Orphée (Jean Cocteau, 1950)

Well, I might not have been too positive about the last Jean Cocteau film I reviewed, but this was a whole bunch better. Much of the visual fiesta has been preserved, with some interesting and fascinating special effects, a narrative I actually cared about and some more freaky stuff that is quite cool. So, Orphée...

Actually, I don’t have much to say about this film, I liked it, it was okay. Not brilliant, but good. One thing that got to me was why the hell does Cocteau like obnoxious characters? So the sisters were quite annoying, but here the main protagonist is a jerk, he is just insufferable. Anyway, the best part of this is the set designs, the mystery, and the awesome special effects, which are quite inventive. They work well towards the narrative, and help build the uncanny feeling this film possesses. Actually, with both Cocteau films, what he excels is the atmosphere and mystery. What is the story about? Well, I won’t bother elaborating too much about it, because it is a bit complex and I don’t think I could do justice to it. Anyway, it is a love story, of sorts, between this guy and his wife, and it gets solved because death is in love with the guy and... wait no, I’m not going to go further into it. This is going to be a short review.

You might sense that I am fairly apathetic in this review. Well, yeah, while I enjoyed this film, it wasn’t all that, and after all the stuff in the narrative, the only thing that had me really fascinated were the special effects, which were great. I don’t know, I just don’t really care too much for these films, I don’t love them, but I don’t particularly hate them either. They are just uninteresting to me, and at times it even feels as if the films aren’t even interested in themselves. So yeah, I’ve heard quite a bit of hype about Cocteau from the elite, but I just don’t buy it, there isn’t enough there for me to pick from, there aren’t any thought provoking moments, even when the film tries its best to be.

So, two Cocteau films seen, not really impressed, okay I guess, in their own ways. The cinematography and set design is great in both, and the special effects in Orphée are fantastic, and so that at least is something positive. Don’t think I’ll return to this guy in a while.

La belle et la bête (Jean Cocteau, 1946)

So, like everyone else and their mothers I saw Beauty and the Beast when I was a kid. I watched anew with more mature eyes about a year ago and, yeah, it was pretty good, although I probably need to watch it again now after having seen Jean Cocteau’s French version, which preceded the Disney one, which is cool. Cocteau does add his own style to the myth, and the mystery in the film is quite good, let’s see.

For one, I was actually more scared by the Disney version of the Beast than in this film. Well, it’s really a no-brainer, in the Disney film he moves and roars like a lion, and is seriously threatening. In this, it’s some guy in a suit speaking not so threatening polite French. Ok, so that element was gone, but what was cool was the absurdity of his castle, with live hands holding the candles in the corridors and faces in the walls, but they never speak, they are just silent and watch, which is quite freaky. The atmospheric cinematography is great, and creates the perfect mood for this film, and again, black and white rules. The story is very much the same that as the Disney version, except of course that it doesn’t have a happy ending. Sorry to spoil that for you, but hey, this is a French film, what else do you expect? The ending is quite neat; I am going to have to watch that again soon. Anyway, there are some new characters; Beauty (yes, that’s her name, what pretentious father would call his daughter this?) has some truly obnoxious and annoying sisters, which I suppose are supposed to be funny, but never in such a way as Max Ophüls could pull this sort of stuff off. They are a weak spot of the film, but even more annoyingly so, they are important to the narrative, so one couldn’t have cut them out, damn! Anyway, the film is pretty short so there wouldn’t have been much leeway for cutting it down anyway.

Jean Cocteau said that he never considered himself a filmmaker, and I believe him, because this film has many narrative flaws, most prominently; why the hell does Beauty end up loving the Beast. It is never properly explored, I guess it is because at some point he proves he loves her, but is that really enough? Okay, I admit that I am the sort of guy who never puts too much importance on narrative, but what the hell, this is a pretty damn well known story, and the way the film presents itself here, you would think there was more room for the exploration of the relationship between the Beauty and the Beast. Hell, they should just have cut out those obnoxious sisters and focused on that. Anyway, what is interesting is that the character that is the most similar, strikingly so, to the same character in the Disney film is the human guy who loves Beauty. In the Disney film he was pretty cartoonish, but too my astonishment, he is exactly the same in this French black and white art film as he was in the Disney version. Well, art never grows old, or so it is to be believed, so whatever, let’s just ignore the Disney version for now, and focus on the Jean Cocteau version in its own right. Wait, this review is over. Oh Well.

Sure, the cinematography, atmosphere and set design was both beautiful and inspired, but overall, the visual strengths of this film did not convince me that much. Actually, the Disney version was better, in just so many ways. I particularly despised those sisters, who made the stepsisters from Cinderella seem respectable. Check it out for something freaky, or if you are already into Jean Cocteau, I certainly didn’t get it.

Madame de... (Max Ophüls, 1953)

Okay, what the hell? Is this some sort of tease, does Max Ophüls want me to give up all hope for contemporary cinema? Why doesn’t filmmakers make films like this anymore, this is as close you can get to pure cinema and still have a strong narrative intact. This is epic, visionary, beautiful, poignant, and all other words that mean some sort of euphoria. This film sums up everything Max Ophül’s cinema is about, and at the same time avoids any form of pretentiousness.

This is a story about some earrings, belonging to Madame de, given to her by her husband as a wedding present, but she doesn’t care too much for them, and decide to pawn them off. Then all goes to hell. That is as much as I am about to say about the story, but, what is important here is the brilliant progression of the story, which at the end concludes everything perfectly. This film captures life, in so many ways, that one is inclined to feel that there couldn’t be anything more beyond the film. Peoples relationship with each other, the world around them and objects is studied carefully, and the setting is perfect for this, the typical turn of the century upper-class setting that Ophüls loved so much. Lavish sets and costumes are part of this film, and they have never looked better in the beautiful black and white cinematography, damn colour! But, I’ve already talked too much about the cinematography of Ophüls, already in two reviews, so why continue the same discussion? Well, here he actually takes it to another level! The opening take is a gorgeous tracking shot, and this style continues throughout the whole film, it is so damn impressive, I have a loss of words for the excitement I feel when watching an Ophüls film.

