Rumours (2024)

Truly good satire needs a razor-sharp edge to succeed, but this latest effort from director Guy Maddin (in collaboration with filmmaking partners Evan and Galen Johnson) falls stunningly flat, resulting in a rambling, unfocused slog that somehow manages to mix messages and symbology that are simultaneously both cryptically understated and patently obvious. Set at a G7 summit in Germany, world leaders from the host country and their American, Canadian, British, French, Italian and Japanese counterparts (along with delegates from the European Union) hold their annual gathering to discuss the state of the world and pat themselves on the back for a self-congratulatory job well done (despite not possessing the requisite skills to accomplish anything meaningful or of substantive consequence other than keeping their nations’ respective seats warm). They smile their hollow smiles and make empty though allegedly profound observations about a variety of subjects, all while attempting to craft one of their famous joint statements (position papers that the American president openly admits no one ever reads). In this case, the communique is meant to address some kind of undefined global crisis, but it appears to be one with apocalyptic overtones. But, in the course of their “work” – an undertaking for which they’re far from qualified – they quickly find themselves in over their heads when the infrastructure around them begins to crumble, a circumstance made more ominous by the appearance of inexplicable apparitions and zombie-like bog creatures straight out of classic folklore and middle European fairy tales. One might think that this would make for an interesting premise in telling a surrealistically satirical fable about the state of contemporary world politics, but the execution here is so poorly carried off that it ends up amounting to little more than oh so much intellectual and symbolic masturbation (depicted here a little too literally and repetitively at that). To complicate matters, the narrative incorporates countless developments that go wholly unexplained, some of which presumably have to do with the symbolic emasculation of a prevailing patriarchal world in favor of an emerging female-directed paradigm, but others of which are just so enigmatically absurd that they defy description, explanation or purpose (there’s more of that masturbation again, only this time reflected in the nature of the picture’s screenplay elements). The overall result is a mess of a movie that, despite its gifted ensemble cast and atmospheric cinematography and production design, just doesn’t work, especially since the insights it’s trying to impart aren’t particularly new, revelatory or funny. We’re well aware of how inept many of the world’s supposedly astute leaders are these days, including the fact that they’re cluelessly engaged in little more than what amounts to unconscious acts of that aforementioned “self-love” (and self-aggrandizing ones at that), but do we really need a movie to remind us of that (especially one as shabbily made as this)? No thanks. If I were you, I’d duck out of this one and see what else is playing at the multiplex (or, better yet, skip it altogether).

When the heads of government from the G7 arrive at a German castle for their annual summit, they expect it to amount to little more than a talking-shop fuelled by fine wine and fine dining before they issue a communiqué that will say precisely nothing of importance to anyone. Things start to look a bit odd, though, when the Canadian "Maxime" (Roy Dupuis) can't get a refill for his wine. Where have all the staff gone? No amount of bell ringing is summoning anyone and it's getting dark. Then Frenchman "Sylvain" (Denis Ménochet) sets off into the woods in search of his papers that have blown from the table and it's his return, covered in gloop, that really sets their teeth on edge. These are the most powerful folks from the "free world" and yet here they are alone and vulnerable - with no mobile phone signal! What now ensues does have quite a potent point to make, but the attempts to deliver that using a combination of soap and comedy just didn't work for me at all. Cate Blanchett is their German host "Hilda" (doing her best impersonation of Ursula von der Leyen) and it's clear she has a bit of thing for her Canadian counterpart who also appears to have had some previous assignation with the Brit (Nikki Amuka-Bird) who is close pals with the power-napping US President (Charles Dance) who, in turn, seems to be the idol in the eye of the Italian "Antonio" (Rolando Ravello) who seems to be the only one remotely switched on as he had the presence of mind to pinch some salami from the buffet earlier! Maybe the solution to their predicament lies back at the house? Well that's where the thing really comes off the rails as a drama, where a combination of ultra modern day and chronologically ancient contrasting factors try to make sense of this increasingly insensible and laboured scenario. There is some potency from the last five minutes, in a nihilist sort of fashion, but otherwise the rest of it seems content to satirise something without actually being remotely funny. Dance maybe had the best idea: turn up, eat, drink, nap then wrap himself in tin foil. This is a missed opportunity, sorry.