Jolie keeps ‘Couture’ from coming apart at seams
Three women, each separated by a decade and all frighteningly alone. That’s the setup for Alice Winocour’s rambling “Couture,” a well-meaning attempt at stitching together lives in turmoil during Paris Fashion Week. Some of it works. Most of it doesn’t.
What makes it worth watching is Angelina Jolie as Maxine Walker, an American in Paris who’s come to town to direct a vampire-themed video to lead off an unnamed fashion house’s reveal of its summer line. It’s a one-off for Maxine and her trusty cinematographer, Anton (Louis Garrel), before they embark on her dream project in a few weeks’ time. But just as shooting begins, Maxine receives a call from her doctor in L.A. There are suspicious masses in one of her breasts.
For Jolie, it’s the worst possible example of life imitating art, having recently undergone a double mastectomy herself. At times, it’s impossible to differentiate between Maxine and Angelina. In many ways, they are one and the same, like all the others battling this deadly, all-too-common disease. Accordingly, what we see is not only cathartic, it’s representative of a sisterhood that no one wants to belong.
Sadly, Maxine’s first thought, like many women, is, “How will this affect my career?” Not, “What do I need to do to be rid of it ASAP?” In the film’s best scene, Maxine reacts with a combination of horror and disbelief as the kind but firm oncologist she’s been referred to in Paris breaks the news they’d feared most. It’s a virtual acting clinic put on by Jolie and Vincent Lindon that plays so real it sends shivers, especially if, like me, you’ve been told you have cancer despite being asymptomatic.
Through Jolie, Maxine’s expressions affectingly run through the stages of grief, from denial to acceptance, all within a couple of minutes. And at the end of the exchange, you’re as numb as Maxine is as she staggers trance-like out the door and into a world that no longer looks the same. She craves closeness as well as a diversion. And finds it by boldly seeking out Anton and inviting him back to her hotel for sex. What ensues is far from erotic. It’s more like a woman fulfilling what she believes will be the end of her desirability.
It’s the sort of wrong-headed thinking that Winocour seeks to dispel through not just Maxine, but also Ada (Anyier Anei), the chic, willowy teenage pharmacy student from South Sudan who’s been recruited to be the face of the upcoming show; and Angèle (“Raw’s” Ella Rumpf), a make-up artist aspiring to parlay her behind-the-scenes experiences into a career as a tell-all author. The aim, Winocour has said, is to dwell on the alternate meeting of “couture,” which also means “stitch” in English.
Alas, Winocour reveals herself to be a poor seamstress. Not only do the three story strands fail to come together adequately, but they also feel as if they were culled from different films. The result is shallow and incomplete. We’re introduced to the women, but we learn little about how they tick, let alone how they fit together. It’s a shame because Winocour is blessed with three terrific performances, including two by Jolie and Anei, that are pretty much biographical. Maxine, like Jolie, is an accomplished indie filmmaker, and Ada, like Anei, is a South Sudanese native whose family fled to Kenya before she came to Paris to model and attend pharmaceutical college.
Rumpf draws the short end of the stick. Her Angèle disappears for long stretches. And when we do see her, she’s either in bed writing or bouncing around backstage, touching up imperfections on the models, mostly at the direction of condescending men. Anei fares only slightly better, relying more on her striking beauty than a narrative that reduces her to the cliché of a young African woman overwhelmed by the transience of her peers, not to mention their subtle racism.
Her best scene is opposite Julia Ratner, a real-life Ukrainian model, who, like Ada, has been forced into exile by war. Their scene lasts only a couple of minutes, but it’s no less powerful. As is the chance meeting Angèle has backstage with Maxine, who, in a moment of emotional meltdown, confesses her diagnosis to a stranger in a conversation she hasn’t yet found the courage to have with her teen daughter back in L.A.
Per usual, Jolie is fabulous. She’s the glue that remotely holds this sinking ship together. I think it’s one of the Oscar-winner’s finest performances, right up there with her recent portrayal of Maria Callas in “Maria.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this metaphorically naked and vulnerable. And damned if you don’t want to jump through the screen and give her Maxine a smothering hug. It’s a beautiful thing to watch.
Alas, I cannot say the same for the discombobulated movie she’s stranded in. And I thought “Prêt-à-Porter” was bad. Winocour covers much the same ground as Robert Altman’s flop and commits many of the same errors, exposing us to too many vapid characters who fail to engage. At least this one has Jolie. She’s a revelation, but the film around her unveils fashion faux pas that can only be deemed a wardrobe malfunction.
Movie review
Couture
Rated: R for nudity, language, brief bloody violence, some sexual situations
Cast: Angelina Jolie, Anyier Anei, Ella Rumpf, Louis Garrel and Vincent Lindon
Director: Alice Winocour
Writer: Alice Winocour
Runtime: 99 minutes
Where: In theaters June 26 (limited)
Grade: C
