Am I Missing Something?

It is both painfully honest and laugh-out-loud funny at the same time.

I think this is a new genre that they're all sort of working their way through it and haven't got all the kinks worked out yet but it's a genre that works for me.

One of the worst ways to make a cult movie is to set out to make a cult movie.

'Beautiful But Pointless' is actually a book about current American poetry by critic David Orr but to me it perfectly describes both 'Flight of the Red Balloon' as well as much of current European cinema. Whether it's Lars Triers' 'Melancholia' or another Juliette Binoche vehicle, 'Certified Copy,' these directors seem to have lost touch with basic elements of storytelling. There is an emphasis on the banal that becomes stupefying as these films progress. One is constantly distracted by the thought: where is all this leading? During 'Flight of the Red Balloon' I kept looking at my watch. Not the effect a director is hoping for, I'm guessing. True, there are some beautiful images of Paris, such as the shot of the boy Simon playing pinball with a typical Parisian block of flats reflected in the window glass in front of his face. But the camera seems to be allowed to indulge too many long, long pointless shots that add nothing to the story and barely anything to the ambiance. The only thing that approaches any semblance of metaphorical significance is of course the red balloon. We see in the museum tour that it obviously is a reference to an important work of art. In addition, as if it were a kind of guiding spirit, an actual red balloon seems to follow Simon around the streets and trams of Paris. But the director seems to lack the vision to add any depth to the image's potential for meaning. Is it trying to tease Simon into playing with it, or chasing it? Is it a symbol of the only consistent thread in his otherwise chaotic family life? Or is it symbolic of childhood itself? We get no clues. Ambiguity is certainly a useful tool in art but this stretches it beyond opaque. For me the only thing that saves this film at all is Simon himself. He is such a sweet, adorable boy that you begin to care about him the moment you first see him on screen. He's still at that magical age when trust in the world and in people is as natural as breathing. In that sense alone, this film succeeds. Otherwise, 'Flight of the Red Balloon' never really gets off the ground. One has to wonder, given some of Binoche's recent script choices, whether it's her judgment that's off or a sheer lack of scriptwriting talent in Europe these days. Where are the Wim Wenders, the Kieslowski's, the Truffault's of 21st century European cinema? Or has the fracturing of attention span from the daily media assault on the senses finally taken its toll there as much as in North America? Sad.

In Paris, the Chinese student of cinema Song Fang (Song Fang) is hired to work as the nanny of Simon (Simon Iteanu) by his divorced mother Suzanne (Juliette Binoche) that works dubbing marionettes in a theater. Suzanne is having troubles with her tenant Marc (Hyppolyte Girarddot) that does not pay the rent while she waits for the return of her older daughter Louise (Louise Margolin) that lives with her father in Brussels."Le Voyage du Ballon Rouge" is a pointless and boring movie about the quotidian life of a woman that dubs marionettes and lives alone with her beloved son. I cannot understand the hype surrounding this disappointing movie that goes nowhere, where the greatest excitement is when the workers move the piano to the upper floor and the greatest curiosity for those that have never played piano is when the technician tunes up the same piano. The pretentious director Hsiao-hsien Hou includes a red balloon to give the appearance of cult-movie to this forgettable flick that wastes the talented Juliette Binoche in a dull story. My vote is five.Title (Brazil): "A Viagem do Balão Vermelho" ("The Voyage of the Red Balloon")

I admit this film requires a certain level of patience and kindness to enjoy, but it is very charming and lovely. As it played, the seeming lack of overt plot line combined with its beauty and charm made me think more about it in terms of what its creator might be saying. I considered that every element of the film (e.g. camera angles, lighting, casting, etc) in addition to the obvious elements of dialog and action had purpose and evoked meaning. As a result, I came to see the film as honoring familial love at the tiny dining table and the unexpected joy brought to the family by the addition of Song (who is not French, which I think also bears an important message). It also shows that the whimsy and happiness of childhood is a precious time and place (though it is eventually fleeting) that is to be allowed and nurtured and that will bond families (and will eventually grow good people).For me, the film ranks somewhere between wonderful dream in a Sunday afternoon nap and cherished memories of a sweeter time in life. In the end, we are left like the children at the museum, interpreting the various elements of the beautiful impressionist painting, Le Ballon by Felix Vallotton, which is filled with life, light, and color, as well as some shadow and sorrow.

I had a sinking feeling when going to see this film because I'm old enough to remember the 1956 Red Balloon, which I hated like poison, despite the critical acclaim of the day.The redeeming features of this Hsiao-hsien Hou film are an inspired performance from Juliette Binoche, as a harassed, over-worked single mother, struggling with her career as an artist as well as trying to bring up her young son - beautifully and naturally portrayed with lots of obviously ad lib lines and actions skillfully preserved.The grimy and claustrophobic photography of Paris - without the glamour - was inspiring, too, and apt for the film's theme. At times, there were sequences so languidly beautiful that one could forget the rest of the film and just enjoy the pictures.But more merit than that was difficult to find. There was plenty of drama but no plot; no clear protagonist; an apparent total lack of direction; characterisation so diffuse that it was difficult to know - or want to know - much about anyone. After an hour, I still had no feeling for, or interest in any of the main characters, all of whom seemed to behave as childishly as the little boy. The Chinese girl, employed as a nanny said and did little, and it was difficult to understand why she was there at all, unless she found the French psyche as impenetrable as we did in the audience.I suppose Jean Luc-Godard was responsible for starting the trend for aimless, directionless, plot less, pointless, self-indulgent French cinema style with his 'classic' A Bout de Soufflé. I watched the audience for a lot of the time, since the film was so boring, and discovered that most were fidgeting and looking around the theatre as I was. And yet as we left, no one dared to say an adverse word. It's ART, I suppose, and therefore one must not mock! But it's worth remembering that even Shakespeare wrote some absolute turkeys. There, I've said it!