Time Out

Time Out is, in essence, a psychological study of a man who is in "denial" after he loses his job as a Financial Consultant and resorts to lies and deception to keep up the pretense of employment for the sake of his family. Yet it is also a searing portrait of the failure of the workplace to provide a nurturing environment for people (not a theme much explored in the Hollywood assembly line these days).

Time Out is a subtle, involving, and truly perceptive film that deals with the shallow, conformist world of middle management. It depicts how an individual's identity can be so wrapped up in what they do that they can scarcely remember who they really are and what is most meaningful in their life. As Jonathan Rosenbaum has pointed out, it is reminiscent of Melville's "Bartelby the Scrivener" in its depiction of a banal middle-aged businessman who would just prefer not to tell the truth.

Aurélien Recoing (a popular French stage actor) plays Vincent, who is so detached from reality he goes through the motions of pretending to work for the United Nations on a development mission. His "job" is conveniently based away from his wife and three children in Switzerland. Here he spends his hours driving around in his car, going in and out of hotels and conference rooms, exerting as much energy in his pretense as he would if he were actually working. I think the point is that his "pretend" job is different only in degree from his former "real" one.

Cantet uses the business world with its offices, hotels, and associates to portray an individual whose day-to-day activity consists only in constructing a false life. Vincent has to resort to obtaining money under false pretenses from his friends and his father and to assist a petty criminal in his smuggling attempts. For all his lies, Vincent confesses how suffocating his job has been. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he cries to his wife, under the pretense of discussing his non-existent new position.

As he stands on the outside looking in, he slowly loses touch with everything that has given his life meaning. His family, who he truly loves, also cannot provide the emotional support he needs. The impression is that the lack of emotional expression, the failure to communicate, and the skimming along on the surface of life is not new to this family. These are the same people who live next door to you, always happy and smiling who seem to have it together until a crisis comes. Then, they have no inner strength to deal with it.

Playing authority figures in dark suits, the actor Stellan Skarsgard always suggests a noble melancholy, a weatherbeaten soul underneath his Swedish-oil-exec good looks. William H. Macy has made a career out of essaying the disappointments of pride-in-professionalism white men. Aurelien Recoing, the hero of Laurent Cantet's L'EMPLOI DU TEMPS, doesn't summon the instant empathy we feel for those actors. Cantet is a schematist in the style of Arthur Miller: without Miller's cornballs, but also without his visceral punch. Recoing's very body seems to be a manifestation of Cantet's two-sided patness. From the front, Recoing has some of the bland, boyish-haired handsomeness of a Skarsgard or a young Klaus Maria Brandauer. From the back, balding and bearlike-hulking, Recoing is a monster or a wreck. Cantet's movies--old-school, slowly downhill-rolling tragedies about the inhumanity of late capitalism--use Jekyll-and-Hyde dichotomies for thudding dramatic effects.

Recoing's Vincent has lost his job as a management consultant. Instead of getting another one, he drives around, hangs out in office-building lobbies and hotel bars, and generally dresses and comports like an upper-middle-class Frenchman. When he starts dreaming up a fantasy job--bringing bucks to developing markets in the Third World via the U.N.--he starts taking money from all-too-eager friends to invest. Then a middle-class mobster is onto Vincent's scheme. And from there...before you can say FARGO, the cards come tumblin' down.

Like Cantet's last movie, HUMAN RESOURCES, we are meant to hate the game, not the player, and to believe that a rigged, soulless system has robbed Cantet's characters of their capacity to experience joy on earth. But what does this character want, exactly? At one moment, he seems to genuinely wish he had the idealistic U.N. job--something, at his stage of life, with his background in the for-profit world, he could never attain. At other moments he seems to want to drive around the snowy countryside and listen to golden oldies. At still others, he seems to enjoy, a la Kevin Spacey in AMERICAN BEAUTY, the undemanding work of selling hot stereos and toasters for his mafia friend. And yet Cantet has designed the movie to make it seem as if the need for status, for patriarchal prestige, has led Vincent into the fantasy land that is his undoing. The ending--a softer landing than you might be expecting--is meant to be soul-chilling.

But what's the big whip? Everyone has dreamed of a life of aimless rambling; those who have it never seem very happy with it. (Cantet could've tested his ideas if he had bought Vincent a ticket to a lazybones' paradise.) And Cantet underlines the irony that Vincent's hustling to keep himself in non-work is in itself a more than full-time job. Cantet's movies struggle for a Miller-like inevitability, but they always fail to persuade on a human level; his crushed heroes seem more constructs than creatures. One brilliantly observant (and shudder-inducingly cruel) moment: Vincent's wife catches on to his ruse when he brings a buddy from the office to dinner--a pockmarked hustler who is too low-class to inhabit the highflown world Vincent pretends to have a berth in. The jig is up for Vincent because his wife's snob meter goes off. Too bad nothing else is as acutely examined or observant.

