The inevitability of any man's death is not measured by his occupation, what kind of life he has lead or what kind of person he is. We all simply die. In Man on the Train, Patrice Leconte foolishly attempts to make this point the central focus of the film about twenty minutes before it ends (That it's built so steadily on a foundation of quirk transcending sincerity only makes matters worse). Rochefort is a retired French teacher who lives in a giant mansion and Hallyday is in town to rob a bank. With hotels closed in the off season, Hallyday shacks up in the aged professor's mansion. On Saturday, the octogenarian will go for a triple bypass and the sparingly…

Excellent, well paced, beautifully shot, intelligently scripted film that could have only come out of France. Without becoming sentimental, except perhaps for part of the ending, this is an engrossing tale that begins with two completely different men meeting as they leave a pharmacy. Jean Rochefort as the hermit like villager in his ramshackle mansion, is of course immaculate and convincing from the start but Johnny Hallyday as the man who has arrived by train for a few days is a revelation. The film tells of the relationship of the two men as it develops over those couple of days, in fact and in their imagination. The fact that Hallyday is in this village to meet up with fellow baddies…