The Landlords
For "Mille millièmes", Rémy Waterhouse takes us into a real estate fantasy with a caustic humour that will evoke some of our memories, whether we own or rent a home. "A thousand thousandths" is both…
The Landlords
For "Mille millièmes", Rémy Waterhouse takes us into a real estate fantasy with a caustic humour that will evoke some of our memories, whether we own or rent a home. "A thousand thousandths" is both smaller and larger than life: we go beyond the day-to-day management of the building to identify unique characters, listen to the desires and demands of each person with compassion or annoyance, sympathise with behavior or despise it depending on our own personal situation. Impossible to remain neutral, Rémy Waterhouse forces us to unconsciously get involved in this effervescent microcosm where opinions converge and diverge in turn. The story takes place entirely in a building, as if it were a closed-door session of the Court of Life, located at 28, rue des Oursins: is it the unconscious warning of "he who rubs it, stings it"? Still, on every floor, the walls are impregnated with passions and antagonisms. It is Jean-Louis, a cunning and depressive syndic, who presides over the general assembly of the co-owners, an assembly which, in a light but squeaky manner, puts the shortcomings of each one in the dock. Beginning with the good-natured couple, bogged down in their principles, who want us to stick strictly to the agenda, under the pretext that the misfortune of others is none of their business, even if it takes place in front of their door; selfish people voluntarily wear blinkers, narrow-minded in a narrow vision of life that leaves little room for good neighbourliness. Patrick Bertil (Jean-Pierre Darroussin), an antipathetic and pathetic character, asks in public for permission to build an interior staircase that would allow him to live at last with his half: this "hidden" marriage proposal is unanimously refused, even though it doesn't bother anyone. Vincent (Grégori Dérangère), who at first glance seems to be the sympathetic character par excellence, a painter on good terms with everyone, will prove incapable when the time comes to climb to the roof to save Julie (Irène Jacob), a seductive dental technician and sleepwalker. The debate revolves around questions as superfluous as they are essential: gas, a dangerous toy in the hands of the elderly; the caretaker's room; the condemnation of the toilets; the installation of a lift; the homeless invading the courtyard of the building and an absurd story of a latch which leaves Gérard (Patrick Chesnais), a cuckolded philosopher, blissfully unaware of this "metaphysics of the latch" which will catch up with him a little later. Each question raised leads to a vote that is never unanimous but always depends on the age, origins, affinities of each person and above all the personal interests of each co-owner. At the end of the day, it must be said that none of them is ready to let their neighbour encroach on their territory, that none of them is really ready to "pool", to share if it is to the detriment of their small personal interests. If Patrick Bertil organises a meal for everyone, it is only to obtain permission to build the famous staircase. The same goes for Vincent, who votes according to whether it serves or serves the price per m², since he is selling his flat. Nobody wants to give up or sacrifice a piece of his freedom. Underneath the face of affable politeness lies the financial or material strategy, as if, at bottom, the building was just a vulgar model of our contemporary society, as if "A Thousand Thousandths" were life in life. "A Thousand Thousandths" represents in a light-hearted way, so as not to appear to give lessons, a society whose actions are governed by egoism: everything is a matter of personal interests. Only Josselin (Guillaume Canet) and Julie seem to be exceptions to the rule, which makes them shockingly sincere and spontaneous. The ensemble follows one another without displeasure with some particularly funny situations and lines. Nevertheless, it is to be regretted that the film's rhythm is not more upbeat, as the thorny subject of the co-ownership required. The reflection engendered by the film therefore seems to be its undisclosed raison d'être. Co-ownership logically calls for cohabitation, but in reality it is more about cohabitation because the characters simply live next to each other without really seeing or understanding each other. A theatre of rumors, prejudices and attempts to bring people together, the building feeds on human situations until the end, which is only there to say that life solves things, life unravels and then renews situations, life goes on, neither quite the same nor quite different, richer and poorer at the same time.
The Landlords
Comedy,Drama
Film Details
For "Mille millièmes", Rémy Waterhouse takes us into a real estate fantasy with a caustic humour that will evoke some of our memories, whether we own or rent a home. "A thousand thousandths" is both smaller and larger than life: we go beyond the day-to-day management of the building to identify unique characters, listen to the desires and demands of each person with compassion or annoyance, sympathise with behavior or despise it depending on our own personal situation. Impossible to remain neutral, Rémy Waterhouse forces us to unconsciously get involved in this effervescent microcosm where opinions converge and diverge in turn.
The story takes place entirely in a building, as if it were a closed-door session of the Court of Life, located at 28, rue des Oursins: is it the unconscious warning of "he who rubs it, stings it"? Still, on every floor, the walls are impregnated with passions and antagonisms. It is Jean-Louis, a cunning and depressive syndic, who presides over the general assembly of the co-owners, an assembly which, in a light but squeaky manner, puts the shortcomings of each one in the dock. Beginning with the good-natured couple, bogged down in their principles, who want us to stick strictly to the agenda, under the pretext that the misfortune of others is none of their business, even if it takes place in front of their door; selfish people voluntarily wear blinkers, narrow-minded in a narrow vision of life that leaves little room for good neighbourliness.
Patrick Bertil (Jean-Pierre Darroussin), an antipathetic and pathetic character, asks in public for permission to build an interior staircase that would allow him to live at last with his half: this "hidden" marriage proposal is unanimously refused, even though it doesn't bother anyone. Vincent (Grégori Dérangère), who at first glance seems to be the sympathetic character par excellence, a painter on good terms with everyone, will prove incapable when the time comes to climb to the roof to save Julie (Irène Jacob), a seductive dental technician and sleepwalker. The debate revolves around questions as superfluous as they are essential: gas, a dangerous toy in the hands of the elderly; the caretaker's room; the condemnation of the toilets; the installation of a lift; the homeless invading the courtyard of the building and an absurd story of a latch which leaves Gérard (Patrick Chesnais), a cuckolded philosopher, blissfully unaware of this "metaphysics of the latch" which will catch up with him a little later.
Each question raised leads to a vote that is never unanimous but always depends on the age, origins, affinities of each person and above all the personal interests of each co-owner. At the end of the day, it must be said that none of them is ready to let their neighbour encroach on their territory, that none of them is really ready to "pool", to share if it is to the detriment of their small personal interests. If Patrick Bertil organises a meal for everyone, it is only to obtain permission to build the famous staircase.
The same goes for Vincent, who votes according to whether it serves or serves the price per m², since he is selling his flat. Nobody wants to give up or sacrifice a piece of his freedom. Underneath the face of affable politeness lies the financial or material strategy, as if, at bottom, the building was just a vulgar model of our contemporary society, as if "A Thousand Thousandths" were life in life.
"A Thousand Thousandths" represents in a light-hearted way, so as not to appear to give lessons, a society whose actions are governed by egoism: everything is a matter of personal interests. Only Josselin (Guillaume Canet) and Julie seem to be exceptions to the rule, which makes them shockingly sincere and spontaneous. The ensemble follows one another without displeasure with some particularly funny situations and lines.
Nevertheless, it is to be regretted that the film's rhythm is not more upbeat, as the thorny subject of the co-ownership required. The reflection engendered by the film therefore seems to be its undisclosed raison d'être. Co-ownership logically calls for cohabitation, but in reality it is more about cohabitation because the characters simply live next to each other without really seeing or understanding each other.
A theatre of rumors, prejudices and attempts to bring people together, the building feeds on human situations until the end, which is only there to say that life solves things, life unravels and then renews situations, life goes on, neither quite the same nor quite different, richer and poorer at the same time..