MEKTOUB, MY LOVE: CANTO UNO: The Director Of Blue Is The Warmest Colour’s Spectacular Fall From Grace

Abdellatif Kechiche faced one of the swiftest backlashes bestowed upon an arthouse director in recent memory, following the unanimous acclaim of his previous film, 2013’s Blue is the Warmest Colour. Awarded the Palme D’Or by Steven Spielberg‘s Cannes jury, his coming-of-age epic went from being a universally beloved high watermark of LGBTQ cinema to an eventual recognition as one of the most problematic films in recent memory, long before the film arrived in cinemas. His actresses and various crew members complained of his controlling behaviour onset, in the name of Kubrickian perfectionism; the eight minute sex scene reportedly took two weeks to film, due to his exacting methods. If this wasn’t enough, Julie Maroh (who wrote the graphic novel the film was adapted from) compared the sex scenes to pornography with a decidedly straight male gaze – a damning criticism of a film otherwise committed to realism.

So, with complaints from cast and crew members largely relating to his process when filming sex scenes, and a vocal backlash against the place of said scenes within his previous film, you’d be forgiven for thinking Kechiche would carefully listen to criticisms and show some growth as a filmmaker. Less than five minutes into Mektoub My Love: Canto Uno and he’s instead doubled down, introducing one of the central female characters in an extensive sex scene, ogling her for five minutes before even introducing her and establishing her place in the drama. Nothing that follows is as graphic, but understandably, this scorched earth approach to constructive criticism does represent a significant step down from his previous effort. There is no wonderful coming-of-age story here that would make it easy to overlook his recurrent obsessions that border on the pornographic.

Mektoub My Love is a dull slog with no interesting characters or dramatic conflicts, let alone any female characters that exist as anything other than objects of attraction or infatuation. Kechiche has amplified the elements that opened his previous film to criticism, at the expense of establishing any characters who we’d like to spend the gargantuan running time with.

Thinly Veiled Autobiography

Set during the summer of 1994, Amin (Shaïn Boumedine, in his debut performance) has returned to his hometown of Sète to reconnect with old friends and family. After spending time in Paris as an aspiring photographer and screenwriter, he’s returned to discover the world has continued moving on without him. His cousin, the ladies’ man Toni (Salim Kechiouche) has started an affair with his childhood friend Ophélie (Ophélie Bau), while his family are largely bemused that he’s quit a burgeoning medical career to write a sci-fi picture, and spending most of his summer indoors watching silent movies on VHS. There’s virtually zero plot outside of this, with the bulk of the duration taken up by Amin and Toni chatting up holidaying women in bars and at the beach, and the final half hour almost entirely consumed by a trip to a nightclub that tortuously feels like it’s unfolding in real time.

Like his previous film, Mektoub My Love is an adaptation, yet this one is decidedly loose enough to usher in an aspect of autobiography that doesn’t reflect well on the director. François Bégaudeau‘s novel followed a 15 year old boy in a big city during the late 80’s, while this has been transported to mid 90’s Sète – and the inexplicable transition of period setting feels like Kechiche trying to obfuscate the more unflattering aspects drawn from his own coming-of-age experience (he would have been in his thirties by this period). Aside from this, a Franco-Tunisian lead character and a story unfolding in the same geographic location as one of the director’s previous films (2007’s The Secret of the Grain) are very noticeable alterations which, in the broadest possible sense, make it hard not to judge the central character as a director surrogate to some extent.

None of the specific alterations above are particularly damning. But let’s circle back to how this character is introduced – as a voyeur, leering through the window as he watches his cousin and childhood friend bang. If there’s anything that’s been established by Kechiche‘s less than savoury directorial inclinations recently, it’s the recurrent criticism that his films suffer due to their incessant male gaze. Whether intentionally or not, the film appears to lean into this perception right from the start, and doesn’t appear to offer any criticism of this central character. At one stage, we’re even supposed to find him endearing as he awkwardly tries to coerce the girl he has a crush on into posing for some nude shots, y’know, to help him hone his skills as a photographer.

The film frequently contrasts his polite, somewhat awkward approach to speaking with women to that of his more outgoing cousin, hoping that the contrast would solidify him in our minds as a likeable protagonist. But there’s a lingering sense of the “nice guy” syndrome around him – the insidious sense that he’s only being nice to both the holidaying girls and his childhood friend (who it’s immediately established he’s deeply attracted to) for sexual gratification. This struggle is presented as a deeply ingrained dramatic conflict, with not a sliver of self awareness as to why this is so distasteful. After reading Kristen Roupenian‘s recent short story The Good Guy, any film that indulges this trope without a sense of reflection appears increasingly outdated, something that the period setting can hardly excuse.

Social Realism – Until it Isn’t

The change in the period setting only seems to make sense in this manner; was this the last time in history that a decadent, highly sexualised portrait of summer could be portrayed without betraying a realist style – the moment before there was more widespread concern about such hyper sexual gender expectations? And yet, for all the supposed period detail, this idea comes at odds with itself repeatedly. Kechiche‘s camera keeps finding excuses to manoeuvre down to the buttocks of his female characters, reaching its natural conclusion at the nightclub sequence, where, despite a mid nineties setting, multiple female characters are shown twerking. It’s like the director can’t help himself. Production designers often speak about the recent past being the hardest era to evoke, and yet one of the few commendable things about Mektoub My Love: Canto Uno is how it does at least feel like a window into the nineties. Then, at the final hurdle, he gives into his worst impulses and any suspension of disbelief is shattered.

There’s a lot to unpack with Mektoub My Love, relating back to how the director’s changes to the source material reflect upon his public persona. But although there’s plenty to write about, it cannot be stated enough how insufferably dull and self-indulgent the whole endeavour is. It’s a character study with no interesting characters, a coming-of-age story with no sign of self growth, a social realist film that thinks “social realism” is defined entirely by monotonous conversations, and still betrays that aesthetic with a wince inducing male gaze. That the third “act” (if we can charitably call it that) takes place almost entirely at a nightclub feels fitting; after spending time watching people I have no investment in make small talk for two and a half hours, I was left feeling like the only sober person at the party.

And then comes the end credits title card, reminding us that this is merely part one of a two part story, with the second chapter scheduled to drop this year. After the first film bellyflopped at the French box office and has hardly gained Blue is the Warmest Colour style attention internationally, the only positive is that Kechiche is going into financial ruin attempting to finalise this story nobody wants to hear him continue – he even auctioned off his Cesar award to fund post-production costs.

Mektoub My Love: Canto Uno: Conclusion

Mektoub My Love: Canto Uno is one of the most self indulgent auteur efforts in recent memory. It’s an absolute chore to sit through, and the threat of a sequel is more than likely to kill off the director’s career altogether. Coming just after a Palme D’Or winning masterwork, it begs the question – has any filmmaker ever fallen this far immediately after a widely acclaimed success?

What are your thoughts on Mektoub My Love: Canto Uno?

Mektoub My Love: Canto Uno is in cinemas and on Curzon Home Cinema in the UK from February 15. No US release date has been announced as of yet, but quite frankly, you’re better off without it.