The Truth

Tantalizing as Hirokazu Kore-eda (After the Storm; Shoplifters) working with Catherine Deneuve, Juliette Binoche, and Ethan Hawke sounds, considering the hurdles of working outside Japan and in another language for the first time, it would have been a minor miracle for The Truth to be on the same level as the master filmmaker’s recent work.

Nevertheless, much of the humanist magic that’s permeated his career is evident in the story of legendary Parisian actress Fabienne Dangeville (Deneuve) and the strained relationship with her screenwriter daughter Lumir (Binoche) — and this celebrity existence and the world she inhabits finds a surprising amount of overlap with the struggles of the flawed, lovable nobodies Kore-eda typically features.

But while his argument that famous people and average folk experience the same core interpersonal issues rings true, the path there is surprisingly bitter as Fabienne is introduced through catty answers with a journalist (Laurent Capelluto, Amour) and spends the rest of The Truth living up to that reputation.

Wielding a caustic superiority complex, she’s cold with her visiting daughter, openly critical of her mediocre American TV actor son-in-law Hank (Hawke, playing yet another artist married to a Frenchwoman), and takes her longtime assistant Luc (Alain Libolt) almost entirely for granted.

Though the perfectly-cast Deneuve is terrific at inviting scorn, her Fabienne is a bit of a chore to endure and becomes comically worse on the set of a sci-fi movie she’s shooting with rising star Manon (Manon Clavel) — who consistently proves herself truly talented, despite a stereotypically jealous Fabienne scoffing at her inventiveness and commitment to the craft.

Unwilling to admit that she’s no longer a hot young starlet, Fabienne also stands by the lies in her forthcoming memoir — whose publication is the reason for the visit from Lumir, Hank, and their daughter Charlotte (Clémentine Grenier, charming in her first role) — which drive Luc away and pushes the mother/daughter bond to its breaking point.

Or so it seems, as, following a major dust-up, Lumir steps into Luc’s role and accompanies her mother to the set — a confounding decision, but part of several explorations of the titular quality that also include the women’s troubled shared history, Fabienne wondering if she’s washed up as an actress, and the very essence of filmmaking and storytelling.

Appropriately, the scenes on the film set are The Truth’s most engrossing, with Kore-eda seemingly offering commentary on his own professional and creative experiences, and using the familiar setting as a decent inroads to the central character study.

But strong as the meditations on age and legacy are, and impressive as the chemistry between the real-life French cinema legends may be — the few times when Fabienne and Lumir are so clearly on the same page that they practically finish each other’s sentences is acting heaven — the film’s supporting aspects don’t fare as well.

Apparently just happy to work with Kore-eda, Hawke is frustratingly under-utilized. His Hank, who could have been played by anyone, is all but sidelined as the rest of the cast speaks French while he acts confused, and his interesting traits — shame stemming from alcoholism and not getting respectable acting parts — are quickly brushed aside.

The one-dimensionality extends to The Truth’s other male figures as well. Luc is loyal to a fault (but has principles!), Fabienne’s current husband Jacques (Christian Crahay) is simply there to cook meals, and her cartoonish ex-husband Pierre (Roger Van Hool, The Woman Next Door) feels like he’s from a different movie — as does the oddly Japanese-sounding score by Alexei Aigui (I Am Not Your Negro).

But even with these underdeveloped and misplaced components, the Fabienne/Lumir dynamic and its many intricacies prevails, and Kore-eda is careful not to be overly tidy in depicting their growth. In instances when it seems like Fabienne has had a mature breakthrough, she quickly reverts to her old ways, clueless of her progress, and smartly prevents the film from betraying its title.

Grade: B. Rated PG. Available to rent starting July 3 via Amazon Video, Apple, and other streaming services

(Photo: IFC Films)