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good back-story, and good acting

I really wanted to like this movie. I feel terribly cynical trashing it, and that's why I'm giving it a middling 5. Actually, I'm giving it a 5 because there were some superb performances.

I am only giving this movie a 1 for the great cast, though I can't imagine what any of them were thinking. This movie was horrible

This story has more twists and turns than a second-rate soap opera.

Ah La France! The only country in the world where nobody respects rules especially those who makes them!Here I saw clearly Ovidie (just dressed with a red top) getting slammed by a man and then giving him a blowjob with his juice all over her face and it's not rated X! In addition, see the title and fact that the story is indeed about making a porn movie! Just because the old senile perverts in the commission found an iconic french actor (JP Leaud, the avatar of an iconic french director Truffaut) and that the movie is dubbed arthouse movie! and it's dubbed like that because it's the kind of movie in which the hypocritical elite tries to be scared: Pornography! usually it's a vice for the poor not for the well educated and born bourgeois!Well, at the end, X or not, it's still a french movie so a boring, useless, awful production... The only good point here is that Ovidie shows her talent but personnally i have never doubted her from what she did in her ... porn movies!

As I read it, this rambling film is a case study of declining potency. Jean-Pierre Leaud is surprisingly unprepossessing as a dumpy, long-haired director who's made a couple of well-received skin flicks with titles like, "I'm Hard, I Come, I Sing," but has had -- well -- director's block since 1984. It's a sad tale. And you feel sorry for the actor right away, if you remember Leaud in Truffaut's earlier films or in "Belle de Jour," a dark and sometimes menacing vibrant presence.Felt sorry for his character as well. The film makes it clear that sex is like power is like life. Leaud's 1968-style political activism is now obsolete. The new activism opposes a government that treats us "like a statistic." Its ultimate response is elective mutism, so Leaud winds up communicating with his son by reading his notes instead of having a conversation.We can see Leaud's power -- his vision, if you will -- being taken away from him. He's directing a scene in which a fake chauffeur is seduced by a 16-year-old heiress. (I think I'm getting this right. It was a little confusing.) He lays out his plan for the rest of the crew. As usual, the cameras will stay perfectly still while filming this sexual encounter. One camera for closeups of organs and faces, the other for a medium shot. The actress will not emote while the chauffeur does her. No phony moaning or wild gyrations. Leaud, the director, will take care of that part for her. Finally, he wants her to, well, swallow as she might offscreen. Those are his directorial intentions.Just before shooting starts, the Assistant Director plays some romantic music, thinking it may help the scene. "No music," says Leaud politely but firmly.The scene begins the way Leaud wants it. But Leaud is staring at the floor. The AD asks, "Aren't you going to direct it?" Leaud replies: "I've already directed it." But not to the AD's satisfaction. First the AD begins prompting the actress -- "Louder. We can't hear you." Then, little by little, the AD takes over the scene. He instructs the actress to shout and move around more. He plays the forbidden romantic music. He moves the cameras around. And the actress gets a cliché right in the face.What might have been a more or less personal scene has been turned into something that the industry grinds out like Wendy's Whoppers. And all this time, Leaud has been moping in his chair, without a whimper of protest.That scene summed it up for me in many ways. Other scenes got by my interpretive apparatus entirely. I don't know what's going on when Leaud leaves his wife. I have no idea why Leaud asks permission to build a house on a friend's land and then, after laying out a sketchy floor plan of a tiny shed, simply sits there staring at it for scene after scene. Is it "symbolic"? If so, the symbolism whizzed past me without doing any damage and went on its way. I think I DID get symbolism elsewhere. When Leaud's son and his girlfriend make love in a meadow, we don't see them "doing it" but we get a lot of shots of sheep running around all woolly and sweaty looking. Very mammalian stuff.Is the movie worth watching? Probably. Nice photography, good acting. Definitely, if you're a 50-year-old and your vision is increasingly impaired by senile cataracts.

