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We first see Martin, one of the title characters in the new French film Alice and Martin, as a ten-year-old boy, full of sass and life, living with his single mother. Soon, for reasons not clear to him, he's shipped off to his domineering father, a man who's barely acknowledged this son for the first ten years of his life but will spend the next ten years breaking him down.

The film skips over those ten years, though, and picks up Martin's story as he frantically runs out of his father's house. Why he runs, like many things in this art-house flick, isn't immediately apparent; but we later learn that his father died after falling down the stairs. Was Martin responsible, or did he just flee because he finally had a chance? Again, only time will tell.

Martin (Alexis Loret in his film debut) hitchhikes to his half brother Benjamin's apartment in Paris, where he meets the second half of the title, Alice (Juliette Binoche), who is Benjamin's roommate. Alice is a violinist in a local quintet (they specialize in tango music) and is initially cold to the much younger Martin. Things don't improve when Martin starts surreptitiously following her. Alice discovers it and confronts him which leads to a thawing in the relationship.

The two start hanging out in restaurants and enjoying each other's company, but Alice doesn't want it to become any more than that. "There are guys I [have sex with] and guys I like. I keep them separate," she says. Oh, if only that were true. Not more than a minute later (in movie time), Alice is waiting in Martin's dressing room to give herself up to him.

This issue of time is a critical one for the film, both in positive and negative ways. The screenplay by director Andre Techine and Gilles Taurand is purposefully elliptical. For the first hour, every scene is, at most, a couple minutes long; and most scenes skip over days, weeks, or even months of narrative time. In one instance, Martin is applying for work at a modeling agency; the next thing we see, his face is on billboards around the city. This linear jumping is true for the movie's titular relationship as well. Alice and Martin go from breaking up to making love to living together, all in a manner of 45 seconds of screen time. This is both thrilling (what will happen next?) and disorienting, as if a needle was skipping across a record, stopping for only a few seconds of different songs.

The lack of flow has the adverse effect of making Alice's motivations seem completely implausible. At first, she's a strong presence, rejecting Martin's creepy voyeurism and sticking with Benjamin. But as soon as Martin says, "I never want to see you again," she's crawling back teary-eyed. 

If that weren't startling enough, Alice then abruptly and inexplicably turns into the Steadfast Angel of Mercy. She nurses Martin through a nervous breakdown and then undertakes a mission of reconciliation to his family. The difficulties that come with that task (including meeting her old roommate Benjamin) are no match for her steely-eyed ardor. 

This is the standard male fantasy that no matter how big a lout he is, his woman will always stand by him and even sacrifice herself to solve all his problems. One of the nice things about _Girl on the Bridge_ (a summer movie I can actually recommend) is that it never bought into that dream. Unfortunately, Alice and Martin jumps into it with both feet. This is particularly depressing in that the first half-hour of the film creates this wonderful female presence. Alice is sharp, creative, and doesn't need the romantic companionship of a scarred, twenty-year-old. Why she suddenly reverses course is never clear.

On the other hand, it does allow the movie to focus solely on the radiant Juliette Binoche, and that's always a good thing. From her performances in The Unbearable Lightness of Being to Kieslowski's Blue to The English Patient, Binoche has always projected graceful, deeply interesting characters that were struggling with the world around them but had the will to rise above their circumstances. If the characters sometimes seem to be sisters of each other, Binoche has still infused each one with enough individuality to stand out. Watching Alice confront different members of Martin's family might not make much sense in the context of the story, but it's still enjoyable watching, nonetheless.

The other actors handle their parts with aplomb. Particular mention must go to Mathieu Amalric as Benjamin. His homosexual roommate and half brother provides necessary levity as well as a counter-balance to Martin's brooding character.

Director Techine, best known for the French film Wild Reeds, is content to direct Alice and Martin with few visual flourishes. There are a couple of spectacular shots of scenery--one memorable instance has Martin opening the shutters to see a blinding snowstorm--but it's mostly medium close-ups of our main characters as they struggle through their relationships. As for us, watching Alice and Martin isn't a struggle, but it's not that spectacular, either.    

J. Robert Parks