Hirokazu Kore-eda’s English-language debut kicks off this year’s festival with zingers but no real fireworks, as Deneuve’s ageing star rips strips off daughter Juliette Binoche
The sun rises on day one of the Venice film festival and it catches the guests in a delicate state. They’re still sleepy, struggling to get their bearings and nursing hangovers from the welcome drinks the night before. These people require careful handling, a soothing introduction. Specifically, they need a film such as Hirokazu Kore-eda’s The Truth, a well-appointed family melodrama that plays out among plumped cushions and expensive soft furnishings. These critics have only just rolled out of bed. Now, all at once, it’s as if they’re being rolled back again.
Traditionally, Venice likes to open with a big
Hollywood spectacular; with the one-take intensity of a film such as Birdman or the white-knuckle tension of Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity. And yet, The Truth is the most refined, stately curtain-raiser I can recall seeing here, a picture that likes to stroll and murmur where others run and shout. It’s handsome, it’s amusing, it knows exactly where it’s going. All that is missing is that crucial fifth gear.