Review: Carmen

Director:  Benjamin Millepied

Stars:  Melissa Barrera, Rossy De Palma, Paul Mescal

Benjamin Millepied is presently being vilified across the internet for details pertaining to his personal life, something which has eclipsed the release of the choreographer’s debut feature film. Carmen has sort of snuck into UK cinemas in spite of it’s big-draw names (Melissa Barrera and Paul Mescal; rising stars both). Perhaps the concept of his non-musical musical is a little hard to pitch? Perhaps the tepid reception and the sudden flush of warm weather has turned heads away?

Based on the novella of the same name and not the famed French opera that it similarly inspired, Carmen is a dusty US/Mexico border-crossing melodrama of modern day urgency that struggles to tessellate with Millepied’s balletic inclinations. Barrera’s Carmen flees the desert plains of Chihuahua following the mysterious (and unexplained) murder of her mother (Marina Tamayo). Her illegal crossing is intercepted by Afghanistan vet Aiden (Mescal) and his twitchy Border Patrol comrade Mike (Benedict Hardie). Mike’s racist and itchy trigger finger propels Aiden into friendly fire. Killing Mike, he flees with Carmen to the north, running out of a life that already had precious few options remaining for him.

Carmen and Mike seek refuge in Los Angeles at a small club ran by Carmen’s flamboyant aunt Masilda (Almodóvar mainstay Rossy de Palma). Here the film hunkers down anxiously as the two wait for the world to catch up with them, and Masilda coaxes her niece onto the club’s dance floor.

Tamayo opens the picture with a riotous, emotionally pensive tap routine that reimagines a Sergio Leone shootout through dance. It’s a great little salvo that promises much more than Carmen delivers. Indeed, those expecting superfluous numbers routinely peppering the narrative will wonder what happened, as the next instance isn’t for nearly an hour. Granted, Carmen and Mike’s roadside pitstop on the way to LA stands as easily one of the film’s best sequences, but its inconsequential existence suggests a late addition to remind audiences of the supposed conceit.

Carmen wears a knotted brow and takes itself quite seriously, showcasing a threadbare narrative and some occasionally lousy dialogue. When he’s not directing dance, Millepied is prone to awkwardly heavy-handed moments, such as Aidan’s brief interaction with another war veteran who arrives to a cookout in a wheelchair. The way in which Millepied lingers on the man’s injuries feels uncouth, to say the least. That nothing comes of this is indicative of a whole host of problems that broadly plague the film.

Very little connects. The pursuit of the fleeing lovers is only fleetingly sketched. The lead cop isn’t much more than a phantom, often so dimly lit that the actor isn’t determinable to this viewer (Morgan Smallbone maybe?). Perhaps the intention is to show that their fears overwhelm the reality, but the chemistry between Barrera and Mescal is thin, also, leaving little to keep us involved in the film’s flimsy sense of danger.

Still, when they come, the dance sequences impress. Millepied has the sound of breath and of feet high in the mix, accentuating the physicality of the performers. The movements feel urgent and animalistic, conferring the sense of emotion they intend. He forefronts Barrera in most of these, utilising her skills. Mescal isn’t given a lot of footwork but, when he gets it, he makes it count, furthering a sense that he’s an actor of many talents. Barrera is the more impassioned, but the film’s MVP is de Palma. Without her the second half might have been too soporific.

Nicholas Britell’s music is stirring in all the right places, but hardly as iconic or memorable as some of his greatest scores to date (particularly for Barry Jenkins). Stylish in a banal sort of way, ultimately, Carmen seems to lead nowhere and vanish once its over. Disappointing as it is to say – and maybe even harsh – based on what’s offered here, Millepied’s efforts might be better suited to perfume ads.