Let me throw my two cents in, since this is clearly one of those "hey pal, make what you will of it, we just make 'em, we don't explain 'em" type of movies - and I don't mean that in a good way, either. But first things first...
Pretty soon after you begin watching this film, its apparent Dominik Moll found more than just a passing inspiration in some other works. So, let's deal with that right off the top.
To an extent I see "Harry, un ami qui vous veut du bien" as a French version of "Fight Club" - an American movie I did not care for in the least. Main protagonists in both films are essentially unhappy individuals although Michel's (Laurent Lucas) manifestation of misery is a bit more muted. Perhaps 'confused' rather than 'completely unhappy' might be a better term to describe him. In any event, to combat their conditions him and his American counterpart both 'invent' a confident male friend - an überdude of sorts - who's hopefully going to improve their lives by waking up their hibernating lust for living. In that sense Michel's Harry Balestero (Sergi López) is very much reminiscent of Narrator's Tyler Durden.
Noticeable also, are similarities to 1992 Joel & Ethan Coen offering "Barton Fink" with the entire homicidal friend and writer's block subplots. That much better film and past Palm d'Or winner in Cannes, incidentally continues to be very popular in France.
Now, onto the business of reviewing "Harry....".
When it gets right down to it, this is a slapped together exercise in psychology, mid-life crisis, insecurity and similar esoteric 'problems' of today's well-fed male. After a marginally promising start, things quickly disintegrate to a point where I completely stopped caring about the characters. Even though it's fairly short, "Harry....." is still about 30 minutes too long. The thinking on the filmmakers' part was probably that there's something for everyone here: thriller elements, family psychodrama, study of characters, sexual tension, and film noir's atmosphere. Unfortunately, in the end it's a lotta nothin'. Ridiculously misplaced free-flowing symbolism (pink bathroom, eggs, flying monkeys), irritatingly brooding performances and many other poor choices heavily outweigh the few brief satisfying moments.
Pretty soon after you begin watching this film, its apparent Dominik Moll found more than just a passing inspiration in some other works. So, let's deal with that right off the top.
To an extent I see "Harry, un ami qui vous veut du bien" as a French version of "Fight Club" - an American movie I did not care for in the least. Main protagonists in both films are essentially unhappy individuals although Michel's (Laurent Lucas) manifestation of misery is a bit more muted. Perhaps 'confused' rather than 'completely unhappy' might be a better term to describe him. In any event, to combat their conditions him and his American counterpart both 'invent' a confident male friend - an überdude of sorts - who's hopefully going to improve their lives by waking up their hibernating lust for living. In that sense Michel's Harry Balestero (Sergi López) is very much reminiscent of Narrator's Tyler Durden.
Noticeable also, are similarities to 1992 Joel & Ethan Coen offering "Barton Fink" with the entire homicidal friend and writer's block subplots. That much better film and past Palm d'Or winner in Cannes, incidentally continues to be very popular in France.
Now, onto the business of reviewing "Harry....".
When it gets right down to it, this is a slapped together exercise in psychology, mid-life crisis, insecurity and similar esoteric 'problems' of today's well-fed male. After a marginally promising start, things quickly disintegrate to a point where I completely stopped caring about the characters. Even though it's fairly short, "Harry....." is still about 30 minutes too long. The thinking on the filmmakers' part was probably that there's something for everyone here: thriller elements, family psychodrama, study of characters, sexual tension, and film noir's atmosphere. Unfortunately, in the end it's a lotta nothin'. Ridiculously misplaced free-flowing symbolism (pink bathroom, eggs, flying monkeys), irritatingly brooding performances and many other poor choices heavily outweigh the few brief satisfying moments.