Directed by André Téchiné. Written by Olivier Assayas and André Téchiné.
Our vocabulary for bad lovers has evolved, and the stupid games of fuckboys are no longer something every woman has to figure out for herself. Movies like Rendez-vous make it obvious how far we’ve come, featuring misogynists of every stripe who under the guise of “passion” deny women their agency and manipulate them by any means to get what they want.
Juliette Binoche is a go-getter as Nina, an 18-year old who took the train to Paris from Toulouse the minute she was able to and now can’t wait to make her mark on the world as an actress. Three months into her new life, she has a bit part in a play and a jealous boyfriend. She’s enjoyed her newfound freedom meeting people, sleeping with some, but already she’s noticing a pattern, saying they’re happy to jump into bed with her, but afterward they soon start insulting her. She’s over it, she says.
Women like Nina attract men who grow to resent her for the same reasons they were initially interested. Oh, you’re outgoing, confident, and give as good as you get? Hot! Oh, you don’t want to turn into my demure little lady now that we’re dating? Whore! Nina is already wise to this behavior, which is a sad state for an 18-year old to be in.
In Rendez-vous, you have three men who come at Nina from different angles, but have this same destination in mind, and it makes Rendez-vous a foursome rooted in modern love malaise. These men circling Nina are different boys who embody archetypes of courtship, be they “nice guys” who bow down in servitude expecting sex as payment, or “art bois” whose moody antics manipulate women into caring for them.
Téchiné’s movie is a bundle of dry wheat that burns fast in its daring and leaves little behind. Its scenes depict the ugly side of sex and bodily intimacy, adding another layer of provocation to a movie intent on making plain the brash relationships of the young, self-centered, and deluded. It’s aggressive and pointed, like any youthful relationship featuring two people who chase their imagined ideas of what they want.
One of Nina’s suitors is a fringe artist, and the script reads like one of the bad plays he puts on, all affront and a race to the point. It goes too fast, and the toxic relationships the story wants to portray are not fully realized in time for us to believe them. Ironically, Assayas and Téchiné reveal themselves more aligned with the immature men of Rendez-vous than their protagonist. They vividly portray these boys with their barely concealed misogyny and feelings of being misunderstood, and in Nina they’ve written a compelling character with pluck. She’s real and recognizable, and they’ve got her down on the page as we’ve encountered women like her in life. They, like Nina’s lovers, can’t see past the facade, however, and when it comes time for us to peer inside Nina, all we get is an outsider’s best guess that’s too close to a scorned suitor’s condemnation.
Rendez-vous captures modern dating with vivid evocation of its monsters and pitfalls, but it only masters the depiction, not the analysis, and the insights go missing in the shallows of its eye-catching provocation with skin as the lure.
Mikkel Frederiksen 