Despite its blunt title, My Wife Is an Actress, and the presence of Attal and Gainsbourg in the leading roles, the actor turned writer-director claims that this not-so-funny valentine is not particularly autobiographical and shouldn't be viewed as some sort of documentary. Fine, but Attal is not above blurring the distinctions himself: The main characters here are named "Yvan" and "Charlotte," and the director/husband says he encouraged his costar to "be herself" every moment before the camera.
In any event, the fictional Yvan turns out to be a rumpled Paris sportswriter who's gained minor notoriety covering bicycle-racing and soccer -- although he never seems to go to work. The supposedly make-believe Charlotte is a loyal, unpretentious sort, but she's also a movie actress who's sufficiently famous that she can book a table at a hot restaurant when her spouse cannot. She's recognizable enough on the street that gawking fans don't hesitate to hand Yvan their cameras and demand that he take snapshots of them with their idol. Meanwhile, acquaintances blithely suggest to Yvan that his wife's job actually requires casual promiscuity.
We are, of course, being set up for the film's comic crisis. When the little irritations and second-class slights that go with being married to a celebrity start to escalate, Yvan comes apart faster than Liz Taylor's wedding vows. Long an outspoken admirer of Woody Allen, Attal begins as a hangdog nonhero and disintegrates into a Woodyesque bundle of fears and neuroses, all of them intensified by the wife's latest gig -- a studio shoot in London in which she's paired with John (Terence Stamp), a suave, older leading man with a reputation as a seducer. How long will it take before our man goes over the edge?
Attal has appeared in two dozen films (most of them not well-known in the United States). Gainsbourg is one of Europe's most popular actresses (Jane Eyre, La Buche), and Stamp has been around practically since talkies came in. So the backstage intrigues and theatrical vanities they pump into Actress likely come straight from their own experience. Predictably, the likable but self-absorbed John sees acting as a mere adjunct to his true calling -- painting -- but he doesn't hesitate to spout poetry at starry-eyed script girls. Charlotte's overwrought English director (Keith Allen) insists that she do a nude scene, then complies when she demands that the entire cast and crew also take off their clothes -- just in time for her husband to pop in for a visit. And to get a clearer view of what's life and what's art, poor Yvan even signs up for a student acting class -- with unexpected results.
Attal is not the first filmmaker to examine the perils of backstage romance, movie-set excess, and the old truth-or-fiction question about acting emotion. What sets Actress apart is the fact that an off-screen husband conceived and executed the whole project as an homage to his wife. In the end, though, there is more anxiety than loving humor in the proceedings and a noticeable lack of charm. Yvan Attal may be happily entangled in his fair Charlotte's web, but he doesn't manage to snare us.