A French model rescues an injured German shepherd (dog, not sheep-herder) and returns it to the grouchy old owner. This man’s sole pleasure in retirement, apart from nursing loneliness and neglecting pets, is to snoop on saucy local phone calls via Ham radio.
Through this plot development, we discover the unlikely ties that bind strangers who live on the same street. Also, the entire population of France is a seething cauldron of hot, sweaty infidelity.
How to describe this film? The third entry in a trilogy I’ll never finish. A glacier-paced common-place drama tinged with bittersweet realism and Dickensian coincidences. A study of human relationships and distractingly ancient telephones.
Because it’s slow, serious, and represented on the IMDb Top 250, I probably missed boatloads of symbolism. It’s dark, not for objectionable content, but because in some scenes you can’t make out a blasted thing.
One thing: for a movie called Red, there’s remarkably little red. Except lipstick, a thematically significant billboard (i.e., it shows up more than once), and the profound lack of blood geysers.
On that note, the soundtrack is excellent. Instead of Akira’s 80’s-tastic sci-fi techno cheese-mania, Rouge broods to symphonic orchestra and classy classical-esque.
Recommended for dog lovers, Francophiles, and overzealous lovers/law students.
99 minutes.
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