In theaters since Wednesday, Addicted Love Kev Adams appears as a heartthrob who cannot resist the power of attraction to women. The result is simply disastrous.
As is always the case for an avalanche of LOL productions made in FranceI had no chance to discover Addicted Love during the traditional press screening, dedicated to journalists and organized before the release of films.
Not offended by this deviation from the rules, so I went to the theater this Wednesday to discuss the first production of Frank Bellocq. I am surrounded by some spectators whose zygomatic muscles are not (or very little) demanded, unfortunately condemned to a vegetative wandering in the borders of what is the most moderate (or almost) of the territories already damaged in French comedy.
And don’t come and tax my anger or a claimant who, knowingly, chooses to go through the most “cut” floodgates. I am 100% attentive, as I am in every immersion in the cinema. Always easy to be surprised and laugh heartily, even when the humor is wrapped in fat. But let’s say it again and again: to make it funny, it’s all about rhythm, clever writing and precise acting. A combination that is unfortunately lacking, from the first order, in this work is calibrated to the glory of its main actor, Kev Adams; the eternal teenager whose coolness must be untarnished, even if he must slip, as follows, under the parts of the heartless asshole of these women.
Addicted Love also reveals the unchanging habits of this hero named Gabriel. The interested party, hairless and shaped by painstaking fitness sessions, left an opulent hotel room where he had just satisfied his manly impulses. The woman is naked. He left her, having forgotten her name. There were so many before him. Interchangeable, available, available. In the background, we hear: “If you love me, take care of yourself.“
We get it: the guy is hot and only thinks about what’s in his underwear. It was so hot that he was fired a few minutes ago by his boss for sleeping with his daughters, his wife and his maid. He tried to talk about it, as usual, because it was his hobby. But he ended, without any other form of trial, by leaving her open space in slow motion, received at the end of the race a bra on the face, as an offering.
Marc Lavoine, icing on the cake of shame
Absolutely everything in the manifestation of the character – and the situations he provokes – reveals a terrible laziness, in writing and in the game or in the construction, which is useless. Kev Adams recites his text more than he embodies it. In his defense, his dialogues were so bad that it would be dishonest to blame him entirely for this sinking. Let’s be clear: you cannot make the viewer believe that you are portraying a puff for whom a woman is a slice of steak when you refuse, a priori, to hide the image you have forged.
Kev Adams is not Gabriel. He never invested it. There is not a second. Because, surely, he would never break his aura. The sympathy he inspires in his listeners, respectable and deserved if anything, actually disguises the evil that is supposed to be the DNA of his role. In short. Let’s continue. Gabriel tried in any case, after all, to take himself in hand: a hypnosis session here, an appointment with a healer there (option “Dip your genitals in acacia honey“)…
To cure his addiction, he ends up hiring the services of a defector from psychology (Mélanie Bernier), who has converted to remember. And no kinder, as Gabriel thought. Haha, facepalm and more if you like. The latter, himself in an impasse of love, follows him H24 to make sure that he stops flirting and that he becomes “normal” again. Even a lost first grader can guess the conclusion of this story on the first try.
But hey, there’s no question of spoiling the fun of fall (no wonder). In the radius of the second paper atomizing nullity, we also asked the uncle on duty, alias Marc Lavoine, to overreach histrionics. Dressed as usual, the gentleman waited for two years, in a luxurious apartment with a panoramic view of Paris and a plate of oysters, for the return of the love of his life. He is the confidant and accomplice of the hero…
Their family faces each other with answers that cannot be invented: “Picard, if it’s cold, it’s not good”, “If there’s a butt, it’s a cold” … Bah without originality and tempo, it’s also a miss. The thing with the result on the screen, as often elsewhere, is that it proves that a good idea, without deep commitment, does not give birth to a good film or a good scene.
To compare, The Heartbreaker born from a very nice pitch that, through the effectiveness of a relatively smooth writing, gives a real impetus to a comedy of excellent performance. Addicted Love away from it. Because its construction is problematic, it looks indifferent and its actors are completely freewheeling; with Marc Lavoine in the lead, I hope, we can quickly forget this embarrassing clumsy uncle’s hat.