King of Hearts (No Rating)
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In this heartwarming cult movie made by Philippe De Broca in 1966, Genevieve Bujold plays the tenderhearted mascot and prize employee of a brothel staffed and patronized by loonies; she has a curtain of silky straight hair, a breathtakingly perfect face, and an air of dangerous irony that loads every me-oh-my expression with a cold draught of poison. How on earth did De Broca cast the rest of the movie? Every loony in it has a slightly different but equally theatrical shtick. (A sexually ambiguous fop sashays sideways through an abandoned church, then shrugs heavenward as though rehearsing "If I Were a Rich Man" in his head.) The conceit here is that, near the end of the First World War, a French town is emptied, its loony bin is emptied, too, and the loonies overtake the abandoned village--thus providing a convenient parody of "everyday life" (and a quiet reminder of how joyous and spontaneous everyday life really ought to be). In the '70s, King of Hearts was a revival-house staple on the order of Harold and Maude and A Thousand Clowns, all of them movies about going a little crazy and learning how to live for people who will never, ever do either. De Broca--who surely must have sold himself back in the day as the unthinking man's Fellini--not only flatters but practically fellates his middle-of-the-road audience. His movie ends with a cuckoo delivering this sinister, pandering maxim: "The greatest journeys are taken...gazing through a window!" (Matthew Wilder)
Review by Matthew Wilder
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