Le Week-end holds the record: I’ve seen it five times at the cinema. For once Australia’s absurdly delayed releases were a blessing and I managed to split my viewings between late last year and late last month. It’s fair to wonder what the attraction could be — it’s received some condemnation for being boring. I don’t think boring is the word at all but I do see where they come from — Le Week-end is one of those films where nothing really happens. It’s just a weekend in two lives. Nothing’s changed too drastically and there aren’t any explosions, nobody steals any art, nobody rides a jet ski.
But what it is is a weekend in Paris. It’s a weekend of extravagance and cheekiness and dinner parties with Jeff Goldblum; it’s a weekend of two regular-ish people with regular-ish problems. And, for a film about a couple on the edge of retirement celebrating their wedding anniversary, it’s wonderfully relatable. Maybe it’s the snooping round alleyways, or eating, or the constant desire to do and be something fantastic.
Don’t expect anything from Le Week-end. Like any weekend away, if you expect grand things you’ll be disappointed. Go in with an empty head instead, and I promise it’ll be filled with good things.