SCREEN

RED LIGHTS

Martin Stein

Don't drink and drive is the moral of this French tale, especially when there is a dangerous escaped convict on the loose.


You know Antoine and Hélène's holiday is off to a rough start when she is late meeting her husband at a café and he uses the time to down three glasses of beer. As they prepare to get on the busy holiday highway to pick up their children from summer camp, he switches to double whiskeys, his poison of choice for the remainder of the film.


Between the heavy traffic, his drinking and news reports about accidents and prison breaks, it's inevitable Antoine and Hélène will argue. Antoine pulls off the road in the middle of nowhere to get another drink, but when he returns to the car, all he finds is a note from Hélène saying she decided to take the train—a not-altogether unreasonable decision. Antoine panics and tries to track her down. Coming up empty-handed, there is only one recourse: have a drink.


At the bar, Antoine befriends a mysterious stranger, and in the sort of coincidence that only happens in movies, he is the escaped convict. The rest of the story is Antoine's journey as he tries to discover what it means to be a man. Antoine, here's a hint: It helps if you don't give rides to killers on the run.


Jean-Pierre Darroussin's portrayal of the put-upon Antoine is meant to engender sympathy, but it's hard to feel pity for a man who forgets about his wife once she's out of sight. The reckless disregard he demonstrates, not just to his wife but also to Vincent Deniard as the convict (who at times seems like he'd feel safer back in his cell than with Antoine behind the wheel) and everyone else on the road is meant to be forgotten by us when Antoine sobers up the next day. But like a tough hangover, there's no shaking it and we're left thirsting for some justice to be visited upon him.


But director Cédric Kahn is more content to simply let ridiculous events unfold and pile up, ending with Hélène's predictable fate and a finale that has all the satisfaction of a glass of flat beer.


Based on a novel by Georges Simenon, this could have been a so-much-better movie under another's hand—especially, say, Martin Scorsese. But Kahn is all surface and no substance, much like Antoine and Hélène, and it's surprising that Red Lights ever got the green light.

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