After 12 years of absence, Louis (Gaspard Ulliel), a writer, goes back to his hometown, planning on announcing his upcoming death to his family. As resentment soon rewrites the course of the afternoon, fits and feuds unfold, fuelled by loneliness and doubt, while all attempts of empathy are sabotaged by people's incapacity to listen and love.Written by
I think it's beautiful when creators explain more in shadows and silences than in dialogue and obvious visual cues. There is true brilliance to be found in the hidden and the unsaid; oftentimes, the truth comes in subtle ripples than in galvanized waves, and it's exceptional to come across true masters of the craft who are willing to respectfully handle such an intricate technique without becoming dull and overbearing.
Regrettably, such is not the case here.
Dolan tries to sweep us off our feet with anthropocentric framing and a flowing stream of ethereal brushings of color and emotion, something he does well, I can't deny him that. In the meanwhile though, he seems to be neglecting the actual plot which is painfully lacking on so many points, this movie is rendered into nothing more than a neophyte's attempt at a college- level, arthousy project.
Fortunate that the entirety of the cast is strong enough to redeem this effort by generously depositing spiritful performances, thankfully seeming to overcome the dire facts that the writing is listless, the plot is dormant, and the whole movie seems painfully mannered and conditional. So much so, that the viewer is bound to be left confused and, at times, attacked by the drip-fed, self-folding, monotonous interactions that ultimately serve to dress the movie with no pragmatic value at all.
In aiming for elegance and allure, Dolan fails to dish out a well-founded, coherent film, leaving us with nothing more than an unprogressive fable that tiptoes along the verge of deforming from 'suspended' to 'backwards'. And all very chaotically wrapped in out-of-place musical choices, not enhancing but rather debasing the scenes, pulling the viewer out of the experience in flabbergasted eye-rolls.
My point of view: Overlooking the feeble dialogue, overall repetitiveness, plot stagnancy and forced emotive filming techniques, I rather enjoyed the performances -- and here is where I rate this. It's Only The End of the World is a lifeless attempt, devoid of any true passion and it could have very easily broken down into oblivion the moment the end titles started rolling - if it weren't for Vincent Cassel's very last scene which, yet again, validates him as one of the Greats.
Lucky for me I will always have that to remember.
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