The Way I Killed My Father

Jean-Luc (Berling) seems to have it all: he's a wealthy doctor with a beautiful wife (Régnier), and well respected by the affluent Versailles society whom he works to keep young. He even employs his younger brother as his chauffeur. Then, out of the blue, his father returns from Africa, opening up all manner of secrets and wounds festering in the subconscious. The French have a reputation for dissecting the bourgeoisie with exquisite taste and discretion, and this has the accoutrements (and the fine performances) of something by Claude Sautet, say. Unfortunately, the longer it goes on, the emptier it feels, and its emptiness's all the more glaring for director and co-writer Fontaine's desperate recourse to melodrama in the final reel.