The cast is great, particularly the actress playing Madame de and her husband are very enjoyable to watch. The relationship between the two characters is built up throughout the whole film, and setting them in the upper-class environment is at times hilarious, for example when the wife pretends she has lost her earrings, and the husband, in all his military clothing, goes around an opera looking for them, creating mass confusion. The same sardonic humour and cynicism from La Ronde returns gloriously in this film, and at times the parody and hypocrisy of the upper-class is hilarious. This criticism, though, isn’t overbearing but sharp and witty. Criticism of the upper-class too often becomes bitter and boring, while this film just has a good laugh at the lot of them. Comedy done well, something we don’t see too often. Anyway, this is Max Ophül’s best film, without a doubt. It has all the subtle gestures and visionary camerawork that has become so normal in his films, but while La Ronde was damn impressive in itself, Ophüls actually had the guts to take that further and improve his style, and it is gloriously realised in this film.

Yeah, I know I am hyping this film a lot, but it is THAT good, and deserves all the praise it can get. It is the height of Ophüls power, and one of his last films. I think he made two more films, but a large part of his work hasn’t been released on DVD, so damn if I know how good they actually are. If they are released, though, on DVD, I will definitely get them, because this director demands you explore his work. Fantastic!

Le plaisir (Max Ophüls, 1952)

So, the second of Ophüls French escapades, Le plaisir was made two years after La Ronde, and is in many ways in the same spirit, dealing with many of the same themes, although, I felt, it didn’t quite try to reach as far as La Ronde. But it is pretty much as delightful as La Ronde, and the same style works fine for a second time, hell, I could watch a hundred of these films and not get bored, Ophül’s style is impeccable.

Le plaisir follows in many ways in the footsteps of La Ronde. It has that fragmented storytelling and also the same stylistics as La Ronde. Le plaisir, though, is not connected in such a way as La Ronde, but is rather three different short films connected together. Well, the first and third are fairly short, the middle one is almost as long as a feature, so it is more like a sandwich, in a weird way. These stories are slightly less cynical than the ones from La Ronde, and are much more heartfelt, being uplifting instead of dark and sardonic. But much of the humour has been kept, and the distanced camera is still apparent. The first is about an old man who puts on a mask so he can go out to dance and party with the beautiful and sophisticated, the second is about a group of prostitutes who take a trip out to the country, and the third is about a painter. Particularly enjoyable in the second is the scenes where the brothel has been closed without warning, and all the men walk around at night without knowing what to do, now that the local “entertainment” is gone, for the night anyway, and the streets almost burst out into fighting. This story is the strongest, although the other two are really enjoyable, they are short, the first being the best of the shorter ones, and is one of the finest short films I’ve seen.

Ophüls stretches his imagination and vision even further here, and some of the camerawork is simply astonishing, particularly in the first act. The black and white, again, looks gorgeous, and the country side part of the second act are particularly beautiful, filled with peace and serenity, in contrast to the dark tones of the city. The Brechtian overtones are here again, but hey, what else do you expect from a filmmaker who worked as a director in theatre in Germany during the 1920’s? It is not as apparent here as in La Ronde, but the traces are still there, particularly the style and setting which mirrors much of the one in Brecht’s plays. Overall though, I didn’t find this as interesting or coherent as La Ronde. It was still very enjoyable, and shared many of the same strengths as La Ronde, but the fractured style didn’t work as well for me as in the previously mentioned film. Then again, you can’t really go wrong with Ophüls, and this is another testament to his incredible visual talent. The long takes are, perhaps, even more impressive here than in La Ronde, and more visionary and epic. The first act is just brilliant cinema.

Check it out, but La Ronde is better, in my opinion, and a better starting point. Well, Letter from an Unknown Woman is probably the best starting point if you want to check out Ophüls, but hell, all his films are great!

La Ronde (Max Opüls, 1950)

I’ve been very curious about the French work of Max Ophüls, after he left Hollywood. He did make some fine films in the states, particularly Letter from an Unknown Woman, but I imagined, and I was right, that he would have even more liberties with the films he made in France, outside the constraints of the censor. Criterion released three of the films Ophüls made in France, and this was the first one of those releases. And, yeah, it’s great.

The film opens with a scene that is absurdly Brechtian, narrated by the wonderful Anton Walbrook as he walks through different sets, very cinematically, and talking about the story that is about to unfold. Brechtian cinema can be both great and horrible, depending on how it is handled, and here it is extraordinary. Ophül’s use of Brechtian techniques in his American films was already apparent, but quite a bit more subtle. These techniques are clearer in La Ronde, but the way they from the start take centre-stage is great, and it doesn’t become an overburden, as it so often is inclined to. Anyway, the film doesn’t have a story of sorts, rather, let me explain this, it follows people as they sleep with each other. The film starts out with a prostitute, who sleeps with a soldier, we then follow him, he sleeps with some girl, we then follow her and so on it goes, until the last person sleeps with the prostitute from the beginning of the film. It is a nice tool the film uses to cover a lot of ground, about several different people and levels of society. Ophüls, of course, loves to explore the upper class and all its facets, and while he is quite critical of these people, he also manages to remain coldly distanced. My favourite part is some rich brat teenager who sleeps with the maid, it is actually a hilarious and sardonic scene when he tries to court her.

The more I watch these kinds of films, the more I course the fact that they invented colour film, because the crisp black and white in this looks absolutely gorgeous. Ophül’s sense of pacing and framing is spot on here, and his long takes, well, the opening scene I earlier described was just one long take, are fantastic, and he was an important inspiration for Stanley Kubrick, and it shows. But this is more than technical showings, because every shot in Ophül’s films are very significant, Letter from and Unknown Woman has so many layers, subtexts and clever camerawork it is insanely complex. I didn’t get as much time to look deeply into La Ronde, but believe me, this is even more complex, and believe me when I say that I was able to write a 2,500 word essay one just one 10-minute scene from Letter From an Unknown Woman, and with ease. So yeah, there is a lot to pick up in his films. Ophüls was one of those great German Hollywood directors who perfected his craft in Hollywood after escaping from Nazi Germany. But I believe, though all the frustration he had with the Hollywood system, that he gained a lot from it. I allowed him, or rather forced him, to make his works more subtle, apply crafty subtext, and such. As a director it brought him to maturity in many ways, although the road might have been arduous.

Great film, fantastic, I love the style, the setting, the narrative, the Brechtian techniques, and the wonderful cinematography. It is really a step further stylistically, but Ophüls avoids the traps of style, and creates a deeply profound film about life in so many ways. Style can be so many things, and is usually overexposed and overused by directors, particularly today, but Ophüls doesn’t miss his mark, and this is a masterpiece.

