The average foreign film we see in America is better than the average Hollywood production if for no other reason than the limited number of art-house screens and the resultant winnowing process that happens before a subtitled flick ever gets U.S. distribution.
That doesn't explain the sleep-inducing, go-nowhere "My Afternoons with Margueritte,"
which was financed and released solely on the name of Gerard Depardieu. It's not so much a realized film or even a story as a setting: Depardieu plays a dim-bulb gardener with mommy issues who meets the practically-ancient eponym at the park and discovers a love of books that inspires him to learn to read. The movie aims for sweetness, but succeeds only in cloying, and the thought of Depardieu with the young, pretty blonde who plays his wife is not one on which to linger.
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