A French farce ticketed, like any of Francis Veber's directorial and/or auctorial efforts, for a Hollywood remake. The title is not a verbatim translation of Le Dîner des Cons, which would (or could) have been The Dinner of Assholes. Said dinner, in any case, is a periodic ritual of a group of upper bourgeois snoots who amuse themselves, and attempt to top one another, by each bringing to the party a prize con (variously translated in the subtitles as "idiot" and "jerk," in addition to "asshole"). One of the inner circle, having already procured the company of a man who makes matchstick replicas of the Eiffel Tower, the Concorde, etc., is unable to keep his dinner date because of a bad back, but is unable to rid himself of his chosen asshole for the remainder of the evening. The variety of ways in which Veber demonstrates the asshole to be an asshole is highly industrious and middlingly inventive, and his demonstration of how the snoot is an even bigger asshole is, with much less effort, equally persuasive. We wish them both the worst. The film's most sympathetic figure is far and away its cinematographer, Luciano Tovoli, working here with a soft, smoothing, molding light and the harmonious hues of salmon mousse, lemon sherbet, key lime pie. Few movies are so fortunate in their setting. Many are more deserving. With Thierry Lhermitte and Jacques Villeret. (1999) — Duncan Shepherd
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