My Dinner with Hervé (2018)

What makes My Dinner with Hervé linger is how it turns a tabloid-sized legend into a bruisingly human encounter, unfolding over one long, neon-lit night in Los Angeles that feels equal parts confessional, comedy-of-bad-choices, and reckoning. Peter Dinklage gives Hervé Villechaize a startling mix of swagger and fragility—funny, volatile, and aching in the quiet moments—while Jamie Dornan grounds the story as a journalist who recognizes, a little too late, the cost of the stories we tell about ourselves. Director Sacha Gervasi keeps it intimate and conversational, letting the city’s late-night glow frame a connection that’s messy, tender, and unexpectedly moving without turning anyone into a saint. It isn’t a plot-heavy crowd-pleaser and it does brush up against adult nightlife (including some lingerie/strip-club imagery), but if you’re drawn to character-driven dramas powered by great performances, it’s the kind of film that leaves you with empathy where you didn’t expect it.

My Dinner with Hervé is clearly aiming for an intimate, late-night two-hander about fame, addiction, and the messy need to be seen, with Peter Dinklage doing real work to humanize a complicated, wounded man. The problem is it often settles into a familiar TV-biopic groove, and the structure can feel like a checklist of life events rather than a story that earns its emotional peaks. It also leans heavily on the journalist’s viewpoint, so if you’re coming for a deep, centered portrait of Hervé Villechaize, you may find the focus frustratingly split. Worth a look if you like talky character dramas and can ride out uneven pacing, but if you want sharper writing or a more daring, less conventional approach, this will likely feel undercooked.