he seems to have hopped right off the cruise liner in Steven Soderbergh’s “Let Them All Talk” and onto the one here, switching Streep for Pfeiffer), impresses, holding his own opposite the legend.
At its heart, “French Exit” is about the relationship between mother and son, about our need for affection and purpose. It slides off the rails more than once, but it does so knowingly, determinedly, and it wisely never loses focus if its star. Here’s hoping it doesn’t signify the proverbial exit of one of our very best female actors.
Opens in Select Theaters Friday, April 2nd
