A museum guard (Tachnakian) and a flabby physician (Macigne) convince their two young paramours to take a road trip with them to the beach. That is the basic setup for Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu (the French title loosely translates to The Girls of Bastille Day), an absurdist comedy which gently ribs contemporary French culture while lifting enough anachronisms from the Nouvelle Vogue to make Francois Truffaut smile with mischievous glee. Its National Lampoon's Vacation (1983) meets Band of Outsiders (1964), National Lampoon's Going the Distance meets Pierrot le Fou (1965), National Lampoon's Dorm Daze (2003) meets Weekend (1967)
Basically National Lampoon's European Vacation done right.
In case it wasn't entirely obvious, my ability to truly enjoy the playful subversions of the French New Wave is directly proportional to my ability to enjoy National Lampoon movies. This is to say I like the early stuff, but as the parade wore on, it felt less like entertainment with cohesion or meaning and more like a smug, self-satisfied auto-felatio. Yes, I know Godard, Truffaut, Resnais et al. are unassailable film Gods, but just like when I get giddy about Guy Maddin movies in front of certain friends, you either get French New Wave or you don't.
I am however objective enough to appreciate its meaning and contribution. This is part of the reason why I like Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu. It generously borrows from the same pool of subversion – disengaged youth in revolt narratives, elliptical editing, fourth-wall breaks, political and philosophical ponderings. Yet it never takes itself too seriously. It doesn't fold under the lofty ambitions of the film movement its paying homage to. Nor is its insertion of Bunuelian absurdity confusing bewilderment for bemusement.
Much like the works of Edgar Wright, director Antonin Peretjatko is playing with genre conventions to give us something that is halfway between homage and mockery. And he's doing so with the same youthful regard that first put the Nouvelle Vogue on the map in the first place. All throughout the film, there's a permeating sense of reckless abandon; a joy in slamming plates of spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks. Garish displays of violent middle class morality thrashing against a cerebral yet silly tone. There are random narrative avenues that just seem to die before miraculously living once more; complex comedic setups that coexist along startling non-sequitors. It's creativity nearly at its most primal.
If Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu has an Achilles Heel it's the fact that prior knowledge of 1960's art cinema is pretty much a pre-requisite. I suppose it's possible for someone to see this film and work their way backwards. But if that's your strategy then the early works of Leos Carax might actually do more to prepare you for the delirious heights of the French New Wave (not to mention its pretentiousness).
Yet if you do indeed know who shot the Piano Player (1960), or have at least been exposed to the world's most bizarre lateral shot, then Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu may just be the movie for you. It's a fun little romp into lunacy brought together by artists who seem to have a real love for what they're lampooning.
