On ne meurt que deux fois

The only way to enjoy the movie is to listen to Audiard's bitter last words. After the death of his elder son François (10 years before he penned this last movie) all his personal work took a sharp turn from the silly burlesque comedies he directed to deep dark psychological murder mysteries.

These murder mysteries are a vehicule for dialog to reminisce the dead, understand who he was, finalize an inventory of the remorse not to have known the intriguing victim better, not to have lived a life closer to his. Apart from this very personal subtext this movie is lamely directed. Minimalistic direction works most of the time for noir film, the problem here is that the dialogue eats up all the story.

So if you are not interested in listening to profoundly dark words by Audiard you will be disappointed to see Michel Serrault embody a sinister character ghostly floating along the lines of the master wordsman.

I am not giving to much away with the last line: Audiard looks back on his life and wonders if he ever was sincere enough or too much of a boasting showman wording his way away from simple things.