THENEWYORKER, APRIL 18, 2022 73she is the real Amber. There’s a terrify-
ing wide shot of a lecture hall, dotted
with the glow of multiple phones—a
swarm of digital fireflies—as hardcore
images are shared. Hence Nora’s renun-
ciation of college life. But wait. She calls
in to Amber’s video channel, requesting
not that she talk dirty but that the two
of them just, you know, talk. A virtual
friendship ensues. They make each other
laugh, swap childhood photos, and wind
up keeping their laptops open, after dark,
as they fall asleep. “I don’t want to be
alone if I wake up,” Amber says.
In truth, of course, they are alone,
connected only in the ether, and you can
sense the movie mapping a world of
mass erotic availability and asking:
What’s love got to do with it? What
does it mean to fall for people with
whose flesh you are all too familiar, if
you’ve yet to meet them in the flesh? It’s
here that Audiard parts company with
Tomine; the coolness of the illustrated
narrative, laconically wistful, makes way
onscreen for a more hopeful—and more
old-fashioned—dawning of romance.
The multiple couplings, filmed in mono-
chrome and framed with care, may have
a certain classical formality, as if bronze
and marble statues had come to lusty
life, yet the emotions on display acquire
a gradual warmth, concluding in the
radiant closeup of a kiss. One person
declares to another, “I think I loved you
and I still do.” Someone else actually
swoons. Rousseau would be impressed.
Who ends up with whom in “Paris,
13th District” I will not divulge. Not that
I am persuaded by the pairings, or, at any
rate, by the prospect that they will en-
dure. Will these folks, steeped in the
transient, honestly put down their phones
and start filling out mortgage applica-
tions? No matter. The movie has pace
and lustre to spare, and the actors are
richly invested in their characters, not
hesitating to make them crabby and self-
ish, when need be, as well as sympathetic.
The standout is Merlant, who starred in
“Portrait of a Lady on Fire,” and who
stands on the brink of great things. You
can imagine François Truffaut, felled
with admiration, placing her at the heart
of his next film. Squalls and sighs of feel-
ing sweep across her face, and there’s a
fabulous scene in the office, with Nora
chatting to a customer but thinking about
Camille. Asked if a property is sunny or
not, she replies, “Yes, it’s full of light.”
For a moment, her entire being seems
luminous with the promise of happiness.
Who knew that real estate could furnish
the language of love?T
he title of the new Michael Bay
film is “Ambulance,” which, com-
ing from the man who brought us “Ar-
mageddon” (1998) and “Transformers:
Age of Extinction” (2014), feels like a bit
of a downgrade. It’s as if Wagner had
decided to follow “Götterdämmerung”
with an opera about pest control. But
Bay-watchers need not be alarmed. “Am-
bulance,” though set exclusively in Los
Angeles, with no visible interference
from another planet, is still as overblown
as a puffer fish.
The plot is, as usual, a slice of hum-
drum social realism: just an everyday tale
of a maniacal, cashmere-wearing bank
robber named Danny Sharp ( Jake Gyl-
lenhaal), who plans to steal thirty-two
million dollars. Roped in as a driver at
the last second is his brother, Will (Yahya
Abdul-Mateen II), who was adopted byDanny’s late father, a celebrated psychotic.
The heist hits a bump, the outcome being
that the Sharp boys have to flee in a hi-
jacked ambulance, with Will at the wheel.
In the back are two handy hostages: Zach
( Jackson White), who’s been shot, and
Cam (Eiza González), a tough-skinned
paramedic who is tending to his wounds.
In pursuit is what appears to be the to-
tality of the L.A.P.D., led by Captain
Monroe (Garret Dillahunt). Rather than
being burdened with anything as com-
plex as a personality, Monroe has an amus-
ingly large dog in an amusingly small car.
It’s that kind of movie.
It is also, unless you are steadfast in
your misery, fun. “Paris, 13th District”
may be antsy on the eye, but “Ambu-
lance” makes Audiard’s film look like
an Andrew Wyeth. The jitters triggered
by Bay—who, in earlier decades, would
surely have made his mark at Warner
Bros. animation, toiling on Looney
Tunes—seem to tremble unceasingly,
and intentionally, on the verge of the
ridiculous. Although there is no psy-
chological or narrative reason for the
camera to behave like a bungee jumper
with hives, the bedlam grows addictive.
