Short Takes

PARIS, JE T’AIME This omnibus of 18 short films, each shot by a world-class director (Gus Van Sant, Olivier Assayas, Gurinder Chadha) with top talent (Maggie Gyllenhaal, Ludivine Sagnier, Nick Nolte) in a different Parisian neighborhood, unfolds like the priciest 48 Hour Film Project ever. If that is its limitation—few of the films would stand on their own outside the framing device—that’s also its chief pleasure. Half the fun lies in watching the filmmakers handle the constraints of setting and running time; if you don’t like one segment, another will be along in five minutes. A few of the directors use their space as a stylistic vacation, as in Wes Craven’s breezy romantic comedy set in the Père-Lachaise cemetery, ace cinematographer Christopher Doyle’s caustic consideration of beauty salons (largely an excuse to eyeball Asian models, as if an excuse were needed), or The Triplets of Belleville animator Sylvain Chomet’s fanciful live-action tribute to the much-derided mime.

More often, the filmmakers adapt their pet themes and styles to the task: Alfonso Cuaron’s one-take prowl through the Parc Monceau, Run Lola Run helmer Tom Tykwer’s speeded-up replay of a blind Parisian’s fling with budding actress Natalie Portman. The most amusing is Joel and Ethan Coen’s “Tuileries,” sinister slapstick with Steve Buscemi as a gauche outsider who becomes a punching bag waiting for Le Metro. The most moving—Isabel Coixet’s bittersweet “Bastille,” with Sergio Castellitto and Miranda Richardson as a couple whose rocky marriage undergoes an ironic transformation—is among the few to uphold the French New Wave’s sucker-punch tonal shifts. And in his closing segment, Alexander Payne (Sideways) supplies the most open love letter to the city, undercutting stereotypes of ugly Americans and contemptuous Gauls in a disarming five-minute portrait of a tourist becoming a citizen of the world. —Jim Ridley (Opens Friday at the Belcourt)

LICENSE TO WED A blitzed-looking man stumbling out of a screening of this dreadful excuse for unromantic comedy volunteered that the best part of the movie was when Robin Williams got socked in the jaw. Couldn’t agree more, but if you like your Williams spewing rat-a-tat gags and substituting stand-up for acting, you’ll love him as an obsessive priest bearing down on a dewy-eyed engaged couple (Mandy Moore and The Office’s John Krasinski) in Ken Kwapis’ high-concept, low-minded riff on the current vogue for marriage-prep classes. Mistaking sadism for satire, sight gags for physical comedy and stupidity for good nature, the movie has the Rev drive a wedge between the happy couple by spying on them, banning them from sex and equipping them with animatronic babies emitting blue poop—all designed to bring them the shocking news that weddings may be fun, but marriage is serious business. Moore, who made a great high-school meanie in The Princess Diaries and Saved!, is nothing more than a series of toothy reaction shots here. The lone saving grace in this mean-spirited rubbish, with a morsel of rote goodwill tacked on as an afterthought, is Krasinski, serenely refusing to chew scenery with the rest. —Ella Taylor (Opens Friday)