Painter through the camera’s eye

Press, 3 February 1986, Page 18

Painter through the camera’s eye

Of the

hans petrovic

A SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY Directed by Bertrand Tavernier Screenplay by Colo Tavernier and Bertrand Tavernier “A Sunday in the Country” (Academy) is a delicate pastoral minuet set to the tempo of the frail beating of an old man’s heart. Monsieur Ladmiral (Louis Ducreux) is a traditionalist painter who lived through the revolutionary years of Monet, Renoir and Picasso, while never wavering from the form he had been taught at the academy. Now, knowing that he is to die soon, he learns to come to terms with his self-admitted second-rate talent, and with the joys and responsibilities of parenthood. He awakes one sunny morning in 1912, eagerly

anticipating the visit to his country home of his children and grandchildren. After friendly quibbles with his austere housekeeper, he polishes his boots and dresses to meet his son, Gonzaque (Michel Aumont), devout daugh-ter-in-law (Genevieve Mnich), and their three children.

With all its conventional politeness, such a visit is pretty routine, but the director (Bertrand Tavernier) shows us each incident in loving detail, just as it may be seen through the eyes of an old man who is out to cherish every small incident and nuance, as if it was the last time he might see them.

The camera moves gracefully through the rooms of the house, stopping to inspect beloved paintings, knick-knacks, furniture, including his dead wife’s chair (in which her ghost still reposes). With equal facility, the camera floats outside through every arbour and corner, revealing precious places in every nook. As is their wont, the children make petty nuisances of themselves — the boys throw a ball against a window, and the pretty granddaughter (Katia Wostrikoff) gets caught in a trtee.

The older people indulge in an afternoon nap until the arrival of Mousieur’s vivacious

daughter, Irene (Sabine Azema). She is not here to indulge in petty, bourgeois conversation, but to brighten the day with more frivolous, emanicipated chatter. Clearly, this daughter is still the apple of the old man’s eye. Her rare visits are a highlight in his life — something worth living for.

Irene takes Papa to the local inn, where they dance one lingering, last waltz towards the end of the day. He then confesses — only to her — his own limitations as a painter. “I painted the way I was taught,” he says. “I saw originality in other people’s work. Perhaps I lacked courage to change my own style.” The parallel of a Salieri comparing himself to a Mozart is obvious, but this artist does it without rancour or reproach — he knew his own limitations, and painted the way he wanted to.

After the departure of the family, he sets aside a still-life of a sofa he has been working on, and begins to ponder a fresh, blank canvas — perhaps to draw his masterpiece. Tavernier’s film also is a small work of art, with every shot composed so that it could have been a painting — as seen through the academytrained eyes of Monsieur Ladmiral. This is a slow, unconventional, but very satisfying film, reminiscent of Ingmar Bergman’s “Wild Strawberries,”' in which an old man brings back ghosts of his full life. Set to the music of Gabriel Faure, which is as haunting as the images, Tavernier has produced a small masterpiece himself. It promises to reveal more with every viewing.