Image copyright © by Marcus Trahan

Intimate Strangers

(Confidences trop intimes, France, 2004)

A woman walks into a psychiatrist’s office and starts spilling her guts about the sexual troubles in her marriage. Trouble is, he’s not a shrink, he’s a bored and restless tax consultant. He is so stunned that he says nothing. She keeps coming back. Complications ensue.

You’re set up to expect a Hitchcock film here, both by the situation and the music, and some reviews I read complained that it didn’t turn out to be a thriller. Idiots! Grow up! I could have written 15 different types of stupid and overdone homicidal-maniac double and triple reverses to this script in my sleep, pretty much like the awful mess that was Hide and Seek, and that’s exactly what Hollywood would have done with it. And, to be sure, even some French directors, though they tend to do it better. But there’s a lot more interesting things going on. The wonderful Sandrine Bonnaire is one of the best actresses working anywhere, and the man, Fabrice Luchini, manages to do an amazing amount of things by doing almost nothing. I was fascinated throughout.