Dans La Maison (In The House) (2012)

It all begins innocuously, in a Literature class, after Professor Germain Germain (Fabrice Luchini) asks his students to write an essay on how they spent their weekend. Most of the essays submitted are completely worthless and lacking any kind of creativity, but one particular write-up catches Germain's eye. Claude Garcia (Ernst Umhauer), a relatively bright 16-year old, describes in a rather enticing manner, a weekend visit to his best friend Rapha's house to help him with his Math.

The description turns out to be much more sensational than mundane, as the writer expresses his somewhat unsavoury desires to explore the house further, and dig deeper into its inhabitants, the characters of his essay, especially Rapha's beautiful mother, Esther (Emanuelle Seigner) who is at the center of Claude's voyeuristic gaze.

Claude's essay ends with a suspenseful 'to be continued' remark, and raises the curiosity of not only the professor but also his art-dealer wife, Jeanne (Kristin Scott Thomas). Before they know it, they are hooked; like soap opera or reality show addicts!

Germain, guided by his wife's penchant for substance, prods Claude to write succeeding chapters, claiming that he has great writing talent and should cultivate it by continuing this family drama in a novel format. Of course, continuing the story would mean more visits to Rapha's house. As Claude turns in daily chapters, developing the story into a fascinating family yarn, sometimes of a scandalous nature, Germain and Jeanne take vicarious pleasure in a reality show they cannot see. Only it is soon too late, when things start to get out of control not only in Rapha's household but also in Germain's life at the cost of building a great story!

François Ozon's "Dans La Maison" or "In the House" (2012) plays out in a rather farcical fashion, like a breezy comedy for the most part, but Ozon succeeds in conveying certain pertinent themes, and raises several questions about the human consumption of sensationalism and the inherent existence of a voyeur in practically every human being despite their hypocritical denial. He makes us muse about human curiosity in general, and the undeniable fact that people do find an intrigue in the lives of others, more importantly when there are downs rather than ups in them! After all who is interested in monotony? It is only when there are ripples, that notice is taken.

Ozon examines a consumer's never ending hunger for something outlandish, by subtly blurring the line between the guide and the guided, the manipulator and the manipulated, as they appear to switch places. Whilst Germain is guiding Claude to build his narrative, he in turn becomes a slave to Claude's writing, often becoming dependent on it, and even compromising his ethics when it threatens to come to an end. Further blurred is the line between fiction and reality, for we see events only from Claude's perspective as he narrates the words in his write-ups. But how much of it is real and how much is made up, is largely unknown, partly because we do see an instance of a modified event, reshaped at the behest of Germain himself, on the pretext of pleasing the reader.

A notable parallel subplot involves Jeanne's art gallery and her desperate struggle to keep it afloat and save it from shutting down by having the best of exhibits and boosting sales. She keeps bringing new artworks and seeks Germain's opinions on them, who often comments about whether a particular art form will sell or not. An important reading to be made here is about art for the sake of art and its viability for commercialism. The credibility of an artwork is decided on its marketability and in this regard, Germain always seems to care about an art piece only if he thinks it will sell.

Germain's sentiments are more or less in the same vein when guiding Claude with his novella, except in this case, he claims he is doing it to groom a literary genius, a budding writer; something that he couldn't become, with only a failed romantic novel to his credit. And yet, it is clear as much to the viewer, that he is indeed, more driven by the voyeuristic consumer inside him, for he tastes blood in Claude's sensational story. Only when the sensationalism appears to go way out of hand, he makes a very smart remark invoking the great Italian auteur Pier Paolo Pasolini, one which is certain to bring a smile on the faces of the fans of "Teorema" (1968).

The main theme is reflected in an important sequence by means of an offbeat artwork that Jeanne demonstrates; an audio artwork. The artist verbally describes the artwork and the listener is allowed to (re)create it with his/her interpretation or imagination of the artist's intention. It pretty much mirrors the essence of reading a novel and the very activity Germain is involved in with Claude. Claude writes, and Germain creates a mental picture of Rapha's family in his mind!

