(This sequence may have been the one which bagged Grinberg the Best Actress prize at Berlin). Never having known such carnal rapture - uh-huh, right - Marie recruits Jeannot to be her pimp, and with bewildering rapidity (the film has an intricate time structure) he is transfomed into a smoothly besuited malcontent who passes his days in recruiting new women into the oldest trade.This being Blier territory, events take a sour and vicious turn. When we first encounter Jeannot, he's the eternal victim, afflicted by every woe this side of leprosy: homeless, bleeding, filthy, starved. He's rescued by Marie (Anouk Grinberg), a happy, not to say ecstatic hooker with a heart of platinum, who brings him home, feeds him veal and red wine, then offers him the free use of her expensive privates.Rather than expressing his gratitude, Jeannot immediately waxes finicky, brutal and domineering.
Among its female characters: a prostitute who loves her work with deep and unquestioning passion; a housewife who's persuaded, within seconds, to turn a cheap trick; a lonely, middle-aged woman who hangs around jails so as to pounce on released prisoners ... You might say that it's a bit short on what they used to call positive role models. There's more to the film than misogynist teasings, though, and though it may raise liberal hackles sequence by sequence, it's as hard to pin down the exact nature of Blier's quirks and grudges and obsessions as it is to work out the self- destructive motives of his male lead, the homme of the title, Jeannot (Gerard Lanvin). For Those unfamiliar with the crudely animated characters from MTV, please allow me to introduce Beavis and Butt-Head, a brace of sniggering, sub-moronic teenage American virgins, who, when not flunking out of school or causing ptomaine poisoning at their local burger joint, spend every moment of what passes for waking life on their duffs watching rock videos on TV and saying either "This sucks!" or "Cool!" They are, in short, embryonic film critics, and as a mark of respect to their first full-screen adventure - see below - I shall indicate with a system of simple B&B- inspired abbreviations which films are distinguished (C), which are undistinguished (S), which are provocative if flawed (C/S) and which are profoundly dismaying save for certain redemptive elements (S/C) Here goes. Though they'd be baffled by the funny way people were talking, the boys would certainly think Bertrand Blier's Mon Homme (18) was cool, because you get to see a lot of naked chicks Others might have their misgivings. Some odd personal habits are necessary and too personal to be exposed.Siobhan Davies Co: Sheffield Crucible (0114 276 9922), 3 & 4 June.. When bondage-girl was snipped free of her sticky-tape, and her shirt came off, too, she became more painfully vulnerable than before Likewise, frustrated poet paddling in icy fish- tanks. You could protest that Pina Bausch covered similar territory 20 years ago, but SOAP have the freshness to put their own stamp on this theatre of the absurd.
A man hooked on spouting poetry inevitably got his mouth taped up - yet each was incapable of help. Their interactions triggered bursts of physical virtuosity - one man flipping another up by the heels or vaulting 10 feet over his friend's back.It made a gripping little drama and casually brilliant dance. The sight of her joining the squad in an arm-swinging exercise while bound at the elbows had a pathos that bordered on hilarious. Another girl was obsessed with creating neat little fences around herself by rearranging the tape Each person's odd behaviour impinges on their neighbours. At 9.30 sharp, meltdown was complete.The basis of Rui Horta's choreography is a kind of martial-arts workout - fierce, rigorous, and a little frightening in its armed-forces precision. But the eight characters break ranks to reveal habits and neuroses that are all too human and endearingly funny.One girl is obsessed by packaging.
Having marked out the performing space in white sticky tape, she keeps sneaking off to wrap up parts of herself, an activity her colleagues viewed with pity and horror. A hand plucks a piece of precious something from the air, a palm scrutinised (for signs of guilt?) is tossed aside. Rich with secrets, Clarke's solo allows us in on a few of them. For the rest of the evening, though, I felt the choreographer had put up the shutters on her own private world.A more playful pretext for dance was given by SOAP, who started life in an old Frankfurt soap factory and here had the honour of opening the Turning World season at The Place. We knew we were in for some hi-jinx when the show began in darkness with the company clattering to and fro filling 10 empty fish tanks with ice cubes.