Le Boucher (Claude Chabrol, 1970)

Claude Chabrol is known as the French Hitchcock. In Le Boucher this is probably more apparent than ever. There are many elements at use here that are similar to Hitchcock, but at the same time, Chabrol manages to make the film and style his own, transcending what Hitchcock did. It is difficult to say whether Chabrol is better than Hitchcock or not, I would say that they are both very interesting, and have their different strengths. It is a bit unfair to compare Chabrol to Hitchcock so much, because it never seems like he is plagiarising Hitchcock in any way, and his films are quite unique to him.

The setting is a small town out in the country, a fitting scene for these kinds of film, and indeed, Hitchcock used this himself on occasions. One thing I can now say, after having watched this film, is that Chabrol is a clever director. In good films, it is like having a conversation with the director, discussing, arguing, and so forth. I also felt this in Le Boucher, and my conversation with Chabrol was interesting indeed. Chabrol was good at subverting my expectations, and then making me happy afterwards with some reveal. Actually, this is a film that will make you ask questions in your head, but most importantly, it allows you to delve deeper into the characters, and analyse and question their actions and motives. The atmosphere in this film is probably the most unnerving that I have seen in a Chabrol film. While much of this is due to the great camerawork, I should also mention the absolutely fantastic and chilling score that accompanies the film. The sound design is also impeccable, creating an eerie mood throughout the film. The film also has one of the greatest reveals of a dead body, a moment that truly stands out in all of the great scenes from the film. Something else that Chabrol also does very well is changing the perspectives of the audience. We are never left alone, and the film perks at our suspicions and beliefs. This makes the film far more interesting than most other similar films, but then again, this isn’t like any murder film you’ll usually watch.

At the heart of the film, though, is the relationship developing between the two lead characters. Chabrol uses the same actors as before, but I don’t mind really, and they usually do such a good job that it doesn’t matter anyway. The crime going on in the small town is a good backdrop for the relationship, and it exposes the characters to some degree. Bergman tried something similar with using war and animal slaughter in Skammen and In Passion respectively, and for him it worked better in the later than the former. It works quite well for Chabrol here, and it is a technique that can be effective and hasn’t been utilized by filmmakers enough in modern times. The characters are deep enough to keep one interested, and even in its quiet moments, the film feels very intense, much due to the great sound design. There is always something unnerving about this film, and this is one of its greatest strengths. The plot itself isn’t that interesting, but it’s not supposed to be. Some modern day viewers, who are used to the plot being the most important thing in film, will probably be put back by this, but it is by no means unusual for European films, particularly during this era. I like it when plot becomes just a backdrop, because it is so simple to make up plot. The hard thing for filmmakers is to make their films something beyond plot, and I feel that Chabrol is quite successful in his attempt here.

An excellent film by Chabrol, it is unnerving, has great sub-text and develops its characters well throughout the film. The atmosphere and music is impeccable, and goes a long way to making the film even more interesting. The audience almost feels that it is at no time safe, and credit to Chabrol; he does a good job at achieving this. Chabrol is a very interesting director indeed.

Que la bête meure (Claude Chabrol, 1969)

With a great deal of unwatched DVD’s on my shelf it becomes harder and harder to choose what I want to watch. It feels great to have so much opportunity right in front of me, while at the same time it gets harder every time to choose what to watch, almost to the point where I don’t watch anything at all. The Chabrol collection I have seems like a mountain impossible to climb, still after watching this I’ve got 10 more films by him. It’s exiting though, and a great treat to be able to be emerged so deep into a director’s canon.

Visual storytelling has so far been Chabrol’s greatest strength, but with Que la bête meure we see a different side of Chabrol. While he had an interesting take on the world and a bit morbid fascination with relationships. Here though he leans less on the visuals, and the centre of the film becomes the mind of the protagonist, who goes through some radical changes and can be questioned by his motives. A car accident kills a young boy, the owner of the car drives away and the father seeks his revenge. It’s a simple revenge premise where he searches for the man who killed his son. As the narrative develops, though, it gets more complicated. There is also a lot we could ask the protagonist, he constantly writes in his diary with a red pen about how he is going to find and kill the person responsible, but in a lot of ways he is quite hesitant to do anything. When he finally discovers the person who did it, he takes an awfully long time to do what he meant to do. One could say he is bidding his time, but I find it more interesting to think that he actually is not able to do it, despite all the hate he has conjured in his mind. I don’t want to go too deep into the story, but safe to say there is a lot to pick up, lots of ways to analyze the protagonist and his actions.

While the film starts off as a mystery, it soon fades into a psychological drama and romance. But that’s okay, I see now why Chabrol is compared to Hitchcock, he implements a lot of the same narrative ideas as Hitchcock. Chabrol is still unique though, he uses his own brand of directing and pacing, and at times the characters in his films are a bit more dark and morbid than those in Hitchcock films. Chabrol seems to be fascinated with the slightly offbeat characters or situations, and through this creates a marvellous tension within the film. While I do like Que la bête meure a lot, I feel that compared to the two previous films I’ve seen by Chabrol it doesn’t hold up as well. What made those two films so great for me was the visual depiction in the film. While there certainly is something of that in here, it’s not as strong or prominent, rather leaning on a fairly simple narrative structure and not strengthening the film with visuals like the two previous films. What the film does do very well though is create tension. Not just thriller tension, but also social tension, some scenes where a family is gathered is wonderful and observational. While the protagonist lets us pose many interesting questions, a couple of the other characters are not as interesting, and at times feel too one-dimensional. I do think though in the case of the antagonist, this was Chabrol’s intension, but I’m not sure exactly why.

Que la bête meure is vintage Chabrol, and although it is lesser of the last films I’ve seen by him, it still holds up as a unique and rich experience. It’s amazing to think of how many good films Chabrol made in such a short period of time, and I’m quite looking forward to digging deeper.

Rififi (Jules Dassin, 1955)

Crime fascinates us, because it operates with other parameters and rules compared to our normal boring everyday lives. There are wise talking men and beautiful women, intrigue and danger. Some of the great Hollywood legends, such as Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro and Paul Newman literally made their careers playing these types. The genre is interesting because when you put characters in such settings it allows developing themes about morality and friendship. Some of the best and most successful Hollywood classics were noirs, shot in stark black and white and covered with alcohol and cigarettes. I’ve always associated the noir genre with Hollywood, so it was interesting to take a look at this film, a noir made in France.

