‘Pot’ of Gold
Tran Anh Hung’s late life romance is like a French one-pot dish: There’s all sorts of crap in it but somehow it tastes great.
The Pot-au-feu
Director: Trần Anh Hùng • Writer: Trần Anh Hùng, based on the novel by Marcel Rouff
Starring: Benoît Magimel, Juliette Binoche, Emmanuel Salinger, Galatea Bellugi, Patrick d'Assumçao, Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire
France • 2hrs 14mins
Opens Hong Kong January 25 • IIB
Grade: B+
Vietnamese-French director and sensualist Trần Anh Hùng’s The Pot-au-Feu (La Passion de Dodin Bouffant), AKA The Taste of Things, begins its fat two-plus hours with a fluid, roving, 30-minute meal preparation and service, as master chef Eugénie (Juliette Binoche, who, as we know, is France’s only working female actor) prepares an exquisite consommé, a perfectly constructed vol-au-vent, and an omelette norvégienne (baked Alaska) for her kitchen partner of 20 years and restaurateur Dodin Bouffant (Benoît Magimel). The scene is practically silent; the only dialogue is along the lines of “Violette, the butter, please,” and “The veal now.” If you don’t book a flight to Paris or at the very least scrape together some cash for a night at Caprice after The Pot-au-Feu is over you have no soul.
The whole thing is mouthwatering but lurking beneath the surface is an adult romance (this one’s for mom and dad) about two people in middle age debating whether or not to make their way to each other in some way. It’s languid and sunny and rustic and très très très French in the way the characters often natter on about the legacy of Auguste Escoffier and Marie-Antoine Carême, speak about food as a way of life, and praise the grace of the Bourgogne. Trần broke out on the strength of The Scent of Green Papaya, and with the Tony Leung-starring Cyclo and I Come with the Rain he honed his visual skills and tactile aesthetic. In The Pot-au-Feu Trần has finally found a story that suits his style.
So. Many. Copper. Pots
The plot is as light and airy as Eugénie’s puff pastry. At first it seems as if we’re going to be treated to a discourse on gender roles, as Eugénie and her assistants, Violette (Galatea Bellugi) and gifted potential gourmand Pauline (Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire) toil away in the kitchen while Dodin and his 100% dude “suite” – a doctor, Rabaz (Emmanuel Salinger), notary Grimaud (Patrick d'Assumçao), Magot (Jan Hammenecker) and Beaubois (Frédéric Fisbach) – sit in the elegant dining room and eat. But alas, that’s not quite the case, as the story revolves primarily around her unwillingness to marry Dodin despite their long, rewarding relationship. Two decades has made them intellectually, professionally and personally comfortable with each other. He respects her as a partner, she prefers to stay away from the table after her work is done. He asks and asks and asks, she says no. They have a physical relationship, but Eugénie values her freedom and the equality they share as work partners.
From there Trần lets the story flow like butter from a hot pan, easing its way to an inevitable conclusion that reveals the film to ultimately be one about companionship, missed opportunities and autumnal romance. And yes, it’s about food, but it’s about food as an emotional language and pathway to exploration of beauty and pleasure. When Dodin finally proves his mettle and cooks for Eugénie for a change, suffering a mysterious 1885 illness, it says more than either of them ever could with words.
The Pot-au-Feu is un petit peu food porny, and slots in nicely with culinary dramas like Babette’s Feast, Big Night, Eat Drink Man Woman, Tampopo and Like Water for Chocolate as an entry into the food-as-symbol film canon. The difference is that each of those had narratives that built to a final meal. We never see them get there in The Pot-au-Feu. It hardly matters, as the meat of this dish is the central mature romance. Binoche does her Binoche thing – sophisticated but approachable, smart, down-to-earth sexy – but it might be Magimel, 20 years removed from kinda sorta innocence of The Piano Teacher, who steals the show, bouncing melancholy off joy with ease. Dodin’s cohort of travelling gourmands – really, what do these guys do except roam the Loire countryside looking for nosh? – add levity in their over-detailed discussions, particularly in the scene where the Prince of Eurasia (what now? It’s Estonia in the book) has his chef detail a menu he’s prepared for them. And Trần would be nowhere without cinematographer Jonathan Ricquebourg’s (Shéhérazade) evocative, enveloping images, where light sets time and mood, and the swoosh and slide over copper pots, fresh herbs and bubbling stocks never held such meaning. Just thinking about all that cream makes me want to reach for a Lactaid. — DEK