In "Monsieur Hire," by Patrice Leconte, two lonesome individuals with no other things in common are the central characters of a tragedy about loneliness and erotomania. The opening shot is of a corpse and it is about a murder. A skinny, balding middle-aged tailor named Monsieur Hire lives alone. A 22-year-old blonde who lives alone across the courtyard from Hire in the same apartment building, Alice is stunning and kind-hearted.

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On the night of the murder, witnesses saw a small guy racing toward the structure. A police detective discovers throughout his probe around the locals that no one likes Hire. The first to concur is Hire. He acknowledges that some people find him strange. He says, "Want a picture?" as a neighbour across the hall peers at him through his doorway. White powder is thrown on his impeccable black suit as he enters his courtyard.

 

Everything about Hire (Michel Blanc) is perfect: his suit, tie, shoes' polish, and his perfectly cropped hair fringe. Alice (Sandrine Bonnaire) has an inviting grin and a sunny, open face. A man can be seen monitoring her from the shadows of the flat across from her during a thunderstorm one night. Hour after hour, night after night, Hire keeps watch on her as she sleeps, wakes up, dresses, undresses, irons her clothing, and makes love to her scumbag boyfriend, Emile (Luc Thuillier).

When she learns this, what does she do? The screenplay is based on Georges Simenon's Monsieur Hire's Engagement, but it differs greatly from his Inspector Maigret police procedurals in terms of meticulously observed behaviour and details. Simenon, like Leconte in this instance, was interested by the quirks of human personality and wrote about them in exquisite, straightforward prose.

The world of Hire is in black and white, despite the colour of the movie: He keeps white mice in a little cage at his tailor business together with his suits and shirts. His complexion is so pale that he might never leave the house during the day. On the other side, Alice prefers red: She "drops" her belongings—her clothes, her lipstick, and the supermarket bag of delicious tomatoes—on the stairs so that they roll toward Hire as he opens his door. Does he run to help her? No, he just stands there staring at her. What does she hope to achieve with this scheme?

She knocks on his door again, but he doesn't respond. Since he never receives visitors and she just left her own apartment, he must know it's her. The following day, when she knocks, he offers to take her to a restaurant that is located in a train station, which may provide some insight into his thoughts. He eventually admits that he did see her and her boyfriend having a sexual encounter. And he saw something else, which, in his opinion, explains why she suddenly and unexpectedly became friendly with him.

So it might initially. But when his relationship with Alice deepens, she is moved by his proclamation of love. On the other hand, her boyfriend Emile is a crass physical type who thinks that taking her to a boxing event while he ignores her is the ideal date. Later, when he had to hurriedly sneak out of a window, he first steps in a cradle made by her hands before stepping on her shoulders. Alice is the recipient of Hire's secrets. He admits to using prostitutes frequently, and as he describes the activities at a bordello, she expresses fascination—possibly at the idea that a man like Hire could have such erotic experiences and describe them in such a sensual way.

 

A man with many secrets is Hire. The regulars who have witnessed this before praise him as he rolls strike after strike beautifully, even sideways between his legs and while wearing a blindfold, one evening while the police inspector is conducting an investigation. He receives money from the proprietor, joins the officer at the bar, downs a shot, and declares, "You see? Not all places despise me."

What is occurring between Alice and Hire? What about her sentiments for her boyfriend Emile, for that matter? This connection appears to be quite typical of a film noir; he appears to be a stupid little criminal who can only be saved by her loyalty. As far as we can tell, her dedication to him is senseless and unwarranted, and even though they have had sex in the past, she is too complex for it to be the only explanation for anything. She has never met a man who had a deeper, more passionate, and more obsessive love for her than Hire. Even Emile wouldn't be able to comprehend it.

The main grief in this movie is depicted in a late fast-motion frame that briefly slows down to reveal a detail that was dwelt on in agonisingly slow motion. The conclusion then brings everything to a close, albeit not everyone is happy with it.

French director Patrice Leconte, born in 1947, is one of the most adaptable. You might not even be aware that you're a fan of him because of the way he shifts techniques and genres from picture to film. He had his first significant success with "Monsieur Hire" (1989), which I saw at its Cannes premiere.

He also made "Ridicule" (1996), about a provincial landowner during the reign of Louis XVI, who seeks to win the favor of the court by practicing the quick wit much loved by the king; "The Widow of Saint-Pierre" (2000), about a condemned killer awaiting death on a French-Canadian island until an executioner can be imported from Paris; "Man on the Train (2002)" with Jean Rochefortand Johnny Hallyday as a suave provincial gentleman's chance encounter with a thief; and another of my Great Movies, "The Hairdresser's Husband" (1990), again starring Rochefort as a man so enraptured by a small town hairdresser that he marries her, buys her a beauty parlor, and requires only that he be allowed to sit in it, day after day, adoring her.

Leconte told me at the 2002 Toronto Film Festival, "I don't think that a filmmaker is controlling puppets. "Instead, I think a filmmaker is more like to a chemist. You combine items that are unrelated to one another to see what results. The encounter of the two performers served as the catalyst for "The Man on the Train." Look what happens when you add a few drops of Jean Rochefort and a few drops of Johnny Hallyday. It can backfire on you at times."

I had to ask him about the French New Wave, and he responded, "Well, I had zero knowledge of Truffaut. He probably passed away too young, so I never got to meet him. The fact that Truffaut loved cinema was one of the traits I admired most about him. This man liked to make movies, and I would like that to be written on his tomb."