Heading South (15) <!-- none onestar twostar threestar fourstar fivestar -->
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.The French writer-director Laurent Cantet's latest, like his previous films Human Resources and Time Out, is fascinated by the way society commodifies human beings. Set in Haiti during the late 1970s, it focuses upon the business of sex tourism but gender-flips the usual transaction: here middle-aged American women come to batten on the slim-hipped native gigolos hanging around a luxury beach resort.
Ellen (Charlotte Rampling) is the queen bee who graciously presides over this little colony, Brenda (Karen Young) is the needy divorcee who mistakes sex for love, and Legba (Menothy Cesar) is the handsome young charmer both women fall for. Cantet, hinting at the repressive political backdrop of the Duvalier era, suggests that the women's proprietorial bickering is an irrelevance to Legba, and by extension to the poor of Haiti, yet the film doesn't sufficiently illuminate the latter's character or circumstances to make us care.
The women's to-camera monologues are leaden, and reinforce the idea that this Caribbean sex idyll is merely a refuge of menopausal loneliness, something we could have guessed for ourselves. Rampling offers another classic in her gallery of glacial control-freaks, and you might be cheered by stinging asides on the blight of American imperialism. As a drama, however, it doesn't really click, and feels ill-considered after the mesmerising everyday horror story of Time Out.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments