The Old Oak, Second Tour, 3 Days max... Films to see or avoid this week

Drama by Ken Loach, 1h53

“ Red Ken” is always brooding. It is 2016. In a town between Durham and Newcastle, a bus unloads Syrian refugees. The reception is mixed. The residents were not warned. “You bastards,” says the angriest one. T.J. Ballantyne helps to house these new arrivals. He is the owner of the Old Oak, a rundown pub and the last place of sociability in a village sold to greedy speculators. This is where Charlie, Vic and other idle regulars kill time, down pints and brood over the desolation of their existence, in a region where the closure of the coal mines twenty years earlier left only sadness and despair. The Old Oak is not the best screenplay by Paul Laverty, Loach's faithful collaborator for thirty years and fifteen films (including two Palmes d'Or). He sometimes has a heavy hand, didactic dialogue (Yara's story in the cathedral on the atrocities of Bashar al-Assad's regime) and easy tears (the beautiful story of the little dog who saves T.J. from suicide at the last minute). But the humanism of The Old Oak touches more than it annoys in the group scenes. When T.J., with the help of all men and women of good will, restores the back room of his pub, transformed into a canteen for the most deprived open to all. Syrians and natives share the same meal. On the wall, photographs of striking miners recall the glorious camaraderie of the past. “When we eat together, we stick together”, such was the slogan of the canteen of the black mouths that T.J. brings up to date. After the desperate Me, Daniel Blake and Sorry We Missed You, the outcome of The Old Oak almost feels like a Hollywood happy ending. It must be said quickly, the improvement will undoubtedly be short-lived, but Ken Loach bows out on a note of hope. E.S.

À lire aussiNotre critique de The Old Oak: l'espoir enraciné de Ken Loach

Comedy by Tarek Boudali, 1:27 p.m

While he is training to join the secret services, Rayane, agent number 7 without a double zero, abandons everything to save his grandmother, kidnapped by a drug cartel. The ransom for his life saves? Two emeralds with magical powers that he must recover on the other side of the world, one in Abu Dhabi and the other in Cancun, in a temple lost deep in the Mexican jungle. He only has three days to carry out his (impossible) mission, surrounded by three accomplices. This is a real French action film, to make Tom Cruise and the Hollywood studios shudder. Well almost. Because Rayane, masterfully incompetent, was about to be fired by his superiors. The informant who is supposed to put them on the trail of the precious stones almost burns alive before he can even speak, forgotten in the trunk of the car that they themselves set on fire. And this crack team who mistakes a flight simulator for a jet turns out to be mostly OCD, just as stupid as their leader, with the notable exception of the only woman in the group. New parody comedy from Tarek Boudali, 3 Jours max has the taste of American blockbusters, it uses all the codes, but it is obviously to better divert them and have fun with them. The good-natured humor is deliberately schoolboyish, to be appreciated at face value, close to zero, without the risk of burning out our brains. Not everything is in the best taste, but in the world of comedy, the worst is not the enemy of the best, quite the contrary. V.B.

Also readOur 3 day max review: is there an agent in the mission?

Science-fiction de Sophie Barthes, 1h41

In the near future, women can free themselves from the burden of pregnancy by allowing their embryo to develop in a connected egg-shaped artificial uterus. This “pod” is the ultimate solution for busy couples and businesses that can count on high-performance employees. When her superior offers Rachel to finance the procedure, the artificial intelligence specialist convinces Alvy, her botanist husband, to embark on the adventure. A Pandora's box opens: is she ready to be a mother? How to form an emotional bond with the “pod”? His anxieties redouble when Alvy becomes attached to the object, taking it with him on his travels, even abandoning his precious green plants. On this idea which could come out of the anticipation series Black Mirror, the Franco-American director Sophie Barthes, who in 2014 signed an English-speaking adaptation of Madame Bovary with Mia Wasikowska, weaves an acid fable in pastel colors. Much closer to satire than an oppressive dystopia. Rachel's existential doubts are expressed in wacky hallucinations, in her meditations which provide a glimpse of a world of tomorrow not so far from ours. The toaster has been replaced by a toast laser. Parks have become places for clean air treatment, mask on the nose to inhale it as closely as possible. In this familiar and absurd world, Emilia Clarke, in the skin of Rachel, is a luminous breadcrumb. A thousand miles from the imperious Daenerys Targaryen of Game of Thrones, the British woman carries this everyday science fiction without fuss and makes you forgive the length of the ending. C.J.

Also readOur review of The POD Generation: pregnancy 2.0

Comedy by Ann Sirot and Raphaël Balboni, 1h29

Rémy and Sandra are unable to have children. A gynecologist diagnoses them with past love syndrome. A kind of blockage. To get rid of it, you have to sleep again once with all your ex-sexual partners. Instead of going to see another, more competent specialist, the couple complies. What follows are more or less crazy situations, misunderstandings, jealousy and very prudish sex scenes. After their first feature film on Alzheimer's disease (A Mad Life), the Bel Sirot-Balboni tandem takes a look at the couple and the fairly harmless desire for a child. E.S.

Frauke Finsterwalder's drama, 2h12

Why so much hate? After Corsage, with Vicky Krieps as Empress of Austria Elisabeth, a forty-year-old and rebel, Sissi

Dramatic comedy by Albert Dupontel, 1h37

Ultimately, Dupontel is not funny. Goodbye horrifying idiots. Second Round makes you sad. On the screen, there are only defects. The camera is always somewhere it shouldn't be. The gags are hackneyed, repetitive, the scenario stringy, full of implausibilities. We come out rinsed, furious. Such a waste ! What is it about ? Let's roll up our sleeves. An insolent political journalist is relegated by the channel's management to the sports department. She doesn't know anything about football. Fortunately, his assistant swears by penalties. A combination of circumstances leads the frustrated reporter to follow a presidential candidate between the two rounds. This bargain! Here she is getting back on track. Miss Pove regains her outspokenness. At press conferences, she asks the uncomfortable questions. The politician has the gestures of Chirac in meetings, the confidence and the costumes of Macron. This former researcher no longer agrees with the financial powers who support him. Cécile de France, frizzed like a poodle and wearing teacher's glasses, guesses that a secret is hidden behind all this. She even says she is convinced of having known this Pierre-Henry Mercier. The rest is incredible, zigzagging, sluggish. The director offers himself a dive into deep France, providing us with his disillusions about the world around him in a sort of insane shaker, like a hamster high on amphetamines pedaling in its wheel. Dupontel stamps, overplays, sputters, raises his eyebrows. Second Tour is dedicated to Belmondo, Deville, Tavernier. They didn't need that. For Second Round, abstention instructions. IN.

Also read “Second round” by Albert Dupontel: only one instruction, abstention!