Sadness seems to infuse Antoine’s family. As he questions his relationship with Adar, the ideal partner who has suggested they buy a house together, he observes those around him as they struggle with their own lives: his brother Louis, who is meant to marry the beautiful Julie, falls in love with Mathilde; his other brother Gérard, ruined by his imminent divorce from Hélène, is unable to move on; and his parents, who are stuck in a rut. Within this everyday chaos, Antoine must decide which life he wants to take on and which one he needs to escape.

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The fact that the main character is called Antoine like Truffaut’s memorable Doinel is not a coincidence: for better but especially for worse, Brice Cauvin has borrowed from the Nouvelle Vague for his second film, adapted from the novel by Stephen McCauley. However, this relatively banal ensemble piece lacks real depth and good writing – to the extent that Cauvin doesn’t seem to have felt either was necessary. L’Art de la fugue is bogged down by an astonishing level of crassness, illustrated by a plethora of platitudes and a lack of dramatic rhythm. Laurent Laffite offers some level of charm, but it’s not enough to detract from the rest of the actors, who are either mediocre or unimaginatively cast. This movie will only feed the public’s dislike for a certain kind of French cinema.