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L’ICEBERG
Written & Directed by: Dominique Abel, Fiona Gordon & Bruno Romy.
Produced by: Abel & Gordon.
Director of Photography: Sébastien Koeppel.
Edited by: Sandrine Deegen.
Music by: Jacques Luley.
Released by: First Run Features.
Language: French with English subtitles.
Country of Origin: Belgium. 84 min. Not Rated.
With: Fiona Gordon, Dominique Abel & Philippe Martz.

At closing time, methodical fast-food manager Fiona (a limber and rubbery Fiona Gordon) goes to put the sole remaining sack of French fries away and, in a freak accident, gets locked in the freezer – all night. The mishap sets in motion a ripple effect in this comedy’s accident-prone, obsessive-compulsive universe.

Back at her cookie-cutter home, Fiona’s husband, Julien (Dominique Abel), goes to bed alone. He wakes up the following morning groggy, strips down, and puts on his wife’s ill-fitting underwear – still oblivious to her absence. Driving their two children to school, he passes right by his thawing-out wife stiffly walking back home. Realizing her family didn’t even miss her, Fiona lies in bed, wallowing in a crying jag with every ounce of her body quivering. Who knew feet could be so emotive? Dejected, Fiona jumps into the back of a delivery truck (destination unknown), eventually settling down in a Brittany coastal town, where she falls in love with René the Sailor (Philippe Martz), a hulking deaf man who hasn’t said a word in 20 years.

The film almost sounds like a retread of the Italian Bread and Tulips, where an overlooked housewife starts a new life in Venice. But L’Iceberg’s marital foibles play out strictly for laughs, albeit a comedy of pain, whether from the sting of rejection, getting conked over the head, or a pratfall. Virtually without dialogue, the film refreshingly relies on and celebrates physical humor. It’s not hard to imagine this as a ’20s silent deadpan comedy, if widescreen cinematography were available back then. The three directors, all from a theater and circus background, make great use of space – you never know what will pop in or out of the frame. Sometimes scenes go on for too long and not all the jokes land. Made up of vignettes with a very loose story line, the knockabout film ends rather than culminates. However, it has been a long time since filmmakers have returned to film’s visual roots. If it weren’t for the occasional full-frontal nudity, this would appeal as family fare. Kent Turner
May 4, 2007