Sparked by a core of writers at Cahiers Du Cinema, the French New Wave began in opposition to what they coined the "Tradition Of Quality"—slick, genteel, middlebrow productions, usually with literary roots, that had stifled the film industry following WWII. But while Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, Jacques Rivette, Eric Rohmer, Claude Chabrol, and others succeeded in changing the identity of French cinema forever, the country hasn't stopped turning out overproduced duds, nor have American distributors stopped buying them.
As if retro-fitted to epitomize the term, Jean-Paul Rappeneau's forgettable lark Bon Voyage dresses up wartime France in old-fashioned movie glamour, top-lined by ingénues past (Isabelle Adjani) and present (Virginie Ledoyen), as well as the once-ubiquitous idol Gérard Depardieu. Based on a Patrick Modiano novel, the film centers on aristocrats who don't let the German invaders keep them from privilege, but somewhere in the process of whipping up this light, decorous froth, the satirical point was lost. What remains is the sort of naïve '40s escapism made to distract theatergoers from the war outside, but it plays like the Melanie Griffith spy vehicle Shining Through: a cardboard version of a cardboard version of the real thing.
At least the stars keep things lively, especially the ageless Adjani, who at 48 has lost none of her allure; she handles her bubbly sex-kitten role with enough confidence and style to make her character's supreme narcissism seem like another charm. The labyrinthine plotting kicks off in Paris on the eve of WWII, when a vain actress (Adjani) convinces a gullible old flame (Grégori Derangère) to take the fall for her crime of passion. Two years later, they're reunited in Bordeaux, where Adjani has hooked up with government minister Depardieu, and Derangère involves himself with Ledoyen, a coquettish lab assistant. Spicing up romance with intrigue, Derangère and Ledoyen try to keep a professor's "heavy water" formula from falling into Nazi hands.
Somehow both frantic and labored, Bon Voyage moves breathlessly through farcical comedy and spy adventure, but all the busyness smacks of desperation, as Rappeneau and his cast struggle to make a bloated production seem airy. Part of the problem may be adaptation: If the screenwriters weren't tethered to Modiano's novel, they wouldn't think to stuff in so much convoluted incident. Whenever Rappeneau stays close to Adjani, the film briefly soars on her giddy self-absorption—particularly in the first hour, when it hasn't been sullied by misfortune. But ultimately, the big stars are just window dressing for an expensive nothing.