There is a telling moment toward the end of the new French film L'Emploi Du temps (Time Out) when the main protagonist confides to another character that he hated his previous job so much that many times while driving to a designated business appointment he would intentionally miss the appropriate exit and continue driving aimlessly , not wanting to leave his car. This behavior eventually results in his dismissal , a fact he hides from his family.

A white collar worker who has lost enthusiasm for his job , Vincent spends each "work day" sitting in public parks and eateries fabricating imaginary business meetings and appointments , talking to his wife on a cell phone and promising her that he will be home soon ; for supposed longer trips he sleeps in his car at night , interrupted at times by parking lot security who gruffly tell him to leave, What follows is a devastating tale of lies and more lies , of eroding relationships with wife , children , parents and friends. Vincent finds himself in a nether world and this film's director , Laurent Cantet , brings a chillingly cold but compassionate eye to the proceedings. Curtly refusing help from a former friend and business associate who is aware of his predicament , Vincent becomes enmeshed in a labyrinth of deceitful money making schemes. If all this seems like so much high melodrama , be assured that Mr. Cantet has painted as naturalistic a portrait of one man's modern day angst as has been seen on the screen in many a moon. Here is a filmmaker who possesses a keen eye for ordinary , everyday life. What distinguishes this magnificent film from most contemporary releases is its total lack of artifice. Each sequence in this riveting movie is so spontaneous that it convinces the viewer that what is happening is real. Much of the credit for this must go to Aurelien Recoing as Vincent. A handsome French actor , he portrays a likable fellow encroaching middle age who has lost his way ; as the film progresses , his sturdy frame becomes weighed down as much from literally running away from home and responsibilities as running from himself. Equally impressive is Karin Viard as Vincent's loving but exasperated wife. The movie also benefits immeasurably from the director's penchant for casting on professionals in supporting roles , no better an example than the presence of Serge Livrozet as a petty crook , a character who serves as an important catalyst for the film's gripping denouement. Mr. Livrozet , who acts with the authority of a seasoned professional and turns in a brilliant performance , is in real life an ex-convict who apparently lived the life he portrays on screen. This adds a verisimilitude that makes watching this movie such a sobering experience. As spontaneous as this picture feels , it doesn't lack for a meticulous production design. Elegant camera work , carefully appropriated sets ( the interiors of the Geneva office building Vincent wanders through look as though they were photographed and designed by Stanley Kubrick ) add to the chilly atmosphere. Jocelyn Pook's melancholy chamber music seems suffocatingly oppressive at first but achieves an overwhelming resonance at the story's climax. One man's isolation may not seem like an earth shaking subject for a movie.

Playwrights from Becket to Genet to Miller have traversed this area very eloquently in the past. But Laurent Cantet has fashioned a modern day morality tale that very quietly and methodically builds to a fever pitch of anger , loss and sorrow. The final scene of this film is devastating ; it will fill you with contradictory emotions. It is one of the great endings in movies. L'Emploi Du temps is a giant of a film , a masterpiece for our time.

Has anybody ever set up a truck stop shot more magnificently?

This film is the full ten thing. Cast is spectacular, the photography superb, the unobtrusive music on the money, the story and its effects on the life of a family, affecting. Subtlety is a hallmark here. If you don't know the story line it must be even more powerful in a first viewing. As Fellini made at least two films that can be seen as defining the male of the Catholic/Italian species (8 1/2 & Amarcord) this magnificent film from France from a director I am not familiar with, defines "the problem of being male." I was fully involved and unable to complete a sentence for twenty minutes after the lights went up. But it is just not male identification at work here. It is the anguish and plight of the wife, magnificently played by Karen Viard, or the children who are as confused and anxious as any of us. The father, a very French man with a franc or euro, even redeems himself with love and compassion. And the "unsavory" seller of bogus goods who rescues our Vincent by offering employment, comes through swimmingly with compassion and understanding. I can not recommend this film enough. Please see it.

A middle-aged middle class family man has a mid-life crisis.

Hardly an inspiring or original idea, yet Laurent Cantet creates a quite devastating and compelling landscape of one man's internal terror - terror at his situation and complete inability to express his feelings.

Through Cantet, a combination of economic script, astonishingly sparse and subtle performances, and Pook's deeply moving musical score, takes the viewer on a journey of displaced despair and futile attempts to paper over the cracks. Recoing is captivating, his face a turmoil of quiet bewilderment and pain, and he is ably matched by Viard as his increasingly unsettled partner. The penultimate scene between Recoing, Viard and their children is quite astonishing for its tension and disquiet.

In the end, however, the final scene says it all. Recoing's face tells us everything we need to know, and he really should have won every award going for this brilliant performance. Once again the French film industry shows us all how to make films.