L'Immortelle (1963)

A droopy-eyed, sad looking young professor (Jacques Doniol-Valcroze) vacationing in Turkey meets a beautiful, but mysterious young woman (Françoise Brion), who he continues to meet over the next few days on his excursions around the place. He is instantly attracted to her, and she does reciprocate his feelings, albeit in a somewhat reserved manner. She refuses to divulge where she lives, often asks him not to accompany her to certain places, and is quite reluctant to even tell him her name. The professor is undeniably enchanted, and doesn't seem to mind so long as he gets to see her.

The dream romance comes to an abrupt halt, one day, when the woman completely disappears. The professor becomes obsessed, visiting their old meeting places, waiting there 'til wee hours, inquiring around town with whatever little knowledge he has about the woman, despite a huge language barrier and communication issue with the Turkish natives. His search gets increasingly frustrating when people begin to even deny the existence of such a woman as described by the professor, and he is constantly misled in his quest. Eventually he does bump into her. Or does he? Does the woman now exist only in his memories or in his dreams? Will he ever get an answer to what actually happened?

These intriguing questions form the crux of Alain-Robbe Grillet's "L'Immortelle" aka "The Immortal One" (1963). The filmmaker's directorial debut is far from being a straightforward mystery of a missing person. It plays out more like a series of vague recollections of a disappointed man who gets increasingly disoriented in his quest for his object of affection. The result is a surreal, eccentrically edited, fascinating mix of fragmented memories, some real and some, perhaps imagined.

Robbe-Grillet who wrote the screenplay for "Last Year at Marienbad" (1961) uses many of the elements that made the Alain Resnais film a great success. Devices like a befuddling, fractured narrative with gliding camerawork, an unreliable narration/narrative, off-kilter editing, and a dream-like realm with characters that seem to float about in a sleepwalking daze, or simply stand around like zombies while the primary characters in a frame interact, contribute to create a very hypnotic, trance-like atmosphere.

There is a very sublime, evocative middle-eastern score playing in the background, sometimes only with haunting vocals, male or female, further giving the film a more spellbinding quality. The atmosphere created by Robbe-Grillet accentuates the mystical qualities of the locales. 

It may not seem so at the outset, but "L'Immortelle" boasts of thematically rich content, providing for an intellectually stimulating viewing experience. The complexities of the human mind are explored via a psychological tendency of sometimes crossing the barrier between fantasy and reality owing to the unpredictable and volatile nature of human memory, and how it could somehow deceive us, making us believe something else, not strictly adhering to the facts. The tendency to fill in gaps in order to make a broken memory whole, in the process, drastically changing the events within it, is examined. A piece of paper is visibly blank, shown repeatedly to the viewer, but the professor keeps going back to it, trying to find an address on it!

The recurring motif of the confusion surrounding the name of the woman ties with the important theme of identity, personal as well as ethnic. A language barrier separating people of different ethnic identities is present throughout. At least three different languages are used in the film, and whenever any language other than French is spoken, it is not translated in the subtitles, perhaps to make the viewer feel the professor's frustration of not being able to understand the people around him.

Only the woman can speak all languages, a somewhat abstract symbol of a universal being, someone devoid of a disparate identity. It may not be a stretch to imagine that Robbe-Grillet modeled this character as the universal representation of a woman as an enigma.

At times, identities switch or overlap. The woman and the professor's maid both give him the same name, in practically the same fashion. Could he be mixing up the two, and only imagining that the woman ever told him his name? In the third act, when the narrative takes increasingly maddening turns, identities are literally replaced, when characters switch places or are replaced by others, when the professor plays out earlier scenes from memory. Sometimes two distinct events merge into one: a byproduct of a confused mind?

A theme of mortality and an inevitable end to everything, even relationships runs parallel in the conversation between the lead pair. The professor tries to make sense of the woman's cryptic ramblings, but only the viewer may be able to find some meaning in it in the larger context of the film. The camera lingers on the ruins across the city, suggesting that anything glorious eventually crumbles. Any attempt to recreate or restore something that existed is merely an act of imitation. Its genuineness is lost, much like an event exists, but its memory is a fake recreation of the mind. It is never the real thing, corroborated by the fact that the professor recreates a single event in very various ways, thereby destroying the identity of the actual event.

The theme of genuineness vs artificiality is given a literal form in some earlier sequences. The woman says that any rebuilding work of the Byzantium is pointless and fake. The man outside the mosque keeps harping about the genuineness of the mosque and how old and ancient the monument is. The seller of artifacts meanwhile is seen selling the same article twice, both times claiming that it is genuine.

One could go on dissecting the nuances embedded within this highly rewarding film of great substance despite its modest length, and perhaps keep coming back to it and end up reading it in different ways. Very much in the spirit of the more acclaimed "Last Year at Marienbad", one could call "L'Immortelle" its overlooked first cousin that is far more meditative and varied in its structure, and just as beautiful, if not more so.