Rififi as a heist movie deals with fairly common themes and ideas in the genre, such as how the robbers risk anything for the heist, how their foolishness might lead to their demise. What makes Rififi unique from a lot of other similar films is its marvellous directing and characters. A lot of the narrative is somewhat foreseeable, experienced viewers will know when something important is going to happen or any plot twist. But it doesn’t matter, because Rififi is told in such a compelling manner that all these prejudices are left out. Even though a lot of American noirs were quite dark, this is one of the darkest noirs I’ve seen, dwelling deep into greed and evil in people. This is excellently juxtaposed with the more innocent lives of the main characters, like the young father who lives a perfectly normal life with his wife and child. The atmosphere created by the directing works well towards this goal, filming the characters at home slightly mundane, while using much more interesting and intense techniques in scenes that deal with their criminal lives. The process in which they go through to plan their heist is also very well executed, giving us a close look at them work, but it never gets boring or out of hand. The characters themselves are well built, but the best is probably the main character Tony, played by Jean Servais, is very layered; violent but at the same time gentle to his friends.

The best scene is the one that is most famous, and rightly so. The heist itself, executed over thirty minutes screen time with no dialogue or music, just the background sounds. This together with the excellent camera play creates an unyielding tension and atmosphere, I was quite nervous towards the end of the heist. There is more to the film than just the heist, though, and much of the film works out as a dramatic character play. The ending sequence is also riveting, and manages at the end to both question the audience and make a statement. In many ways the film plays out as any of the big noir films of the Hollywood golden era, but it does differ in several ways. While technically not on-par with some of the best Hollywood films, Rififi manages through its simplicity to achieve some truly poignant shots, such as the ending shot, or some of the shots later in the film. Rififi also plays a bit more with the innocent/dark themes than Hollywood films, who at the time tended to just lean towards the one or the other. And that’s what I think Rififi is so remembered for, not just its excellent directing, but its fearlessness.

I thoroughly enjoyed Rififi, its character plot is interesting and layered, the themes are well established and developed, and the directing is spotless, simple and to the point, but works extremely well. It is quite dark, but it suits the themes and the genre. I do love noirs though, and I will look out for more interesting foreign noirs if there are any worth seeing.

Le Diable probablement (Robert Bresson, 1977)

Interestingly, last time I discussed Bresson I compared how he was the opposite of Hollywood like Antonioni, but with a different approach to filmmaking. I now watched Le Diable probablement, which actually is very similar to Bresson’s films, not just in a formal approach, but also in a narrative approach. Bresson, obviously, will always remain extremely unique, but it was quite interesting to see the similarities between this film and the two films L’Avventura (1960) and L’Eclisse (1962) by Antonioni. I think I will look at the differences and similarities in these works, because I think it is worthy of mention.

In his famous films, Antonioni dealt with existentialism and a detached touch with the modern world. Le Diable probablement does exactly the same thing. There are also several thematic links between these films, and how it approaches existentialism. The protagonist in Le Diable probablement is disconnected to society; he walks around trying to find a meaning with his existence, but finds only emptiness in the world and people around him. Several attempts are made to find meaning, through church, helping others, and psychoanalysis. In the end, he decides to take his own life. This might seem like a huge spoiler for people who haven’t seen the film, but this fact is actually revealed in the very first minute of the film, which makes his journey throughout the film seem even more desperate. The only area he finds some peace is his sexual relationship to women, quite similar to the Monica Vitti characters in Antonioni’s films. However, he never manages to fully connect to these people, or his friends, and is constantly alienated to other people, particularly when one he is trying to help double-crosses him. This is one of the strong points of the film; the world depicted here by Bresson is probably one of the coldest and harshest I’ve seen in a film, and do give the audience a strong feeling of why the character feels so alienated towards it. This is something Bresson often does, but this is probably the time it has had its most significant role, and he also uses this to take a look at the developing modern society.

This idea of the modern world is an area we can both contrast and compare to Antonioni. It’s true that much of what is depicted in his films is his take on the modern world, the growing use of machinery and the cold use of architecture. But in Bresson’s film it is taken to a new level I feel. Many of the characters are quite negative, materialistic and cold towards the problems of the protagonist. The ending itself is quite stark, and really brings forth how Bresson feels about humans. This is of course achieved with Bresson’s familiar technique, which even though it has gone to colour, is still very recognizable. His spare style exposes the world in a very different way than most other filmmakers, and this works very well with the ideas of the films. The protagonist’s face is void of expression, which makes his perception of the world even more powerful to the audience. The feel of the world is mechanic, which I think is fairly similar to Antonioni’s films, however, I always felt his black and white cinematography supported this in a better way. Then again, Le Diable probablement isn’t particularly beautifully shot as Antonioni’s films, much of this due to the spare style of Bresson, which I preferred in black and white.

This was an interesting film to watch, but then again, so are most Bresson films. It’s not his best, but far from his worst, and will stand as a strong film on alienation and detachment. I still to some degree prefer Antonioni’s films, but this is an interesting different look at it.

La Femme infidèle (Claude Chabrol, 1969)

Paranoia is probably one of the funniest and most interesting things you can put into cinema, but it is also great if that paranoia is unjustified. That is why it’s always such a disappointment when some character’s paranoia turns out to be correct. Please tell me if you weren’t disappointed at the end of Rear Window (Alfred Hitchcock, 1954). We like it when the protagonist is wrong, not when he/she is right. We love it even more when we realize the truth before the character. Ambiguity is also great in this kind of context, and is one of the things that made Blow-Up (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1966) such a great film. Imagine in some film some guy believes someone or something for some reason is stalking him, but it then turns out his suspicion was completely unjustified… for some reason. That would be interesting, I find, in most cases, that paranoia is unjustified; it’s in some ways almost a psychological trauma.

So here we have La Femme infidèle, a film where some guy believes his wife is being unfaithful to him. Michel Bouquet plays this husband, Charles. He was one of the bad guys in La Route de Corinthe, although he played on the good guys’ team. He was one of my favourite characters from that film, and he does a really good job in this more dramatic film. So the plot in many ways leaves a bit to be desired, it’s not really a twist-turner. What it is though is a carefully observed character drama about a couple, and on this level it is a bit more interesting than most similar film. Again, as in Les Biches, one of the underlying strengths of the film is the visual storytelling, something I already can tell Chabrol is very good at. The husband’s paranoia about his wife is perfectly conveyed through visual moments, looks he gives her, the way the camera looks at her. It is very hard to pull off this kind of storytelling, which is why most filmmakers rely on symbolism and dialogue. And it is not just that it is a visual film, but the way Chabrol uses his sparse visuals to tell the story. There are perfectly good visual films, such as Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979), but there the visuals are used for a different purpose than in this film. Here I can see why people compare Chabrol to Hitchcock, we can see similar techniques using the eye line of the characters in films such as Notorious (1946) and Vertigo (1958). Although Hitchcock in many more ways used it to build up tension, here it is more used to explain the psychology of the characters.