Jacques (Jean-Pierre Léaud) is the son of a doctor, born in 1950, who had dedicated his life from 1970 to 1984 to pornographic movies. His wife committed suicide when his son Joseph (Jérémie Rénier) was five, and when he was a teenager, he became aware of the profession of his father and left home. Presently Jacques is broken and has decided to accept the invitation to direct porno movies again. Meanwhile his son, now seventeen years old, decides to approach to him. This film is so pretentious and boring that irritated me. The story is quite ridiculous, and the antagonistic philosophic behavior of Jacques is funny. A guy who dedicated his life (since twenty years old) to pornography, in the beginning just because he wanted to attract girls for having sex, worked along fourteen years with sex, is not to have an existential middle-age crisis like showed in the plot of this movie. I do not like porno movies and I am not a moralist person, but if I have to see explicit sex, at least lets see with beautiful actresses in erotic situation. I do not know the name of the 'actress' in the explicit scene, but she will certainly be marked for the rest of her career. I do not understand how such a crap was awarded in Cannes. My vote is four.Title (Brazil): 'O Pornógrafo' ('The Pornographer')

When I see the morally degrading dreck which passes for mass entertainment these days, it is astonishing that authority in Britain chooses to busy itself policing the rational pleasures of an entirely respectable section of the film-viewing public! I really think that the often abysmally low tastes of the general cinema-going and video - buying public would be a much more worthwhile subject for active disapproval.It really is as if authority considers the mindless dissipations of the many to be less threatening to society than the critical exercise, amongst relatively few, of the individual's 'organ of thought': Indeed, I really think that it must be the naked expression of an individual brain, unrestrained by any officially-approved views, which gives rise to the greatest offence. I think this is the common and accepted belief of those who see themselves as the guardians of public morality. The brain is the organ which really disgusts them. The expression of thought threatens their whole perverted moral order with irreducible truth. No bureaucrat can afford to admit first principles into his dishonest elaboration of power. The primaeval statements of raw sex can - and obviously have! - in such circumstances been used to subvert the chilly formulae of social control. It is interesting how the old counter-culture director [Leaud] is subverted in the crucial scene by the assistant director who has been foisted on him for commercial reasons: This latter is truly the shadow of a censor who only approves of mindlessness. This shadow-director unilaterally executes the commercial, therefore political, act of censoring the nominal director's more considered envisioning of the scene. He is the authentic commissar of a thought-police whose home-grown KGB is the BBFC. This unholy partnership of literally 'filthy lucre' and the mind-control which government has become - obviously more so here than in France - was obviously not something that could be exposed to public view! And yet, of course, the moral nakedness of the Public Censor's disgusting cavortings makes even those acts of sex which may be misdirected seem positively wholesome. It is the unhealthy obsessions of the moral fanatic which are offensive. Unlike Jacques - the rather Doinel-ish permanent adolescent - there is no hope in the censor's heart that the base material of humanity can be redeemed. The Censor is obviously just another aspect of the hatred and suspicion which those who can neither understand nor deal naturally with humanity express in order to control it. And in order to control humanity, bureacracies arise to diminish it by the proscription of its primaeval rights. Being deprived of the thoughts arising in the face of the porn-star Ovidie at the moment of the first important statement of humanity in this drama, we are being deliberately deprived of the sense of decency which only comes when the consequences of free-will are tolerated . Outraged decency is the prerogative of every free individual, after all, and not the sinecure of a government official! Mere 'public decency' is the enemy of the living truth of individual action. The compromising of Jacques's more inward and moral scenario - effectively an attack on two fronts, in Britain! - by a blatantly commercial motivation reveals him as the revolutionary he failed to become, back in the cultural ferment of the '60's. Our Censor has sent a very powerful signal to Britain: There are thoughts which you will not be permitted to entertain. Public indecencies of every kind are fine, just so long as these are no more than the mindless behaviour of a docile species of cattle. The thing that illegitimate authority - I mean, the kind that does not understand that it governs merely on sufferance - cannot allow is the generation of ideas by the free association of human impulses! Such inhuman power is the enemy of the human soul. It conceives as its first duty the neutering of culture. It intends that we shall not even reach a state of intelligent adolescence. It means to keep us 'in loco parentis' in perpetuity. This paternalism is triumphant and out of control in Britain. It is a life-denying perversion of responsible authority, that wants to arrest all human growth, arrogating to itself the monopoly of adulthood in a perennially childish world. One is grateful for a film from a freer and more grown-up country that has made this clear, not so much despite, but because of the Censor's profoundly immoral intervention in its distribution.