Café au Lait (1993, Mathieu Kassovitz)

50/100

An inauspicious debut for Kassovitz, who shortly thereafter made the near-great La Haine and then reverted to mediocrity. (Still need to see 1997's Assassin(s), which was in Competition at Cannes, but its reputation at the time was not great.) This film's heart is in the right place—as both the original French title (Métisse, which seems to mean "mixed race") and the metaphorical American title suggest, it's a basically a melting-pot plea for us to just get along—but Kassovitz (who plays the Jewish white guy himself, opposite future La Haine star Hubert Koundé; Vincent Cassel has a supporting role as Kassovitz's brother) relies heavily on facile insults that, at least as subtitled in English, play like watered-down early Spike Lee. That Kassovitz acknowledges this by actually having someone tell his character "You're not Spike Lee" at one point does not particularly help. Most scenes are abrasive to some degree, but rarely do they become actively funny; when you're ostensibly working with a button-pushing premise but your best joke involves someone hearing an unexpected knock at the door and trying to hurriedly clean her apartment by shoving stuff around the floor with her foot, something has gone awry. Still, the actors are all engaging enough (female lead Julie Mauduech didn't have much of a subsequent career, but looks quite relaxed for a first-timer), and the narrative takes a interestingly odd turn toward the end, creating what's essentially a throuple in which both men are caring for the woman (who's pregnant; by this point they all know who the father is) but neither is sleeping with her anymore. Not in a million years would you imagine the guy who directed this cute, cozy trifle and plays nerdy, bespectacled Félix making one of the '90s' most incendiary dramas just two years later. But since La Haine turned out to be a fluke, I guess we're seeing the true artist at work here. Bizarre.