Final Cut: A Biting Comedy and Commentary
As impressive as a 30-minute continuous take may be, I found myself in a daze watching Final Cut, wondering whether I’d walked into the wrong theatre or if the wrong film was showing. Michel Hazanavicius promised me a zombie cult horror and what I saw in those 30 minutes was pretty much had everything it said on the tin. Notebook in hand, getting ready to slate this Z-grade zombie film, Hazanavicius delivered worlds more than he promised. This satirical comedy, a French remake of Shinichiro Ueda’s One Cut of the Dead, is a biting commentary on the world of filmmaking in a globalising industry and the subpar results that arise as a result.
We begin with quite literally a French farce as the cast and crew rave around a disused factory. The crew appear unenthusiastic about the project while I’ve never seen a cast look so deflated. The absurdity of the film’s concept beams amongst the clear signs that this is simply a Japanese cult film cut and pasted in the French language. Starting with the makeup artist, played by Nadia (Bérénice Bejo), and her awkwardly revealed hobby in obscure martial arts, to the establishment of everyone’s out-of-place Japanese names in a French film. The costumes are cartoonishly vibrant and unnatural silences are filled with idle chit-chat that ultimately leads nowhere.
The director, Remi (Romain Duris), maniacally torments his actors in the name of quick cash and expedience over the substance of the film. The result is terrible makeup, exaggerated screaming time, and a few minutes of watching trainers skitter along the ground as the camera is dropped for about three minutes. Remi plays himself as a lazy, corner-cutting, and even abusive director. However, the most fascinating (and funniest) part comes with the revelation of the context behind the terrible film, and the factors that explain how such a dreadful production is possible.
Remi is a jaded filmmaker trying to make his big break but is mostly stuck in low-rate commercials and music videos. Alongside his wife, Nadia, disenchanted from her ambitions of becoming an actress, struggle to bond with their only daughter, Romy (Simone Hazanavicius), who also aspires to become a director. Unimpressed by her parents’ scarce portfolios, Romy pushes borders on inappropriate conduct on a job, landing her in the same predicament as the rest of her family.
When Remi is offered the chance to adapt a Japanese zombie horror for French audiences on behalf of Madame Matsuda (Yoshido Takehara), he jumps at the chance. The opportunity to break into serious filmmaking and dazzle his daughter by directing a film that features her favourite actor, Raphaël (Finnigan Oldfield), seems like the natural next step in his career. But trouble ensues the second they come together for their first board meeting. The adored superstar, Raphaël, immediately barrages the team with pretentious digs about the authenticity of the production.
Meanwhile, the main profiteers of the film seem to make no effort to properly adapt the film to French audiences. For maximum profit, it seems the safest option is to create a carbon copy of the Japanese source material, despite the linguistic and cultural barriers between France and Japan. It doesn’t matter that French audiences won’t be immediately familiar with aikido, nor that the project is understaffed and overlooked when problems appear. The bottom line is profit for stakeholders, which means close repetition of previous hits.
The remainder of the film is a revisit of the first take but with the new context that surrounds it. It is impossible to watch with a straight face. Duris’ acting effortlessly flits between the genuine frustration of a compromised artist and his character’s portrayal of a jaded director trying to cut roll out a film-by-numbers. The bewildered sound designer, Fatih (Jean Pascal-Zadi), manically scrounges to follow the improvised shot as cues are missed and the actors start theatrically off-roading.
The tragedy of Philippe’s (Grégory Gadebois) alcoholic relapse adds yet another obstacle Remi’s race against the clock. With no one else to turn to, Romain must call upon his daughter to help him pull the piece together. It is here that the true bonding between family is based not in accomplishment, but shared passion and struggle. Throughout the entire film, the renowned Alexandre Desplat’s score demonstrated his immense versatility as he jumped between cheesy 70s themes, overly polished horror music, and delicately sweet piano pieces in the more heartfelt scenes.
For any actor, this meta film would prove to be a challenge, but Duris and Bejo shone through in their ability to convey underappreciated acting and the irony behind every line given the financial rigmarole that preceded it. It was here that the Matilda Lutz also excelled as a challenged actress wandering through a chaotic set without the organisation or disposable minutes to guide her in her role.
I applaud Hazanavicius for his writing and direction of this inherently complex concept and Jonathan Ricquebourg’s cinematography for repeating the same 30 minutes of film but with even more energy and vivacity as the first time round. It was truly gratifying to see this film finish with an abundance more substance than when it started. In hopes to rekindle the bond between father and daughter and ignite a dwindling career in an increasingly unfeeling industry, Final Cut is a comedy that every aspiring filmmaker should watch, simultaneously as an example to follow and as a guide for what to avoid.
