Isabelle Huppert Stars as an Industry Nobody in Marc Fitoussi’s Droll Film-Biz Comedy ‘All About Corinne’

As one of the select few French actresses who has earned definitive-article status in her homeland—referred to routinely by the public and press as La Huppert, alongside the likes of La Binoche and La Deneuve—it is immediately and amusingly jarring to see Isabelle Huppert cast as a thoroughly indefinite article. In Marc Fitoussi’s winningly droll film-biz comedy “All About Corinne,” the iconic screen legend plays a jobbing movie extra whose name nobody remembers, no matter how many headshots and résumés she desperately forces into the hands of higher-ups on set.

Casting Huppert as an industry nobody serves as the chief comedic conceit of the film, but the premise yields a surprising amount of thematic and narrative mileage. This is particularly true when paired with co-star Sandrine Kiberlain, who is cast not just as an industry somebody, but as Sandrine Kiberlain herself, acting as Huppert’s imperious and intimidating foil.

Both legendary performers send themselves up in contrasting ways throughout the production. Their perceptive, vanity-free performances lend genuine weight and emotional resonance to what is otherwise a frothy, lighthearted exercise. Such a tone is entirely to be expected from Fitoussi, a filmmaker who has established himself as a specialist in female-driven French divertissements. His notable filmography includes the uncharacteristically chipper Huppert vehicle “Copacabana” and the recent Laure Calamy box-office hit “Two Tickets to Greece.”

Given its starry, easy-breezy charms and accessibly inside-baseball humor, “All About Corinne” should experience little trouble securing robust global arthouse distribution. Its festival run began as the prestigious closing night selection at the Locarno Film Festival, subsequently continuing through high-profile gala slots in Toronto and Busan. International audiences already familiar with television hits like “Call Your Agent!” and its good-humored brand of behind-the-scenes industry satire will feel immediately at home in Fitoussi’s cinematic world.

“You might want to ask yourself why you’re still in the same place at your age,” says a colleague with casual cruelty to Corinne Maclou, the character played by Huppert. For decades, Corinne has been steadily and invisibly working at the absolute least glamorous end of the entertainment business. Now well into her sixties, she has still not given up the faint, flickering hope of true stardom. In the realm of fringe theater, at least, she has occasionally enjoyed the odd inspired moment in the spotlight; however, in feature films, she is routinely lumped together with countless other, younger extras and bit players, desperately fighting for the rare and coveted gift of a single spoken line.

This lack of mainstream success is certainly not for lack of ability. While Huppert naturally dims her formidable star light a bit for the role, she refuses to stretch so far as to play a genuinely bad actor. Instead, her character simply has never caught the elusive major break that defines a career. While Corinne’s relentless efforts to ingratiate herself with A-listers are frequently played for squirm-inducing comedy, there is also a gentle, underlying pathos to her quiet desperation, which is only further emphasized by the ironic reality of her star casting. She knows, and the audience watching knows, that she possesses Huppert-level talent. The lingering question that drives the narrative is simply: why can no one else within her fictional universe see it?

Corinne’s standard opening gambit to try and curry favor with bigger-name actresses on set is to cheerfully remark on their physical resemblance to each other, helpfully noting that they could easily pass for sisters. This particular conversational approach, however, does not get the diminutive redhead very far with the tall, beachy-haired Kiberlain when the two share a scene, or at least occupy the same frame together.

Yet, Corinne’s relentless persistence curiously coincides with a sudden, deeply felt phase of intense professional insecurity for the soignée leading lady. Kiberlain’s character is actively trying to cultivate a more grounded, down-to-earth image for herself after her agent bluntly and pithily tells her that “even Cotillard is less detached from reality.” Seizing a moment of vulnerability, the established star pityingly accepts Corinne’s CV, as well as a proffered recording of an obscure Chilean play that Corinne firmly believes represents the finest artistic hour of her entire career.

Naturally, nothing comes of the interaction at first. Months pass in obscurity until Corinne is shocked to see the news reporting that Kiberlain is taking to the prestigious Paris stage in a major production of that very same obscure play. Feeling deeply betrayed, Corinne bitterly confronts the star outside the theater. Out of a mixture of lingering resentment and shamefaced guilt, a highly conditional friendship is forged between the two women. Each actress begins using the other to achieve very different personal and professional ends: in Kiberlain, Corinne sees her long-awaited, direct connection to the upper echelon of the industry, while through Corinne, Kiberlain naively believes she can anchor herself and keep her public persona real.

Fitoussi’s script remains fizzy, witty, and lightly bitchy throughout its runtime, but it is ultimately the stars themselves—freely playing with their respective screen personae—who make the film genuinely and consistently funny. In a more conventional or obvious iteration of this story, these roles might easily be swapped. There is arguably just as much inherent comedy in Huppert playing a spiraling, faintly tragic rube as there is in Kiberlain, who is best known for her celebrated neurotic comic work, revealing the brittle and chilly hauteur of her supposed “real” self.

The film is further elevated by other good sports who turn up playing heightened, wickedly unflattering versions of themselves. Among them is Emmanuelle Bercot, who appears tetchily directing a demanding, high-budget period drama that might finally turn things around for Corinne. Diane Kruger also makes a memorable appearance, appearing hilariously glamazonian as she competes directly with Kiberlain for maximum miscasting in an absurdly gritty new Dardenne Brothers film about a humble tiler working in Liège.

If such specific, cinephile-oriented jokes raise a chuckle from the viewer, as they undoubtedly did from critics, then that viewer can consider themselves squarely within the film’s intended target audience. Striking a careful balance, Fitoussi manages to cut precisely without cutting too deep. The film is far more sweet than scathing; “All About Corinne” clearly loves its central stars far too much to ever truly draw blood. Because audiences love them just as much, that affectionate restraint ultimately proves to be just fine.