The Parisian neighborhood in the French film When the Cat’s Away is one of graffitied walls, struggling artists, encroaching gentrification, and multicultural experiences — a Gallic East Village, if you will. At the film’s center is Chloé, a twentysomething makeup artist who comes to realize how lonely she is when her beloved cat, Gris-Gris, disappears while in the care of the eccentric Madame Renée, the local kittysitter. The mobilization of Chloé’s neighbors to find the lost pet, particularly the old ladies with nothing else to do, is both funny and sweet; the irony is that Chloé’s loss is, in a fashion, their gain. While the narrative thread of the film is the search for the missing feline, the story is not a mystery full of clues, motives, and suspects, as you might expect. (The film’s title suggests a light, romantic romp, like that of many French films of the 1970s.) Rather, it is one of a young woman’s often frustrating self-examination, a process in which answers don’t come easily. The aimless, loose structure of While the Cat’s Away, however, stalls the film in its quest for resolution. What this movie sorely needs is some dramatic punch to fully keep your interest. As the film’s heroine, Clavel — whose looks are a little bit Isabelle Adjani, a little bit Alanis Morrisette — steadily earns your empathy for the unconnected Chloé, although the meandering storyline will cause you to want to shake some sense into her occasionally. The supporting players, especially the très amusant (and non-professional actor) Le Calm as the dotty but determined Madame Renée, make for a colorful bunch of habitants in the new Paris. Even with their presence, however, While the Cat’s Away makes for less than a whole impression, leaving you wanting something more. In other words, the cat’s not the only thing missing here.
This article appears in August 22 • 1997 (Cover).
