MELBOURNE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL: Although it’s impossible to entirely dislike a work of such bouyant effervescence, the whimsy grows increasingly wearisome in The Fairy, a defiantly sweet and silly romantic fantasy steeped in the French comedic tradition often labelled 'Tati-esque’. In truth, The Fairy honours the iconic comic most truthfully by proving just how masterful he was in making fluff somehow resonate.
The Melbourne International Film Festival’s decision to open its 60th season with such a candy-floss confection perhaps suggests the intended mood of the event will be joyous and celebratory, which is fine. But the general nuttiness of the plot, which amounts to a succession of intricate, sketch comedy-like set-ups in the name of finding one’s true love, and the volumous eccentricities of the cast, soon begins to grate. After last year’s opening night screening of Amanda Jane’s middling local rom-com The Wedding Party emerged as a work-in-progress, MIFF organisers may have better served its anniversary with a heartier opening dish than this airy French soufflé.
The film reunites many of the key creatives who made 2008 Cannes favourite Rumba, an equally-brisk and determinedly-lovable flight of heartfelt melancholy. The fairy of the title is Fiona (played by the sinewy, ex-pat Australian performer Fiona Gordon), whom we meet as she wanders barefoot into the reception area of a hotel in the seaside port of Le Havre. The night clerk is the self-consumed and rather unprofessional Dom (Dominique Abel), with whom we are already enamoured after a beautifully constructed opening gag involving a dog owner (Philippe Martz), a sandwich and an after-hours doorbell.
A self-confessed fairy, Fiona changes Dom’s life, and they pursue each other with passion. Indulging in such free-spirited acts as shoplifting, skinny-dipping and underwater dancing, Fiona and Dom fall heavily for each other. That is, until a pregnant Fiona is whisked away to a sanitarium, where Dom, suddenly energised by the power of love, must rescue her, and set them on a course for eternal happiness, at any cost.
All of which implies an importance asked of the film’s plotting by its makers (Gordon, Abel and the unseen Bruno Romy, working from their self-penned script) that just doesn’t exist. The Fairy extracts laughs from every corner of its comedic universe; the modus operandi is compelling up to a point, but the artifice soon overwhelms the characterisations. Like watching a street theatre troupe perform their schtick for too long, The Fairy ultimately offers little bar the expectation of the next blast of affable goofiness. There’s no denying the charming loveliness but even at a scant 90 minutes, the film overstays its welcome. (By comparison, Jacques Tati’s Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday clocked in 114 minutes, but left audiences begging for more.)
In addition to the works of Tati, The Fairy can favourably draw comparisons with the still-camera, big-hearted assuredness of the early films of Wes Anderson and the spirit (though not the visual flair) of countryman Jean-Pierre Jeunet. Worthy bedfellows, but also contemporaries who highlight the subtle liabilities that make The Fairy merely an enjoyable bout of silliness and not the resonant character-driven fantasy it could have been.
