The Woman in the Fifth

The fortunes of an American writer in Paris. A subject for comedy, reckoned Woody Allen, who gave us Midnight in Paris. Pawel Pawlikowski was more attracted to the idea of a nightmare in Paris. Pawlikowski is the Polish-British director of the excellent My Summer of Love, the intimate story of two girls from very different backgrounds who fall in love with each other.
In The Woman in the Fifth Ethan Hawke is in good form, lending his most sorrowful face to a US writer trying to get his dismal life back on the right track in a ghastly Paris (this film won’t do anything for the tourist trade). It is a desperate move. His ex calls the police whenever he gets too near his daughter. He finishes up as a night watchman in a shady hotel. Tormented, he is on the verge of a breakdown. “I have the feeling that the real me is somewhere else; is being awarded prizes; is watching his wife while she gets dressed; is attending his daughter’s piano recital,” he confides in Margit. “The me that’s here seems to be more like a miserable doppelganger.” The mysterious Margit (Kristin Scott Thomas) wants to take care of him. That’s going to cost him. Pawlikowski is more interested in atmosphere than in tidying up all the loose ends. He is within his rights.
As you leave the cinema some scenes still haven’t worn off. It’s a pity, though, that he hasn’t been able to make clear why we should care about the tormented writer.

The Woman in the Fifth ••
FR, PL, UK, 2011, dir.: Pawel Pawlikowski, act.: Ethan Hawke, Kristin Scott Thomas, 83 min.