Ozon goes on to have some fun himself with the narrative device, and demonstrates the power of cinema and how the medium can be manipulated to suit viewer expectations and requirements. Just as Prof. Germain alters certain events in Claude's writings to meet reader expectations, Ozon toys around with absurdity, creating very interesting meta-moments in which he places Germain himself at the very heart of the action, in the house, which is the center of Claude's beguiling story. It is a very intricately constructed, meticulous screenplay which pays a fitting homage to Alfred Hitchcock's "Rear Window" (1954), one of the earliest cinematic depictions of voyeurism.

Despite the delicious oddities, originality and intelligence that "In the House" certainly possesses, it does feel like Ozon somehow refrains from pushing the envelope. The narrative seems restrained and appears to become stagnant and just slightly monotonous after a point. Furthermore, in the process of providing an ending, much like Claude in the film, Ozon takes some abruptly clumsy turns that fail to convince.

Ozon has made better films than "In the House", but there is no doubt that this is one of the most unique and premium offerings in his filmography. 

Score: 8/10

A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (2014)

"I'm happy to hear you're doing fine!"

These words are uttered several times in this wonderful film, by various individuals, to someone on the other end of a phone line; someone out of plain sight as far as the viewer is concerned. What exactly goes on on the other side, we do not know, but taking a closer look at Roy Andersson's characters who are, in the end, only human, we can somehow gather that these words probably have no real weight. They are just formal exchanges; empty, reassuring words, spoken by someone who's probably wallowing in misery, for all you know.

"A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence" (2014) is an existential dramedy that gives us a bird's-eye view of the crisis of modern man. It is a bittersweet examination of the middle class human condition with a hilariously absurdist, but visibly bleak flavour. Surreal, darkly funny vignettes revolving around multiple characters touching upon man's never-ending struggle for a meaningful life and an overall quest for love and fulfillment forms the core of Andersson's film, the final part of his "Living Trilogy".

Every human soul on this planet is struggling with something, small or big. No one is living, what you would call an epitome of a perfectly ideal existence. The pursuit of happiness is an endless one, a constant journey, that at some point of time, makes individuals reflect upon their being, ponder about the meaning of their lives; all the while keeping in mind a certain inherent futility associated with this struggle. For everyone has to eventually perish, a fact almost hammered across with three small vignettes cheekily titled, "Meeting with death".

One of these vignettes is a masterwork, a literal humorous take on how material wealth means nothing and once you die, you can't really take it with you. In another vignette, an insensitivity and triviality rendered to life in general is showcased in how a man offers to drink the beer of a person who couldn't live to consume it, dying only seconds after purchasing it. This casual, nonchalant acceptance of death comes as a sharp contrast to the otherwise portrayed struggle to live.

The two salesmen of novelty entertainment items serve as the only constant characters throughout the film and they are the funniest of them all. "We want to help people have fun", they proclaim in the most unenthusiastic manner as they go on to demonstrate their articles, mostly by manipulating their way to a potential customer. The only article they have most faith in, meets with great success for them in a way, but proves to be a losing prospect to one man it is demonstrated to.

Themes of nostalgia and the days of yore being associated with the good life are evoked wit the wonderful vignette of Limping Lotta's bar and its old world charm. A melancholic sentiment about the good ol' days is palpable with the decrepit old regular customer being the only one to have been in the golden days of the bar, now reduced to an almost deaf man, unable to hear much, aurally shielded from the wicked modern world!

The story of a uniformed army officer, Ove Bergius, who can't seem to make it to a venue for an important lecture, seems to dwell upon the theme of a sense of longing and unfulfillment about something that one eagerly desires but could not achieve. Bergius is shown checking the venue at least twice in different scenes, hoping to catch the lecture he missed, also thinking that perhaps he misinterpreted the day and time!

Later with the breaking of the fourth wall, it is revealed that he took great efforts, but the lecture was, in fact, cancelled, and he is perhaps stuck in some kind of psychological limbo, hoping for it to be held again! This same vignette is paralleled with the story of a Flamenco instructor's unrequited love for one of her younger students.

