Carol Hartsell

Look at Me is a film about ambition — specifically, the drive for success and fame — as a socially acceptable cry for attention. On its surface, it’s a fairly routine story of a famous author turned publisher and his devoted yet dejected daughter. But in it’s careful examination of desire, motivation, self-loathing, solipsism and success, the film seamlessly blends two paths for arriving at its theme: a dispassionate illustration of intellectual dishonesty and greed, and an uncommonly tenderhearted story about the need to be seen and loved rather than praised.

The film leaves no mystery as to where its emotional heart lies. Lolita [Marilou Berry], the plain, overweight daughter of famed author Etienne Cassard [Jean-Pierre Bacri], is at that crossroads between youth and adulthood, faith and pessimism, need and apathy with which the viewer immediately identifies. She is old enough to no longer desire her father’s undivided attention; she would settle for his recognition and some indication that she holds a place in his heart rather than just his home. But aside from his concentrated focus on the work of being respected and envied, Cassard’s attention is further withdrawn from Lolita by his younger, prettier daughter and his also young, attractive, weight-obsessed wife, a character given more depth than one might expect.

Lolita, gifted with a beautiful voice, seeks to escape the inadequacies that have left her unseen, by struggling to be heard. The idolization that she may have once placed on her father is now focused on her vocal instructor Sylvia [Agnés Jaoui], a devoted fan of Cassard and wife of so-far-unsuccessful author, Pierre Miller [Laurent Grevill]. It is not until Sylvia realizes that Lolita is the daughter of Cassard that she takes an interest in assisting the work of Lolita’s vocal group. Cassard is in turn interested in publishing Pierre’s recent novel, and the intertwining of ambition, manipulation, neglect and disappointment ensues.

Sylvia, played with attention and restraint by the director, serves as the conscience of the film. She knows she is using Lolita, but does so anyway, perhaps for the purpose of seeing her own selfish desires to their bereft end. She, along with the viewer, comes to appreciate Lolita’s determined and at times desperate search for someone who looks at her and sees a human being rather than a conduit to someone more important. As unwitting witness to this purity of desire, Sylvia’s slight transformation from disengaged manipulator to ambivalent mentor is moving in its conflicted nobility. Her final gesture as she leaves the authors to wallow in their poor, aimless success is as thrilling as it is simple.

Look at Me deals with familiar archetypes, but rather than focus on those archetypes as the beginnings and ends of character, it explores how they are constructed by motivation and behavior. It is easy to write off someone as neurotic, needy, egomaniacal or dissatisfied, but to explore why that person is such and accept their behavior as human and understandable, — though abhorrent — is difficult. It is even more difficult to make that into a film that is both touching and honest. Jaoui presents the types characters that have been seen before and asks the viewer to look at them again and recognize, rather than just observe. It is a thoughtful, intimate and intensely gratifying film.

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