Paris, 1995. Laure is about to meet friends for dinner. But on her way out, she discovers that the entire city is stalled by a massive transit strike. When a handsome stranger offers her a ride, Laure takes a highly charged, impossibly erotic detour.
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Its numerous ancillary characters are so closely observed that even those without speaking parts register as people, in a manner than blurs the line between strangeness and intimacy.
It is driven by the finely expressed -- if nearly mute -- performance of Lemercier. We learn a lot about this woman and her emotional state from Lemercier's subtle body language. As for Lindon's Jean, well, it's enough that he's there and doesn't require batteries.
Seasoned with amusing bits of fantasy, like a pizza topping that briefly curls into a smile, Friday Night captures the city at its most inviting, alive with the feeling that wonderful things can happen to ordinary people.
The most sensuous and intimate work of cinema of the past few years, a film that luxuriates in the immediacy of the moment. There is no guilt to the act, only exhilaration, joy and freedom. At least for the moment.
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WHAT ARE CRITICS SAYING?
Village Voice by J. Hoberman
Chicago Reader by J.R. Jones
New York Daily News by Jack Mathews
Boston Globe by Janice Page
Chicago Tribune by Michael Wilmington
Rolling Stone by Peter Travers
L.A. Weekly by Scott Foundas
The A.V. Club by Scott Tobias
Seattle Post-Intelligencer by Sean Axmaker
Salon by Stephanie Zacharek