Far from the serious big productions and the intellectual positions, you will find Dante Desarthe, French director and proud to be unknown. Very close to Dante Desarthe, you will find his clownish double, Daniel Danite. Director still more unknown, pedant and obsessed, he's totally ignorant of the art of framing and managing a team. In comparison, Ed Wood is a genius. Daniel Danite declares himself as a "Don Quichote of the amateurs", a "James Bond of the auto fiction". It's actually more an endearing looser, a distorting mirror revealing what would be the fashionable directors if they weren't supported by the producers and if money wasn't counterbalancing their absence of imagination. Je me fais rare is a requiem for a French cinema incompetent and pedant. But does Dante Desarthe really believe what Daniel Danite says? The character seems so impossibly vain that detachment is automatic. The cinema isn't dead: this film is a measure of prevention against the death of cinema. Comical, absurd, Je me fais rare raises the flag of the wannabes and of the voluntary imperfections. Dante Desarthe would deserve a statue
seated in the middle of a street and absorbed in the contemplation of a whirligig.
