FILM
t would be easy to dismiss the French film
The Closet as yet another casualty of the
global-entertainment-conglomerate era in
which too many imported films boast a pecu
liar absence of any of the depth or substance for
which U.S. filmgoers supposedly turn to inter
national cinema in the first place. But it would
be more perceptive to note the fine but impor
tant line dividing a comedy like this from its
closest U.S. equivalents, Mrs. Doubtfire and In
& Out. This isn’t an “art” film by any means,
but the relative sociopolitical sophistication
that sets much of European culture apart from
ours is apparent in the details of its execution.
Like any comedy, The Closet has a right to as
crazy/dumb/clichéd a premise as its creators 'like,
as long as it’s a path to hilarity. In this case,
middle-aged divorcé Francois (Daniel Auteuil),
who works as an accountant at a rubber factory
known for manufacturing, well, rubbers, is in
danger of losing his job because he’s so frankly
boring that his bosses and co-workers find his
lack of dynamism an unemployable trait.
But his neighbor Belone (M ichel Aumont)
helps him out by devising a brilliant plan:
Francois should “come out of the closet” (a
doset he was never in) as a gay man, thus
lending himself some instant cred as an excit- ,
ing, with-it kind of guy with an alternative,
definitively interesting lifestyle. Belone even
offers to digitally insert Francois’ head into a
photo of young men cavorting at a gay bar
(Francois’ head winds up attached to a body
wearing nothing more than leather chaps) and
send it in to his company anonymously.
After all, what modern-day French corpora
tion— a condom manufacturer, no less— would
risk the wrath of the gay community by even
appearing to validate a blackmailer’s attempt to
I
Near queer
In fact, the actor reportedly fought with
director Frank Oz over the character’s depic
tion; a story in Time described the portrayal as
“Barbara Bush doing her best Truman Capote
impersonation.” Surprisingly, then, the fin
ished product seems completely devoid of any
inference of homosexuality on Brando’s pan,
putting the film’s queer audience (and this
reviewer) in the awkward position, shared by
Francois’ bosses and colleagues in The C bset,
of reacting to an impression nobody would
have had if the bug hadn’t been put in our ears
by an external source.
As it stands, one looks for clues to the char
acter’s notorious homosexuality but finds only
that Brando displays a strange, strangulated,
lisping voice not unusual for him (the man
always has been “queer” in the traditional sense
of the word, which is to say “odd”) and a
dandy-ish wardrobe that wouldn’t have been
out of place on Don Corleone. In fact, the only
really perceptible difference between this char
acter and his famous G odfather role is that this
wizened criminal is older, nicer, less serious and
doesn’t have a Family. Some editor must have
one hell of a party reel of outtakes!
You needn’t avoid The Score because of all
the baseless scuttlebutt, however; the film is as
benign and humorous in its own way as Bowfm-
ger, Oz’s last project, was. Norton and De Niro
are ace actors, the heist action is fun to watch
and frequently surprising and suspenseful, and
despite the heightened expectations for a preen
ing, sashaying Brando, his performance is rather
entertainingly irascible, maybe even verging on
the— oh, I don’t know— bitchy, perhaps? j n
A Frenchman pretends to he gay In The Closet,
while Brando pretends to he straight in The Score
by
C h r is t o p h e r M c Q u a in
jeopardize the reputation of
one of its employees merely
by asserting he’s gay?
The plan works a little
too perfectly. Not only does
Francois keep his job, he also
is asked to ride the company’s
condom float in Paris’ Gay
Pride parade, which he does,
only to be seen on television
by his estranged teen-age son.
The kid instantly takes a lik
ing to his new “cool” dad,
who he assumes now is liber
ated enough to be fine with
his pot smoking.
Meanwhile, the compa
ny’s resident macho homo
phobe (Gerard Depardieu),
Daniel Auteuil
threatened with the loss of
his own job if he treats Francois with anything
but deference, overcompensates, purchasing
gifts for him, asking him to lunch and eventu
ally developing a disturbingly authentic inter
est in him.
The million-and-one crises caused by Fran
cois’ fake homosexuality aren’t all tied into a
neat little bundle at the end, but the film does
take the smart view that the excitement, nov
elty and controversy surrounding the issue are
meaningless. Francois makes no attempt to
“play gay,” remaining his
average, mild-mannered self,
and there’s a bit of sharp
social satire as people in his
milieu react and overreact to
what they perceive him to be.
The film, written and
directed by Francis Veber (The
Dinner G am e), lacks the after
school special moralizing we
tend to get in those admir
able-on-paper but generally
tiresome mainstream films still
intent on presenting the
acceptance of homosexuality
as a new, progressive litmus
test of enlightenment. Instead,
The Closet is what a summer
movie should be: a relaxed,
breezy, quite amusing, not
unintelligent trifle that, like cotton candy, melts
away to nothing but does offer sweet, light
enjoyment for as long as it’s on the tongue.
he Score is sort of what Francois would be if
he were a film. Every bit of national media
attention given to this summer blockbuster
pointedly has mentioned that Marlon Brando’s
character, a suave old crime boss who sets up a
heist involving rival thieves Robert De Niro
and Edward Norton, is gay.
T
C hristopher M c Q uain
is a Portland writer and
tireless observer o f pop culture.
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