It is interesting to see with these Claude Chabrol films how he is really starting to create a language of his own. The films are quite unique to those of other filmmakers, but these two more serious films that I’ve seen by Chabrol are quite similar in their language. He uses a lot of techniques and storytelling devices that surely will be familiar to filmgoers, but what is interesting is how he turns these familiarities into his own, and uses them for his own purpose, like the Hitchcock example I mentioned. And while the two films are similar in many ways, they still aren’t too similar, that they lead to the feeling of watching something in repeat, a trap several directors fall into. His style perseveres, but the content and context of the films are quite different, and for this they work very well being seen right after each other. That said, I thought this was a slightly weaker and less memorable film than Les Biches, maybe that’s because I saw Les Biches first, but I still felt there was something missing in this compared to the former. While there is a lot of quality in this film, I throughout watching it felt there was a bit left to be desired, something that could punctuate the film and make it much better, but it never came. It is still a very interesting piece, there’s enough depth to keep you interested to the end, and themes are explored in a nice but not expositional way, which is always good. There is a lot of underlying themes in this, the characters twist and turn like in few other films, and on the whole the experience of the film left me feeling slightly richer, which I always believe is one of the best and most profound things about films, or art in general.

I still haven’t watched that many Chabrol film, but I believe I can say with sufficient accuracy that this is an archetypal film by him, and thus if you are interested in his cinema I highly recommend this. I still prefer Les Biches, but the film still stands on its own, and is a really good and interesting psychological drama.

Les Biches (Claude Chabrol, 1968)

My previous run in with Chabrol left me a bit clueless as to what kind of director he is. La Route de Corinthe didn’t leave me particularly impressed, but then I was reminded that it was far from any of Chabrol’s better films, and considering I still had 15 unwatched films by him, I continued my chronological journey through his canon. The next film in line is Les Biches, which actually means The Doves, but I immediately thought it meant The Bitches, and after watching the film that would actually have been a more appropriate title. Anyway…

Chabrol is known as the French equivalent of Hitchcock, although in this film that is not too apparent. This is a character drama, and one of the better I’ve seen. One of the strongest points about the film is that it is a very visual film, there is not much dialogue, but the characters are still well rounded and the narrative seems quite clear. Their psychological state is almost effortlessly conveyed, and this is the thing that makes the film superb in my opinion. The drama is centred on two women who are in a relationship, although their sexuality remains fairly ambiguous. The slightly older woman, Frédérique, picks up a young woman, Why (yes, her name is Why) from the streets who is poor and makes a living by drawing on the streets. Frédérique is wealthy and brings her to a house she owns in the country, with servants and two gentlemen who I was never sure what exactly were there for, but for the purpose of the film itself served as comic relief. Actually, they work quite well as comic relief, and have a couple of funny scenes. Not stupid funny, like in La Route de Corinthe, but small touches, nice little visual moments, and at the same time never really takes away focus from the core of the film. The tension and core of the film is built up when the two women start to despise each other, and leads into a strong love and hate relationship where they attempt to hurt each other. The foil for this is Paul, a charming architect, who engages with both women.

I’ve read several people describing this as a love triangle, but I don’t agree with this position. The story is about the two women, the guy is simply a tool for them to spite each other. He is a shallow character, and has throughout the film no idea what he is actually part of. He happily goes on in the narrative, naïve of the battle of mind between the two women. But the film in its wonderful way never spell anything out, and it is open to interpretation whether they love each other or they love him, or one loves the other but the other loves the guy. Another reason why I DON’T believe this is a love triangle, is because the film spends so much time exploring the two female leads, but spends so very little time with Paul, it feels at times as if he is a prop, and I feel this is a fairly accurate description of his character. He might not be very interesting, but surely evokes something interesting in the two women. This whole conflict is portrayed through nice little visual moments. There is a scene where Frédérique has some guests over for poker. This is the start of the tension between the characters, but nothing is ever said, only subtle little touches and following the eyes of the characters. There are several such scenes, and they work really well, and one scene in particular sticks with me, but its not interesting discussing it here.

Now we come to the part of the review (or whatever this is) where we make formulaic comments on cinematography, acting and so forth, so let’s just get it over with. The cinematography is beautiful and simple, is accompanied by similarly beautiful music. The acting on the two leads is superb, the rest of the cast remains a bit anonymous, but that’s okay, considering they’re not that interesting. The directing has flair, is precise and visual, in other words, brilliant. Actually, this film seem much more formative than most Nouvelle Vague films I’ve seen, but I think this might have something to do with it being released fairly late in the 60’s. The editing works, the films pace really lends to the whole feel, its fairly slow but lends a hypnotic sense to the film.

Les Biches was a nice watch, foremost, visual storytelling, which is always nice. I’ve got a feeling this is a stronger hint to what Claude Chabrol has to offer compared to La Route de Corinthe. I don’t quite see why people compare him to Hitchcock, but I guess that will come when I see more of his films, I’ve still got 14 more on my shelf. Anyway, great film, really recommend it, at times incredible.

Un condamnè à mort s’est èchappè ou Le vent souffle où il veut (Robert Bresson, 1956)

Some films are popularly known by their English title, some are known by the original title. This film, A Man Escaped in English, is know best by that title, and for good reasons, because the original title, as you can see, is very long and a pain to remember, so I am going to refer to it as A Man Escaped from now on. Robert Bresson is a French director whose influence can be debated, but regardless was a big influence on the Nouvelle Vague, and in some of his films it shows.

