Presumably no one should grudge a film director for making a movie as a love letter to woo his future wife, it is totally his de jure entitlement. IRMA VEP (the name is an anagram of VAMPIRE) is overtly Olivier Assayas' token of love for HK actress Maggie Cheung, who would marry him in 1998, only their reunion would soon dissolve 3 years later, capped by a unusual valedictory project CLEAN (2004), which turns out to be quite a curate's egg for her fans, it copped her a BEST ACTRESS title in Cannes, but also heralds her unmitigated hibernation from the screen to date.
A French old-school filmmaker René Vidal (Léaud, sporting an inarticulate English in sullenness and fatigue), is making his latest work, a remake of Louis Feuillade's silent crime serial LES VAMPIRES (1915-1916, 10 episodes in toto) and fingers a Hong Kong actress (Maggie archly plays herself with high spirit) for the leading role Irma Vep, a feline Parisian burglar outfit with a superfine latex catsuit (her racial changeover would become an issue in the later stage).
Maggie arrives alone in Paris to shoot her part, and soon becomes convivially discombobulated à la LOST IN TRANSLATION (2003) amid the rumbustious filming proceedings, in particular, cannot grasp what René truly wants in her. She is befriended by Zoé (Richard, who is prickly and gabby to a great extent of spontaneity), the costume designer, who at first brings her to a sex shop to try the outfit, and later a friend gathering where she confides her attraction of Maggie to Mireille (Ogier), only to her chagrin that the latter cannot keep a secret, which casts an ambiguous tension between their fresh, tentative bond, eventually, there is a bar between occidental gregariousness and oriental propriety, Assayas knows best.
Through Assayas' intimate eye and DP Eric Gautier's serpentine camera choreography, a satirical understatement of that unique Gallic neurosis tempered with a weird mixture of angst and entropy, pervades the scenery and heavily hinges on tempestuous verbal exchanges, whether it is in the working place or private occasions. This faux-documentary style becomes all the more mesmerizing when Assayas offers inclusive dissection of the toxic, fickle industry itself under its spectacular mise-en-abyme front.
Whereas the production slowly veers into a downward spiral, buffeted by disastrous rushes-screening, harsh criticism from journalists, a nervous breakdown and compounding rift among staff, Maggie's own search for her character takes a bewitchingly oneiric turn inside the hotel she stays, a trance-like escapade coupled with the cacophony of Sonic Youth and a fluorescent raining night, actuates a surreal kick that is decadently delectable.
Bookended by the black-and-white montage of Maggie's Irma Vep in its raw, solarized and post-edited randomness, Assayas' conceit hits the home run, he wins the girl and we are also proper swooned.
A French old-school filmmaker René Vidal (Léaud, sporting an inarticulate English in sullenness and fatigue), is making his latest work, a remake of Louis Feuillade's silent crime serial LES VAMPIRES (1915-1916, 10 episodes in toto) and fingers a Hong Kong actress (Maggie archly plays herself with high spirit) for the leading role Irma Vep, a feline Parisian burglar outfit with a superfine latex catsuit (her racial changeover would become an issue in the later stage).
Maggie arrives alone in Paris to shoot her part, and soon becomes convivially discombobulated à la LOST IN TRANSLATION (2003) amid the rumbustious filming proceedings, in particular, cannot grasp what René truly wants in her. She is befriended by Zoé (Richard, who is prickly and gabby to a great extent of spontaneity), the costume designer, who at first brings her to a sex shop to try the outfit, and later a friend gathering where she confides her attraction of Maggie to Mireille (Ogier), only to her chagrin that the latter cannot keep a secret, which casts an ambiguous tension between their fresh, tentative bond, eventually, there is a bar between occidental gregariousness and oriental propriety, Assayas knows best.
Through Assayas' intimate eye and DP Eric Gautier's serpentine camera choreography, a satirical understatement of that unique Gallic neurosis tempered with a weird mixture of angst and entropy, pervades the scenery and heavily hinges on tempestuous verbal exchanges, whether it is in the working place or private occasions. This faux-documentary style becomes all the more mesmerizing when Assayas offers inclusive dissection of the toxic, fickle industry itself under its spectacular mise-en-abyme front.
Whereas the production slowly veers into a downward spiral, buffeted by disastrous rushes-screening, harsh criticism from journalists, a nervous breakdown and compounding rift among staff, Maggie's own search for her character takes a bewitchingly oneiric turn inside the hotel she stays, a trance-like escapade coupled with the cacophony of Sonic Youth and a fluorescent raining night, actuates a surreal kick that is decadently delectable.
Bookended by the black-and-white montage of Maggie's Irma Vep in its raw, solarized and post-edited randomness, Assayas' conceit hits the home run, he wins the girl and we are also proper swooned.