The Man Who Cried

A young Russian Jew searches for a place to belong in pre-war Paris.

The cast shines. Forced to convey ranges of emotion and feelings in nothing more than a glance, Christina Ricci rises to the occasion. Likewise, Johnny Depp, Cate Blanchett and John Tuturro are all asked to portray complex characters and all perform beautifully.

Matching the cast’s talent, director Sally Potter does an amazing job of making a period film that feels nothing like a period film. The costumes, sets, and music are all dated, but the film is shot in such a way that it feels immediate and relevant.

The film’s only fault is it’s story and script. In an unfortunate paradox, quite a few scenes linger longer than necessary, leaving the viewer feeling restless, while the story seems to cram in as many dramatic turns as possible. Indeed, just when you think no further tragedy could befall Christina Ricci’s character one does. Movies can only use this bombardment of tragedy for so long without seeming like a soap-opera.

Additionally, I was disappointed by Potter’s depiction of the Germans, who were the only one-dimensional character’s in the story. Especially after the rich characterization of John Tuturro’s character, I was disappointed that all the Germans were regulated to stereotypical bad-guy roles.