That is the weird, but charming, adventure that happens to young Harvey, a lean, lanky, angular innocent delightfully portrayed by Gregoire Colin, the remarkable, and troubling, hero of Agnieszka Holland's "Olivier, Olivier" (1992). Lovingly told, the tale unfolds gracefully, even though the love story and other amorous interludes drag on a bit.
A search for dad and identity, the film is also an affectionate tribute not to nostalgia but to cinema (see Pascal Aubier's press conference). One encounters the most glacial of Swiss bank executives (less of a pleonasm than it seems) trying to buy every single frame the bank owner's actress-wife ever appeared in--which is exactly what happened to Hedy Lamarr and her Austrian banker-husband.
One, more importantly, bumps into a number of luminaries from the Nouvelle Vague, from actresses Bernadette Lafont and Bulle Ogier to directors like Claude Chabrol, all playing (or mocking) themselves, all--sweet, flaky, or pathetically gullible--ready to take the youngster in their bosom.
In one word, it's FUN.
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