The son following in the famous father’s footsteps. The woman that comes between them. A rivalry played out among the sun-dappled seashores of the South of France. The end of one startling career and the burgeoning promise of another. These are the elements that make up the nobly intended biopic Renoir. Helmed with a kind of holy reverence that borders on the inert, Gilles Bourdos look at the last few months in the life of painter Pierre-Auguste and the inspiration for son Jean’s desire to enter filmmaking feels like a glacier glanced through a prism of practical hero worship. There is nothing wrong with the narrative or actors, overall, but the film as a whole fails to engage us since the catalyst for our caring - the arrival of a bohemian actress/model redhead named Andrée Heuschling - is, in truth, a psychological cipher.