Remy is morose, nearing 30 with his career as a musician going nowhere and his eight-year marriage to Martine souring. Then, Martine dies in a car crash, and Marion, her 14-year-old, wants to stay rather than move to her father's. Remy likes the idea: he loves her, he's raised her, and she offers him emotional responsibility. Marion's father objects, but she's willful, so he relents. Soon, she tells Remy she finds him attractive, that she's now "a woman," and why can't they be lovers. Remy is appalled, but weakens, missing her when she spends Christmas with her dad. What if they do become lovers? What next? And what if a women more his age enters the picture?
Boasting a superb lead performance by Patrick DeWaere as a young Frenchman battling to stifle the seductive advances of his breathtakingly beautiful step-daughter, it is grounded by fascinating character detail and an intelligent, focused script that is deeply interested in the complexities of love and desire. Ariel Besse is the step-daughter and she is a bubbling, nubile cauldron of curiosity and mischief. Sacha Vierny's moody photography is worthy of a coffee table hardcover and Philip Sarde's score is perfection.
La compagne de Rémi meurt accidentellement et la fille de cette dernière, Marion, 14 ans, préfère rester vivre chez lui plutôt que de retourner chez son père naturel. Malgré ses réticences, Rémi cède au désir amoureux de sa bellefille qui le harcèle et finit par coucher avec elle. Quand il rencontre Charlotte, Marion s'efface.
A movie as appealing and savory as the heaping piles of dinosaur sh*t that pass for its sight gags, 1980's Caveman ranks among the worst bombs Hollywood ever produced. Though a vehicle for Ringo Starr, the erstwhile Beatle did not record the film's soundtrack, with that, uh, "honor" going to the great screen composer Lalo Schifrin. Somehow Schifrin manages to rise above it all – especially given the circumstances, his Caveman score ain't half bad: though its epic sweep would have been far better suited for a movie worth watching, this is the kind of melodramatic score harking back to Hollywood's golden era, complete with eruptions of brass and strings. And in keeping with the prehistoric plot, there's even a tribal energy to the percussion – sounds silly, but it works.
Former Beatles drummer Ringo Starr plays a prehistoric, social outcast who, along with other misfits, forms his own tribe and finds various comic adventures. This spoof is mostly without dialogue besides the expected neanthropic grunt.
Austin-to-L.A. transplants the Textones were one of the few post-new wave "roots rock" bands of the mid-'80s to deserve the appellation. (Unfortunately, they're mostly remembered, if at all, only as the band Kathy Valentine left to join the Go-Go's.) Unlike the terribly overrated Lone Justice or the beer salesmen in the Long Ryders or the Del Fuegos, Carla Olson and company came off like a punkier version of the Gram Parsons-era Byrds, with a poppy edge on unexpected covers like the Searchers' "Silver" and Neil Sedaka's "Keep a Walkin'."