Score: 10/10

Trans-Europ Express (1966)

A self-referential metafilm with self-deprecatory humour, a satire on the filmmaking process, a satire on the crime thriller genre and its usual tropes, a paranoia thriller/comedy, and what-not! That may seem like too many ways to describe a single film, but rest assured, it is by no means a stretch. Alain Robbe-Grillet experiments with the film within film device with successful results in his truly avant-garde and unique genre-bender, "Trans-Europ Express" (1966).

This enjoyable film stars Robbe-Grillet himself, as a filmmaker who, almost on a whim concocts an idea for a film, which plays out within this film as a central plot, only to serve as a tool for the filmmaker and his assistants to manipulate and play with. The so-called plot of the film within the film revolves around a rookie drug peddler (Jean-Louis Trintignant, as himself and as Elias), who appears to be smuggling drugs across stations in the said Trans-Europ Express, which is the primary universe of this picture. And this is rightfully so, for the very idea of the film and the whole mise en scène, in fact, is born in this very train, as the film proceeds.

Nevertheless the premise of the film being proposed, and what to expect of it on a broad level is declared at the outset in a deliberately cartoonish fashion, fake beards and animated explosions included! It is a masterstroke, as the supposed plot is symbolically as well as literally, rendered secondary and non-serious. Furthermore, the filmmaker shows who the boss is, by twisting seemingly straightforward events in the day of this drug peddler, constantly toying with ideas and eventually turning a predictable caper/crime thriller into something wholly unpredictable, much like the capricious mind of the filmmaker.

And thence, Robbe-Grillet demonstrates, how the suave protagonist who appears to be this super confident smuggler is actually being controlled by the filmmaker and his script girl (Catherine Robbe-Grillet), as is the case in any film for that matter, wherein the iconic status of a hero is actually a creation, an illusion for an entertainment hungry audience who wants someone to idolize. With most of the action on the streets and in the train, and also in a room with a beautiful young female lead, and a charismatic central character involved in crime, being pursued by the cops from Paris to Antwerp, this film in many ways reminds of Jean-Luc Godard's acclaimed classic "Breathless" (1960).

But Belmondo in the Godard film was portrayed as this uber cool, extra confident, smooth-talking street-smart charmer who appears to be the one in control. Could Robbe-Grillet’s film be a sly dig directed towards this very persona and film by turning the tables and showing that the protagonist is in fact, a puppet - one being watched and controlled? It's certainly more of a satire or at least a subversion than a tribute.

Establishing and exercising control is a prominent theme of this film, that also encompasses the seemingly gratuitous scenes of masochism and bondage that the film is more notorious for. It is possible that when "Trans-Europ Express" was filmed, such scenes were considered very bold for the time, but frankly by today’s standards they are really very tame. As far as graphic content is concerned, there is not even any on-screen nudity involved in these scenes. The only real nudity comes much later, in the final 'Woman in Chains' striptease scene.  The aspect which could perhaps be deemed shocking or somewhat misogynistic is the protagonist's  bold declaration that it is only rape that turns him on.

In a somewhat self-deprecatory manner, the gratuitousness of the subplot of the prostitute, Eva (Marie-France Pisier) and the ensuing violent sex scenes is questioned by the secretary, to which the filmmaker is ready with a justification. "She is not important. He has some free time", he says! The filmmaker controls his central character, who in turn, exercises control over Eva, who at once is an assistant of Elias's employers, and is also working for the police. It is insinuated that this dual nature of hers is an indecision on part of the filmmaker whilst discussing her. Thereby, while the scenes may be gratuitous from the standpoint of the film within the film, they in fact are a thematic fit in the actual film!

Attention to detail in the filmmaking brainstorming process is extraordinary. Taking a dig at the rather whimsical minds of filmmakers and how they play around with glee with their creation, the plot begins to twist and turn; moves made by characters are backed up, fates are altered, events are questioned. Plot points are picked, then abandoned, after being deemed absurd or unnecessary. Perhaps in a subtle dig at crime/caper thrillers in general, a plot hole appears whilst complicating the story. The entire scene is axed, just as soon as the hole is pointed out.

This twisting of the fate of the protagonist at every step magically gives "Trans-Europ Express" the look and feel of a Kafkaesque paranoia thriller, as surprises await our protagonist at every corner. People aren't always what they seem, for at one time they are on his side, and later they aren't! This uncertainty and convoluted chain of events, eventually give the film its surrealistic quality.

Just when you think this gang of filmmakers have had their fun after the climactic scene at the cabaret, Robbe-Grillet introduces an outlandish meta twist and ends it with a cool, savagely funny statement about films based on true stories, that makes you cheer. This is classy and intelligent filmmaking at its finest.

Score: 9/10

The Man Who Lies (1968)

A guilt-ridden nightmare, or a PTSD (Post-traumatic stress disorder) influenced, vague recollection of a disturbing event? Alain Robbe-Grillet's "The Man Who Lies" (1968) is a surreal, befuddling and fractured first-hand account of a French resistance fighter who may or may not have betrayed his comrade (or leader?) to the Nazis.

