Let it Rain

Let it Rain

105 Minutes

Bad French movies do exist. I know this for a fact, having seen enough of them, not to mention the piles of strange Gallic dreck Netflix thinks I may be interested in. Yet the selective thinning of the export process cuts out enough of the crap that it’s easy to pretend the standard is that much higher, the same way time has made it possible to nostalgically view Old Hollywood as endlessly spinning gold.

Yet in the same way that digging into a good screwball comedy makes you wonder if things maybe weren’t just a little bit rosier back then, a film like Let it Rain furthers the illusion of higher standards by being that much better than it needs to be. Directed by Agnes Jaoui, studded with broad gags and half-explored gender battles, it has the studied feel of a mid-range movie – better than mediocre but not by terribly much – yet it’s still impressively efficient and regularly charming.

Let it Rain verges on being an even fuller success until its last act, which tacks on one of those washout montage endings where it’s hurriedly decided that everything will be okay, despite this conclusion being not yet fully earned. In the lead-up we get a generally propulsive battle of the sexes, as two amateur documentarians (Jean-Pierre Bacri and Jamel Debbouze) attempt to film a profile on a local politician, struggling with constant ineptitude and their own over-involvement with the subject.

The characters, who all know each other through an extended web of work, family and amorous relationships, are stock types in French comedy: the doofy, scatter-brained louche, the wise and earthy servant, the hard careerist woman, the slightly-out-of-place ethnic guy, whose underdog status and pure heart make him the film’s undeniable center. The push-and-pull between these types is funny but not hilarious, smart but not intellectually probing, satisfied to dig a little into their relations without getting its hands dirty. It dances around the idea of pursuing outright farce, setting a few busy scenes among the classic splendor of the French country house, but never leaves all of its characters there long enough for things to get cooking.

Which is fine, since at first Let it Rain styles itself as a serious movie, certainly digging further into gender politics than most American comedies would dare. The steely politician (played by Jaoui herself) plays tougher than she actually is; she’s in office as a result of affirmative action and thus strives to downplay feminine qualities. Her sister Florence carries on an affair with Michel, one of the filmmakers, disgusted by the constant demands of her femininely needy husband, yet bound to him by a stubborn maternal instinct.

“It’s okay for women to cry,” Michel says at one point delivering one of the film’s smartest, most layered lines. The theme of role reversal is definitely present, but feels slightly detached, given primacy over a small grab-bag of hot button issues. The mother of Karim, the Arab filmmaker, is the politician’s servant. The kids are shiftless and need constant stimulation. Everyone’s cell phones are always ringing. Yet Let it Rain’s greatest structural fault is that it never works up the gumption to pursue its questions to their logical endpoints. This doesn’t mean there aren’t conclusions, but the way the way the story-lines wrap up feels far more standard than such complex narratives deserve, an unfortunate slide into cliché that seems to have proven itself above such dreary business.

by Jesse Cataldo