Coco And Igor

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The second Coco Chanel film in a year takes up where the Audrey Tautou vehicle left off - Coco & Igor documents the stormy affair between the two legends but Jan Kounen's cold and detached approach leaves one, well, cold and detached.

It's Paris, 1913, and the introduction to Coco Chanel (Mouglalis) and Igor Stravinsky (Mikkelsen) sees them tormented – she is struggling out of her corset, while the Russian is worried that his controversial Rite Of Spring will cause a riot. When they meet, sparks fly - both are breaking boundaries in their respective arts, both are determined and ambitious, both are strong people, both never smile. Fast forward seven years and the exiled Igor and his family are living in a tiny apartment, so Coco offers them a home in her beautiful château outside the city, offering Igor time and space to write music. However, despite Igor's ailing wife Katarina (Morzova) moping about the house, their attraction cannot be denied...

Adapted by Chris Greenlaugh from his own novel, Coco & Igor is a love story that doesn't boast a lot love; Chanel and Stravinsky might have truly loved each other but in Jan Kounen's film it's purely a physical attraction based on the respect they have for their innovative talents. The frosty performances from Mouglalis and Mikkelson won't warm the cockles, but with her base voice and his stern face they were cast for this reason; Kounen seems to be after a rather cold and passionless story and although his leads deliver on that (nobody smiles in Coco & Igor) it's at the expense of the audience who are left distanced from the events and turned off from the main characters' 'plight'. "Forget rhythm, forget melody," says the conductor to a nervous musician before the opening of Rite of Spring - Kounen takes that mantra to the love story.

The real story belongs to Katarina: she certainly has the rootability factor with being deathly ill and her husband sleeping with her landlady and all. It's when she's front and centre that Coco & Igor becomes the moving film it should be: one particular scene sees Katarina, already exhibiting signs of the onset of consumption, listening outside Igor's study as he teaches Coco the piano - she's shot out of focus, as if she's already forgotten about. A lot of attention is given over to the look of the era and hats off to Kounen and his production department for making the film look so elegant. But what use is that when the film is this dry?