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La Moustache (France)

Continuing with my current theme of foreign horror, I add this weirdly frustrating French hors d'oeuvre to the menu. (That was pretty clever.  But also a little pretentious.  I'm sorry, it won't happen again.  I detest when people speak French when not in France or possibly Quebec.  They just do it to brag about how cultured they may or may not actually be.  Especially when they take six week online courses and deem themselves ready to teach school-children in France how to speak English.  I once met a guy who pronounced France how the French do (Frahhhh-nce). I wanted to slap him and tell him not to be such a dick. And he was a first year, first semester French student.  C'est la vie.  See? That's what I'm talking about.  Isn't that annoying? I could go on and on for days about how much that bugs me.  You are not French. You never will be.  How many French lessons have you actually had?  Not enough.  Even with seven years of French under my belt, I don't pull that kind of shit.)  And yes, that is how you spell hors d'oeuvre. I didn't even have to look it up.

From what I could interpret, which decidedly was not much, this French guy, who's name was probably Jacques or Pierre or Jean, (edit: It was Vincent. Sorry for my blatant stereotypes. I should probably cross-reference things more often, rather than relying on my faulty memory) decides one day to shave off the moustache he's had for like thirty years.  He shows his wife, who I remember was named Agnes, and her two friends, but they don't understand why he thinks he used to have a moustache.  They deny the whole thing and tell him he's just being silly; he's never had a moustache and he's crazy, etc.  It's a little jarring because you don't really realize whether the others are crazy or just Vincent. But it's also a little annoying because you start to think, "Who cares? It's just a moustache.  Grow a new one."  It wasn't even a horror movie really, because it wasn't like the moustache attacked anyone or haunted anyone.  It was more of a weak thriller that just kind of mildly amused the audience of pretentious (there's that word again) college students pretending to be progressive and avant-garde.  So a French film, basically.  (Another stereotype, I'm not a good person.)

I guess it wasn't that bad, besides the bizarre moustache-themed plot.  Vincent ends up going to Hong Kong for some weird reason, maybe to track down his lost moustache or something.  But I saw the movie for free, which is always nice in the end.  And I do like to experience French cinema because I'm a seventh year French student and I like to be assured that I do know some amount of the French language.  I'm better at listening and writing in French than I am at speaking it, so I probably should practice that more. But I would much rather just go see a movie.  The one thing about most of the French horror that I've seen is that it seems to focus more on the bizarre everyday things that may happen to a person, and I've heard of a lot of French directors of thrillers and horror who try to imitate a Hitchcockian style of direction and plot.  Which sometimes works and sometimes doesn't.  I don't understand the appeal of copying another director. I get that people love Hithcock, I do too, but wouldn't you rather carve out your own little niche than try to copy someone else? (I'm talking to you here, Shyamalan.)  I just think it would be a lot more creative to come up with your own ideas.  A lot more satisfying and rewarding, at least.  But what do I know?