The cinema of Blier will never age, like the smile of Mona Lisa. Vinci put on the canvas the secrecy of the heart of this woman, and, in "Mon Homme", there is the same shamelessness, Bertrand Blier expose his characters and strips until their hearts... There is tenderness, all the tenderness of the world, as in the "Voyage to the end of the night" of Louis Ferdinand Céline. It is a black film, a pink film... The setting in scene is splendid and the images are extremely neat, splendid. This film is an explosive mixture of beauty, tenderness, shamelessness and emotions :So only a few people can love this movie and can appreciate Blier (not the Blier of "the balls" or "tenue of soirée", of course...)

As usual with a Blier film, the narrative is elliptical and challenging. In this study of the relationships between the sexes, Blier employs his considerable directorial skills in a bleakly funny "story" that follows the happy prostitute Marie, who befriends a tramp who later becomes her pimp. The film constantly challenges the male and female stereotypes, though some of the depictions of women in the film do raise the suspicion of misogyny on the director's part. However, a male character's apology to "all women" - made straight to camera at the very last moment of the film - seems to suggest that he is being deliberately provocative. I will need to see the film again to make up my mind.I will say, though, that this movie is well worth watching. It's inventive, clever, funny, and just great cinema.

"My Man" is an artsy, fatalistic drama done in the typical French the-ecstacy-is-in-the-agony style. Telling a peculiar, quirky, melancholy story of a neurotic prostitute's encounters with men in an apparently futile attempt to bring meaning into her life the story overlooks obvious alternatives at every turn and meanders into dark self-deprecating blind alleys. Nonetheless, this strange drama is slick, well crafted, and worth a look by those who are into unusual psychodramas.

A strangely structured film which ultimately makes for a quite moving meditation on the loneliness of sexual predetermination. The characters reach out in random lurching stabs at love - she impulsively invites the homeless man to be her pimp and later picks out someone in a bar to be the father of her child; when the pimp leaves jail he's instantly met by a woman who's been waiting for a convict to befriend, and so on. The closing note of male contrition could be taken as a pallid attempt to redress the balance of a film that often seems to enjoy the advantages for the male ego of freely offered female desire, and yet the remorse is real and touching. The movie expands the theme to encompass economic and social impotence - particularly in the wrenching scene where the husband can't get work and loses it. The note of proud possession in the title of a film that ultimately finds only loss and compromise is ultimately ironic I think, as much as the overblown Barry White score, grabbing boldly at sweeping gestures and passions which we all know to be generally unattainable. The gleaming visuals, often shot from a composed distance, give it the slightly metallic sheen of science fiction: in some scenes the crowd moves like a mechanical construction, powered by a single desultory consciousness.