Bresson’s films are radically different from other films at the time, particularly Hollywood films. While in Antonioni we find that the narrative of the film is what separates him the most from Hollywood (although that is a crude analysis), this is not true all the time for Bresson. This is a story that easily could have been made into a Hollywood film; in fact, there have been several types of this kind of movie from Hollywood, most notably The Great Escape (John Sturges, 1963) and Escape from Alcatraz (Don Siegel, 1979). The difference lies in what way that Bresson tells the narrative. Bresson’s key mark is minimalism. The actors and the camera don’t emote. The opening credit tells us this is a true story, and in many ways this film is similar to Procès de Jeanne d’Arc (Robert Bresson, 1962), which like this film attempts at tell a historical event in an utmost documentary fashion, but documentary is sort of the wrong word here. Rather, Bresson attempts to make it as “real” as possible, by not having his actors or the lens interfere. The story is simply retold, not interpreted. It is an attempt at a simple and accurate representation of what happened. The reason the actors don’t emote because we are supposed to remain detached and objective towards what happens on screen. Similarly, the act of using the camera to change our perspective or tell us what to think has been omitted, thus we remain “objective”. Some say that Bresson’s directing technique is too cold, and indeed, it is cold. However, his films are not stripped of emotion. Just because the filmmaker isn’t telling us what to feel, it doesn’t mean we can’t connect or feel anything about the film. This is where the genius of Bresson lies, the emotion is actually swelling within the film, but it hides behind layers, and if you take the time to invest in his films, they are some of the most rewarding in cinema. Similarly here, it is in many ways a thriller. Bresson could have used many classic techniques, but instead uses his own as a matter of fact pace and still manages to create something very compelling.

Bresson does have an eye for detail, the process the protagonist goes through to escape is carefully documented and filmed, how he creates all his tools, how he plans to escape. But also his daily life, similar sets and actions are repeated over and over here, like when the prisoners go to get a wash. This sense of routine creates several things, but familiarity is one of them. Soon the audience will notice when something is not right, when something is amiss. Bresson is great at creating tension, when the protagonist is working in his cell trying to break his door with as little noise as possible, the footsteps of guards and doors being unlocked can always be heard in the distance. The film spends most of the time in the small cell, and again, what makes it all interesting is the details Bresson puts in there, the cell is examined to every corner, and although the actions performed by the protagonist are repetitive, it is still interesting and compelling to see whether he manages to make his plan to escape succeed. We are never allowed to see anything beyond the protagonist, but we do not necessarily share his perspective. However, this technique does give us the feeling of being closed off, unable to escape. As the acting is so strained, we are never allowed to completely sympathise with him, in fact, there are many times we are angry or don’t agree with him. Again, we want him to escape, because we want to escape. I do think this is a great movie, the only qualm I had with it was that while the visuals were really good, I feel Bresson could have left out some of the voice-over by the protagonist. Some of it is good and essential, but a lot of it could have been cut or edited.

A Man Escaped is a classic in the Bresson catalogue, it is a shining example of how one can tell such a narrative in a radically different way and still be effecting, the atmosphere of the prison is haunting at times, and the use of Mozart’s music works really well. A film that I will think about long after watching it.

La Route de Corinthe (Claude Chabrol, 1967)

So now two box sets containing Claude Chabrol are available, one with eight films, the other with six. I wanted to watch these in chronological order, so I started with his earliest in the collection, La Route de Corinthe from the second box set. I have never seen a film by Chabrol before, but I am aware that he was a part of the Nouvelle Vague movement, and I am fairly knowledgeable about the movement. So I was excited about this film, but as with Louis Malle’s Zazie dans le metro (1960), I was left a bit baffled.

The film sort of resembles A bout de soufflé (Jean-Luc Godard, 1959), in that it is a play on a familiar Hollywood genre, here the spy thriller. But this film is quite unconventionally silly, showing us several quirky and almost cartoonist character and situations. For example the assassin, who always smirks, wears all-white clothes and reads magazines while waiting for his victims. Then there’s that cliché where the bad guys tie the heroine to some contraption that will kill her, but ultimately creates a stalling for her to take advantage of. The plot concerns a bunch of small black boxes that somehow disable US satellite systems, and they are being transported into Greece. The opening starts with a magician who is in possession of some of these little black boxes, and immediately gives us a hint that this film is going to be silly. The plot is contrived and makes little sense, but as said, this is a play in genre, and it is exactly this type of film where it feels adequate. It is in many ways a 60’s version of Austin Powers. Chabrol uses exaggerated techniques, such as zooming and vivid colours to create a particular atmosphere.

The film is an interesting little piece, but at times I did feel a bit disappointed by it, particularly because Chabrol is such a highly recommended director. However, I’ve rarely seen any reference to this film, and I don’t believe it is very highly regarded among his other works, so I guess I should just take it for what it is. There are a couple of moments that point towards true brilliance, such as the scene where the female protagonist is introduced, but these moments are sparse and don’t really highlight the film as a whole. It is in many ways hard to criticize the film for anything, as it is quite aware of its own existence, and doesn’t claim to be anything else than what it is, and on this level it works quite well. It’s a nice little jab at the spy genre, and at Hollywood itself, but still manages to stay distanced from its inspirations. There are numerous moments that are recognisable to other Nouvelle Vague films, such as Godard’s films, and they work nicely, but doesn’t give you the same feeling of impact that say Une Femme est Une Femme (Jean-Luc Godard, 1961) had.

I wouldn’t recommend La Route de Corinthe, but I wouldn’t say you shouldn’t watch it. If you are really interested in the Nouvelle Vague or Chabrol, then this might widen your horizon regarding these, but as it stands it is a unique little piece, but doesn’t create any particular impact or lasting impressions.

Godard double-bill, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… ( 1967) and Pierrot Le Fou (1965)

Recently I’ve watched two new films by Godard, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… and Pierrot Le Fou. Before I used to look down on Godard’s color films (mostly thanks to Weekend and Une Femme est Une Femme), however, with these two new films seen, this view has changed. While Two or Three Things is appropriately gritty filmed, Pierrot Le Fou I daresay is Godard’s most visually stunning film, at least of his color ones. It really shows Godard coming to an aesthetic conclusion with himself. Narrative-wise these two films are very different, although they do have a lot of similar characteristics that are familiar touches of Godard. Godard has always been very interesting to me since I for the first time saw a film by him, Alphaville, some two years ago. He’s always been such a revolutionist in the film-form, and few recognized directors I’ve seen has done something like he does.