During one scene, with Cam struggling
to pluck a bullet from Zach’s internal
organs, receiving surgical instructions
through a video link, and finally using
her hair clip to seal a severed artery, I
found myself simultaneously snigger-
ing and biting my nails, which is harder
than it sounds. Every Bay film is cheesy,
but this one counts as high-speed cheese,
grilled to the max by Danny’s thought-
ful advice: “Just. Drive. Fast.” NEWYORKER.COM
Richard Brody blogs about movies.THE NEW YORKER IS A REGISTERED TRADEMARK OF ADVANCE MAGAZINE PUBLISHERS INC. COPYRIGHT ©2022 CONDÉ NAST. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
VOLUME XCVIII, NO. 9, April 18, 2022. THE NEW YORKER (ISSN 0028792X) is published weekly (except for four planned combined issues, as indicated on the issue’s cover, and other com-
bined or extra issues) by Condé Nast, a division of Advance Magazine Publishers Inc. PRINCIPAL OFFICE: Condé Nast, 1 World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. Eric Gillin, chief business
officer; Lauren Kamen Macri, vice-president of sales; Rob Novick, vice-president of finance; Fabio B. Bertoni, general counsel. Condé Nast Global: Roger Lynch, chief executive officer;
Pamela Drucker Mann, global chief revenue officer and president, U.S. revenue; Anna Wintour, chief content officer; Jackie Marks, chief financial officer; Elizabeth Minshaw, chief of staff;
Sanjay Bhakta, chief product and technology officer. Periodicals postage paid at New York, NY, and at additional mailing offices. Canadian Goods and Services Tax Registration No. 123242885-RT0001.
POSTMASTER: SEND ADDRESS CHANGES TO THE NEW YORKER, P.O. Box 37617, Boone, IA 50037. FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, ADDRESS CHANGES, ADJUSTMENTS, OR BACK ISSUE
INQUIRIES: Write to The New Yorker, P.O. Box 37617, Boone, IA 50037, call (800) 825-2510, or e-mail [email protected]. Give both new and old addresses as printed on most recent
label. Subscribers: If the Post Office alerts us that your magazine is undeliverable, we have no further obligation unless we receive a corrected address within one year. If during your
subscription term or up to one year after the magazine becomes undeliverable you are dissatisfied with your subscription, you may receive a full refund on all unmailed issues. First copy
of new subscription will be mailed within four weeks after receipt of order. Address all editorial, business, and production correspondence to The New Yorker, 1 World Trade Center, New
York, NY 10007. For advertising inquiries, e-mail [email protected]. For submission guidelines, visit http://www.newyorker.com. For cover reprints, call (800) 897-8666, or e-mail
[email protected]. For permissions and reprint requests, call (212) 630-5656, or e-mail [email protected]. No part of this periodical may be reproduced without
the consent of The New Yorker. The New Yorker’s name and logo, and the various titles and headings herein, are trademarks of Advance Magazine Publishers Inc. To subscribe to other
Condé Nast magazines, visit http://www.condenast.com. Occasionally, we make our subscriber list available to carefully screened companies that offer products and services that we believe would
interest our readers. If you do not want to receive these offers and/or information, advise us at P.O. Box 37617, Boone, IA 50037, or call (800) 825-2510.
THE NEW YORKER IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE RETURN OR LOSS OF, OR FOR DAMAGE OR ANY OTHER INJURY TO, UNSOLICITED MANUSCRIPTS,
UNSOLICITED ART WORK (INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, DRAWINGS, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND TRANSPARENCIES), OR ANY OTHER UNSOLICITED
MATERIALS. THOSE SUBMITTING MANUSCRIPTS, ART WORK, OR OTHER MATERIALS FOR CONSIDERATION SHOULD NOT SEND ORIGINALS, UNLESS
SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED TO DO SO BY THE NEW YORKER IN WRITING.