Monique Review
Valerie Guignabodet's Monique is a fluffy, shopworn comedy with a surfeit of clichés and an unpleasant undercurrent of rank misogyny. If nothing else, the film proves yet again that other countries are just as capable of churning out high-concept nonsense as the Hollywood studios. With the exception of the decidedly uninspired premise (an unhappily married man in his forties buys a life-sized anatomically correct sex doll and becomes obsessed with it), very little about Monique is believable, least of all the positive transformation the doll inspires in the self-pitying protagonist, Alex (Albert Dupontel). The cast is generally good, and there are a few amusing scenes, including two well-played visits to a lingerie store. While Monique clearly means to make some kind of sly statement about relations between the sexes (the needlessly ambiguous ending is a dead giveaway that Guignabodet is looking for more than just yucks), there's little to be found here in the way of emotional honesty or insight. In fact, the film's dumb blandness, sexism, and dated pop soundtrack could have viewers mistaking Monique for a French remake of the odious 1987 Andrew McCarthy-Kim Cattrall starrer, Mannequin. Where is Hollywood Montrose when you need him? Josh Ralske, Rovi
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