With some gorgeous cinematography, and a narrative style that often reminds of Alain Resnais' "Last Year at Marienbad" (1961) (also written by Robbe-Grillet), Robbe-Grillet takes us through a labyrinthine web of confusion, which is likely a construction of a mind that is either traumatized, or guilty.

The film begins with an alarming anachronism, with a dapper looking gentleman (Jean-Louis Trintignant) in a visibly contemporary 60s designer suit, being chased through the woods by soldiers in what looks like the World War II environment. But is it really war time? Or is it post war? Or is it still much after? We are unsure, as is the unreliable narrator of this strange story. Hell, we don't even know his real name. He first introduces himself as Jean Robin and then suddenly backs up and says he is Boris Varissa. There is clearly an identity crisis at work here, among other things. It is possible that these are assumed, made-up names as well. There's a good excuse to cover this part. Everyone in the resistance had nicknames, as Boris keeps reiterating! Blink and you might miss that scene in which Boris is leaning against a grave with the name 'Boris Varissa' written on it!

It is not difficult to predict that what we are watching may not be the absolute truth. This is made clear at the outset. Varissa gets hit by one of the shooting soldiers. Or does he? No injuries, just a theatrically dramatic death, that lasts for a few seconds. We see at least a couple more instances of his death further in the film, in a similar fashion. Very soon, the man gets up and starts walking. Before you know it, he is out of the woods and into a very civilized looking small town...or village. The temporal inconsistency is not the end of it, there is spatial discontinuity as well. Quick flashes from memory or imagination occur out of nowhere in seemingly random editing choices and peculiar camerawork. At one point we see Boris in some corner of the street, looking over his shoulder, and in the next, he is sitting at the bar..but it seems like these two frames are not temporally disconnected.

Speaking of the bar, it is one of the first instances in which there's an exact contradiction in what we see and what we hear in Boris' voice-over. Whilst Boris says the bar was empty as usual, we see that it is bustling with people, all tables occupied! It is possible we are watching the broken, distorted reminiscence of a man troubled by memories of war and the resistance. There is a deep-seated guilt, of having been a traitor, and a palpable fear of his treachery being discovered.

A genius sequence shows the faces of all the patrons in close-ups, seemingly talking to the camera, breaking the fourth wall, discussing a certain Jean Robin, a hero who's whereabouts are not known. Robin has probably been captured, or is in hiding, but some gossip seems to suggest, that he has been betrayed. The uncomfortable close-ups of the faces of these patrons looking directly in the eye of the viewer is also from the point of view of Boris, who clearly feels discomfort amid suspicious gazes, a constant feeling that all fingers are pointing at him, as he keeps looking over his shoulder.

Whilst narrating his story, Boris is sometimes interrupted, then backs up, completely forgets a thread, picks up a new one, and even alters events. A very tangible denial or hesitation, and the inability to make a confident eye contact when looking in the camera is evident, more so, when interacting with the three strange women in the castle (a nod to the Kafka novel?). Jean Robin's beautiful wife, his sister and their maid seem to lie in wait forever in the castle, awaiting Jean's return or for an update. Whilst waiting in silence, they also engage in playful activities like playing Blind Man's Buff. Meanwhile, the maid and the sister also indulge in a lesbian relationship, while Boris attempts to make a pass at all three at some point of time! The choice of the game is an odd one. But perhaps, in the context of the film, it reflects the total isolation of these ladies; an obliviousness to the truth and the world outside, or even Boris' own obscured sense of reality.

The castle looks something strange, out of a nightmare; an empty, large abode, partially cluttered with baroque furniture and paraphernalia. There are never ending passages and corridors, and strange looking doorways with two doors attached to a single frame, opening opposite ways. Sometimes, the corridors of the castle resemble the ones in the inn, the product of an obvious memory mix-up. There's a vivid sense of melancholy and loss in the depiction of the castle and its inhabitants. It has a distinct tragic, and ghostly feel.

Is our protagonist spinning a yarn to cover up the fact that he in fact did betray his friend, or is he a survivor of the brutal war, left with broken fragments of memories, and yet unable to rid himself of the agonizing happenings of the past? Are the mental mix-ups a product of post-war hallucinations and nightmares, a psychological scarring that is permanent? Frequent images of glass shattering, shooting, fingers pointing, all perhaps reflect some terrible remembrances, the truths about which we may never know, but can only guess. But then, that isn't the point anyway.

What Robbe-Grillet presents with "The Man Who Lies", is a work of hallucinatory brilliance, an artwork for the senses, with its dream-like structure, recurring and inconsistent flashbacks, brisk editing, and wildly bizarre imagery, sometimes laced with erotica, to please the lovers of surrealism. This is off-kilter done just right, with the right ingredients.






Score: 9/10