In the Two or Three Things I Know About Her…, we follow Juliette, a house-wife who one day of the week turns to prostitution to feed her family. Although she is presented in the beginning as the ‘protagonist’, the films seem to sway a lot of other areas, and has often been said to be more about Paris than Juliette. It is more an exploration of life in Paris, and Juliette is but one set-piece. I like the word, ‘set-piece’, because that is a lot about what this film is, ‘set-pieces’, and this is where I felt the film excelled. While many of Godard’s earlier films, Breathless in particular, leaned towards more ‘classic’ narrative stories, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… is unhinged and fractured, almost floating aimlessly throughout, and there is little character development or plot. However, this film is more about observations and reflection of both contemporary life then and cinema itself. During the film and in the introduction we hear a narrator, Godard himself, whispering into the microphone. Godard explains to us, here is the actress who is going to be acting in this film, and then later introduces the character. The immediate strength of the film is the way it forces the audience to realize the machinery of it. This makes the set-pieces more effective, as we can focus on what they are actually telling. There is no attempt at trying to create the ‘illusion’ of cinema here, instead the film distances the audience from the fictional world. So far, to me, it seems as Two or Three Things is Godard’s most formative and mature work. Characters and events seem less random, and to some extent, this reminds me of Vivre sa Vie, which is probably his most mature film, although one of his first. However much I admire Godard, his films often feel fragmented, as if things are a bit unrelated. In this, however, through the fragmentation of the narrative itself, the film seems to be more cohesive and takes a stronger form. It’s like an essay, with different points and paragraphs, but comes together through the introduction and conclusion, which makes the film seem much more ‘whole’, one of my new favorites by Godard.

The other film I saw was Pierrot Le Fou, and while showing moments of brilliance, was a bit of a disappointment. Not to say that this isn’t a very good piece of cinema by Godard, but I expected it, unlike One or Two Things, to be one of his best. So what’s the problem? Well, Pierrot Le Fou has a straightforward narrative, which I often don’t think favor Godard’s cause, except for in Le Mepris. The film is excellent for the first hour, but starts to fall apart after that, and I was a bit alienated from the film for some time, until it picked itself up again and came to a glorious conclusion. The problem I had with this film is of the one I discussed when talking about Two or Three Things, that the film itself feels very fragmented, both form and narrative. Here is one of the wonderful ironies of Godard’s films, that a film with a somewhat cohesive narrative feels more fragmented than a film that I built of fragments of story. I’m not telling you though not to watch this, because for all its faults, the film has some excellent moments and is way more interesting than what you usually see in the cinema today. On another note, Pierrot Le Fou is probably the most aesthetic pleasing of Godard’s films that I have seen so far. Unlike a lot of his other films, where he avoids this consciously, the shots are wonderfully composed, and at times look stunning. Anna Karina has rarely looked as beautiful as here. The film is shot in south France I believe, at the coast and in summer. This is used to contrast the characters predicament. Oh, I guess I haven’t mentioned the actual story, well, Ferdinand has escaped from his boring life through murder, together with his girl-friend Marianne, and as they escape from the police attempt to get by on the country side. As usual, with Godard’s films, the story is pretty simple, but obviously it’s not there the strengths of his films lie.

So, I’ve felt a bit more enlightened on Godard after seeing these two, especially Two or Three Things, which really show Godard at his formative height, and few of his films have achieved such a great blend of his different ideas and techniques. While Pierrot Le Fou was a bit of a let-down, it still showed that Godard could, if he wanted, create beautiful shots that challenge any of the great visual directors of our times. Colin MacCabe, who wrote Godard’s biography, wrote at the end that he saw Godard as a poet, and some scenes from Pierrot Le Fou absolutely proves this point, while Two or Three Things makes him more out as an essayist. I believe though that Vivre sa Vie is an amazing blending of these two personalities, and urge everyone to go see this film. Yes, I am a huge fan of Vivre sa Vie. Regardless, Pierrot Le Fou and Two or Three Things are both very good films by Godard, and to people who wish to explore this filmmaker further, I can only heartedly recommend these two as well.

Au Revoir les Enfants (Louis Malle, 1987)

Louis Malle made a bunch of films in the 50’s and 60’s that I liked, so this was my first venture into the later stages of his career, and this is probably the film I’ve heard the most about without knowing who Louis Malle was, so I had a certain anticipation to watching this. But I don’t really know what to expect from a Malle film, like when I watched Zazie dans le metro (1960) and was blown away by how different it was to any previous film I had seen by him. In fact, it had more in common with those Warner Brothers cartoons than any of his films. Anyway, so Au Revoir les Enfants is probably his most famous film from what I gather, and it depicts what certain filmmakers really love to depict, the Second World War. However, this time around, the story is quite autobiographical, from Louis Malle’s childhood. It’s about his growing friendship with a Jewish boy who is hidden at his Catholic boarding school, and the ongoing presence and threat of the Germans.

And its good, it actually is. It isn’t as much about the Second World War as about growing up to adulthood and friendship. The film strengthens this by putting these familiar themes into an extreme situation. But most of the stuff that happens is like things we ourselves remember, like kids sneaking off to smoke, increasing interest in the opposite gender, hate-love relationships and so on. But the film depicts its so well, and we see easily that Malle is a really experienced director by now, his subtle touches with the camera are at times fantastic, the setting is well defined and we quickly grow familiar with it. The film does get a bit frustrating at times, as it stigmatises the characters and situations a bit. However, it doesn’t get too bad, and it’s still miles away from that atrocity Schindlre’s List. But it does seem as its impossible for filmmakers to make such films without doing this, the closest to avoid it I feel were The Thin Red Line (Terrence Malick, 1998) and The Pianist (Roman Polanski, 2002). I really tend to find Second World War films a bit tiresome and trite, but this is one of the better ones, for the obvious reason that the war for the most part only remains in the background. Obviously, at the “heart” of the story is the friendship, but it also works well as a coming of age story, using the war as an excuse for the lead character to grow up.

For me though, the strongest aspect of this film was it dealing with the reasons for cultural barriers. The kids seem to refer to Jews as something merely abstract, simply because they don’t know them upfront, and in this case the film is actually still pretty relevant, as this is still going on. Their not anti-Semitic, but at the same time they don’t disapprove with the Germans treatment of Jews. Most of their comments on Jews seem right out of a textbook, which I would find fairly accurate to how kids without any critical knowledge would know these other religious people. It’s a really great observation, when the Jewish kid first arrives, they treat him like an outsider. Not because he’s Jewish, they don’t know yet, but simply because he’s new and they don’t know him. When they start to discover that he is a Jew, they don’t treat him any differently because he’s by then come into the fold. I find this is a good statement about how our religious backgrounds are just bullocks. Its also nice to see Catholics for once given dignity, and I do think the priests at the school should be honoured for taking in Jewish kids at the risk of their own personal safety, even though they are from different religions, again discussing this idea of religious background, we are still in the same shit. Sure, they are given their bit of ridicule through some slight humour, but it’s never truly mean spirited. Oh and by the way, the film didn’t manage to avoid the Nazi character that seems right out of a Superman cartoon, but it almost seems unavoidable in any Second World War film.

