Mon Oncle

Mon Oncle ★★★★½

90

It's fitting that only the kids and the dogs freely move between the two distinct environments of Mon Oncle. One is an abandoned traditionalism, the harmony of simple life. Opening and adjusting the window won't result in an electronic buzz or a sharp creak, but a caged bird singing as the sun shines over it. Its simplicity is productive. The other is a pesky modernism, the particularity of everything being curated and designed, not to the satisfaction of the individual but the success of the object. No one cares that the fish fountain is an eyesore or that the water pitcher can bounce off the floor; its mere function and presence is all that matters. But it doesn't take much for that opulence to break at the seams, with extravagant spaces unable to contain Mr. Hulot, a caricature of clumsy idealism.

The Dachshund in the flannel coat is so adorable.