The Truth About Charlie

I know Charles Aznavour from a single source: The Muppet Show, Season 1. Watching The Truth About Charlie, a remake of Charade starring Mark Wahlberg, made me love him all the more. Charlie was a rough film, and the action scenes often lacked the crispness of blockbuster films, but throughout the movie the flavors were undeniably French. A dark scene on a dance floor made some awkward noises, but ultimately delighted me, as did several other interesting sequences.

The film began as a very precise replica of the original, and indeed, the crux of the issue, (spoiler alert) the stamps reprised their role as McGuffin. Although I would have been satisfied if the parallels had continued (I enjoyed the original, and wouldn't mind seeing it again, but updated), the truths one trusted from the original film blurred, and were erased by a somewhat clumsy directorial hand. Unlike the original, in which although we never quite know who Cary Grant will turn out to be we always trust that he's the good guy, Mark Wahlberg treads a much finer line. We want him to mirror Cary Grant simply because he's so adorable, and yet bloody, knife in hand, a desperate scowl molded from his clay face, the viewer feels sure he has embraced the dark side, something I feel that perhaps the original didn't miss, but certainly might have contained under different circumstances in which it would not have marred the total experience.

The showdown climax, probably the most difficult scene or scenes, lacked something. (Another Spoiler) With only a small complication, they concluded as did the original. Directing a re-make of a suspense movie posed an impossible task here. Although the plot had varied enough from the original to make the scene retain some tension, the conclusion of that scene proved almost a let-down. The viewer watches, wondering who these people really are, what they'll do, and then finds that he or she has been watching a re-make, something he or she had briefly hoped to forget.

The denoument scenes were original. Lewis's office was a delightful hodge-podge of originality, finally creating for us a likable personality from what has been throughout the film merely an occupational ghost. Watch for the props.

Charles Aznavour sparkled. I wasn't sure what the secretary was doing, and I didn't like the ages and ages in which the camera snap-shot Reggie and Lewis with their faces plastered together. I thought Carson Dyle's comeuppance, though a little fantastical, rounded out the film nicely, but did stray from the typical bleakness of French film.

I give it seven critics quills from me, but expect the general audience not to award more than three, if they can finish it.