This is a very good film, with some really fantastic moments and genuine emotions. It has some elements that are true splendour, and some that are slightly weaker. It doesn’t come together as well as one would wish, but its individual pros make it more than worthwhile. I don’t really know why this is Malle’s most famous film, maybe because of the approachable themes and setting and being relatively “new”, but still, I preferred Le Feu Follet (Louis Malle, 1963)

Cachè (Michael Haneke, 2005)

After watching La Pianiste by Michael Haneke, I knew that his cinema would have more in store for me, and my expectations were exceeded when watching Cahcè. Haneke now in my eyes seems like a truly interesting director, and I’ve just got to ask myself why I haven’t seen any of his films before, or really heard about him.

Usually I don’t like to discuss plot in these little blurbs, but I feel it is important here to get my feelings across about the film. A married couple receives a videotape and some disturbing drawings. The videotapes are filmed outside their house, and show them as they arrive at home. The husband, Georges, notes that he can’t understand why he didn’t notice the camera. For the rest of the film, the lead character is concerned with discovering who the sender of the videotapes is. However, as I found, the identity of the sender is really not important. As the film progresses, the tension between the couple increase, and buried feelings of guilt emerge. It’s a really good dissection of the coldness and shallowness that emerge in such middleclass marriages, but it also deals with cultural guilt and specifically that of France, but I won’t go into it too much, as it might ruin the film for prospective viewers. Regardless, the film slowly unfolds layers of the character, we are given blurred and ambiguous moments of his childhood. Are they true memories or his imagination? This ambiguity is one of the strengths of the film, what gives it its certain character. On the surface it seems like a normal thriller, but it proves itself to be something more, with layers of comments on the characters lives and cinema itself. As a genre exercise it also plays with the expectations of the audience, and will many times leave us astray.

One thing I found interesting is that the shots from the videotapes are shot identically to the film. Usually, the videotapes would have an amateur look to them and look grainy. There could be many implications by this, and I don’t this is an accident. The way the film is set up, there are many times you would think that what you see is a new videotape, but then it is revealed to be a normal shot. It might be a comment on the filmmaker’s power over his characters. It also creates a feeling of alienation, the audience will forget the escapism of the genre and remember that they are watching a film. It also shows us the acute details we are privileged of the characters very private lives, as they feel the videotapes are very unnerving, it almost seems as if they are aware that we are watching them. It’s a very simple technique that Haneke is using here, but also very powerful. I do like it a lot when directors use methods like these, to force the audience to question their relationship with the characters on screen. As said, the lead character is brought to feelings of shame, or at least it’s acknowledged that he should feel shame. This is paralleled to a national level and France specifically. It’s hard to mention the details without ruining the plot, however, I do think it works quite well, and so the film at the same time as being a good characters study, also becomes political.

There’s not much I can say about the directing without repeating myself from what I wrote on La Pianiste. As earlier, it’s very consistent and creates a true form in the film. I feel the cinematography is used even better here though, at times feels almost black and white. Its sharp and the colour black is often brought forward, giving the images an almost chilly coldness. It does well to help the portrayal of the family. Haneke also uses similar long takes here, dwelling on certain images, although slightly less than in La Pianiste. The directing here is not as direct as in La Pianiste, and grows on playing with ambiguity. In the end, Cachè is not about the plot, but what is happening to the characters due to it. Usually in such films, the plot is the main point of the film, but here it is simply a device to stir up the characters, and unveil their past. Herein lays the beauty of Cachè, a truly constructed film that could be analyzed to every frame and still remain ambiguous. Cachè means hidden, but what is hidden? The sender of the videotapes, the feelings of the main character, the camera of Haneke? All these questions will be unanswered after you watch the film, but they still remain fascinating to answer.

I thought Cachè was a marvellous film, a truly great contemporary piece. It will probably be remembered and studied for years to come. Its themes are evocative, its structure and intents complex. A film I probably will come back to many times.

La Pianiste (Michael Haneke, 2001)

Like with the Visconti review, this is the first film I’ve seen by Michael Haneke, so excuse my lack of previous knowledge of this director. All I knew was that he is a controversial director and his films might give me bad dreams. Anyway, since many people were talking about Haneke and I seemed to have let him go over my head, so I thought it was best to watch some of his film. Also, I found Le Pianiste for 7£ at HMV, so it seemed as good a place to start as any.

One of the first things I noticed in La Pianiste which I always look for in films was consistency in the directing. Le Pianiste has a clear style and sticks to it, which I feel always makes films better, and in this case it certainly did. The style here is cold, and the camera is at times unforgiving, giving us harsh details of the very private life of the protagonist. It’s extremely direct, and I admire Haneke for this, he doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, and is really a force in his directing. The sexual and violent tension rises throughout the films, to moments where it seems almost unreal in its reality. Slow long takes are at work here, and Haneke has no trouble with dwelling on a single image of something that might be disturbing to the audience. He spends a lot of time building our knowledge of the characters, but at the same times avoids implying the obvious, and remains ambiguous. I feel Haneke really wants the audience to respond and be active, he shows, but doesn’t explain. In many ways it’s a very strange film, we are allowed the most personal details of the protagonist’s life, but we never seem to be able so grasp her character, her motivations. She’s throughout her life been abused by her controlling mother, but it never seem a satisfying enough explanation. The characters appear obscure enough, but at the same time the audience is given enough material to decide themselves what’s going on in their heads. As far as I’m aware, Haneke believes the interpretation of the audience is important, and it does show in this film.

What’s interesting about this film though is how it constantly attempts to provoke some response from the audience. And it’s just not the sexual scenes, but also the scenes that almost act like a subtle melodrama. There is a constant tension in the lead character and also between the different characters. As said, Haneke’s camera is almost unforgiving at times, dwelling on the characters faces, the almost too honest filmmaking I assume will be too much for some people, Haneke’s craft almost seems bitter at times. It is intimidating at times at how direct the film is, nothing is hidden or censored. The sexual scenes are unlike any other film, and are dragged out for long periods of time, feeling almost endless. We’ve seen this kind of “heightened risk” technique before, but Haneke really uses it to its full potential. He also really manages to portray the lead character’s unfolding repressed sexuality in a very non-exploitative way, but his straight-forwardness makes it seem even more mature. The interaction between the different characters is also very impressive, at times showing how they try to gain sexual dominance over one-another. Some pieces of the dialogue and action is at times fascinating, in the end culminating in a stirringly provocative ending.

This type of film might not be for everybody, but its definitely one of the most intriguing contemporary films I’ve seen, and I will definitely check out more films by Michael Haneke.