Cannes 2012: Confession of a Child of the Century – review

There is a long and noble British tradition of musicians becoming absolutely godawful actors. Gary Kemp gave it his best shot; Sting outdid himself. Pete Doherty, however, breaks the mould. His performance as a shambling yet sensitive libertine (geddit?) in Sylvie Verheyde's adaptation of the Alfred de Musset novel is catastrophic. Still, that does mean it's tonally of a piece with the rest of the film. Face as pasty as porridge, feathered Hoxton hairdo intact, Doherty plays an inexplicably minted dandy whose hobbies include super-intense philosophical debate and orgies. After he breaks up with Lily Cole, who has been playing footsie with a male friend (apparently more of a deal-breaker in a debauched society than you might imagine), he has a chance encounter with Charlotte Gainsbourg and a baby goat in a wood. They spend three months as pals, then what seems like forever as on/off lovers. Of the goat, we never learn. But you will find yourself begging for its reappearance. The shambling amateurism of Doherty's line-reading, his sixth-form fidgets, his uncertain eyes, sadly don't share the apt emotional ineptitude of, say, Ryan O'Neal in Barry Lyndon – a film Confession faintly resembles, in the same way that a crab stick resembles a Dover sole. It also brings to mind Hollyoaks, or, perhaps, an ad campaign for Hollyoaks that channels Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette . That the camerawork takes its cues from its leading man's sweaty jittering doesn't help, nor does the muffled, insufferable voiceover. In a few small scenes that feel as if they might be semi-improvised and don't involve a lot of talking, Doherty hints at his charisma. But for the time being, he'd be advised to stick to the strumming.