Bergius' story may not be as random as it seems. Towards the end comes a sequence about a person's confusion about the day of the week. "If you can't keep track, chaos will reign", warns a bystander. Could Bergius' suspicion of his misinterpretation of the day and time be in fact, a chaotic consequence of a disappointment over a missed opportunity, despite being very particular about the timing on that fateful occasion?

The temporal mix-up takes a literal turn in one of the most outrageous sequences; the bizarre episode of the appearance of King Charles XII and his army in a modern day bar. The explicit anachronism here directly mirrors the a loss of the track of time. Time folds upon itself; a form of chaos! Charles XII reappears, lost and wounded, after establishing his presence with a bang, reaffirming how ups and downs are part of life and there are phases in every existence. Even kings are brought to their knees and have to wait in line for their turn to use the toilet! In the vast scope of the universe, all human beings are, but just ordinary human beings.

Some very nuanced behavioural observations about people lead to tremendous conclusions and profound lessons in a satisfying existence. A girl takes a moment to remove a pebble in her shoe and it gives Jonathan (one of the salesmen) an awakening of sorts; if there is a pebble, remove it, and move on; don't endure it. A nightmare about his involvement in a rather terrible deed gives his thoughts an even more philosophical bent.

All the while, pigeons, not seen, but heard, look at all these sights from branches, watching, reflecting, musing; gazing upon the lives of these human beings; a race dying a slow death; a symbolic reverse of the opening scene of an old, pale man gazing at a dead, stuffed pigeon on a branch displayed in a glass chamber. Every once in a while there is the dreadful mocking laughter that is heard from one of the salesmen's novelty entertainment items. Whenever that laughter comes on screen, it almost seems like the laugh is on these hapless creatures.

"A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence" is a refreshingly original film by Roy Andersson; a masterpiece that balances pathos with wry humour, replete with repetitions and deadpan non sequitur tapped to a deliciously comic effect, inducing a constant smile and a nervous chuckle every once in a while. Its multiple short snippets will not only entertain you with the savagely funny writing, but also give you something deep to reflect upon.

Score: 10/10

Alps (2011)

A talented gymnast, her older coach, a nurse and a paramedic form a secret group offering services to fill in the shoes of the recently deceased. In return for a sum of money, these individuals engage in impersonating and play-acting the characteristic traits and daily routines of the dead, in the company of their relatives, parents, spouses, friends or colleagues over multiple sessions. The purported goal is to alleviate the relatives' grieving process by filling in the void created by the loss of their loved ones.

Absurd? Well, don't knock this one 'til you try it. "Alps" (2011) has a bizarre premise at its center that somehow works in Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos' minimalist, deadpan universe. The talented filmmaker knows exactly what he wishes to convey here, and with a rare panache, narrates this story by establishing a steady control on the aesthetics and tone, thereby making one appreciate the inexplicable material presented, which otherwise could've been in a grave danger of misfiring or being misunderstood.

From the very first frame, Lanthimos subjects us to a lot of off-kilter dialog and impassive line deliveries involving some very strange characters who engage in stranger exchanges. We are introduced to this group who call themselves 'The Alps', headed by their self-appointed leader, the paramedic, who calls himself Mont Blanc (Aris Servetalis). While bringing in an accident victim, rather than assuring or pacifying her, he tells her that she might die soon, and begins jotting down details about her family, likes and dislikes, possibly as groundwork for the next substitute assignment for his business!

The nurse (Angeliki Papoulia) works with the paramedic, and she is perhaps the most warped of the lot. While the agenda or the motivations of the group to carry out what they do is unclear, her motivations grow murkier, as it begins to appear that perhaps she has other things to gain from this underground project of theirs.

But just when you think she is the one with at least some shred of an emotional tissue in her when she appears to strike a bond with the dying accident victim, Lanthimos unmasks her as a shrewd businessperson who is quick to make an offer to the girl's parents to substitute her, even throwing in a freebie, in the same breath as she condoles them! Shrewd, she is though, as is later seen when she tries to bend the rules a bit, much to the ire of her leader.

The gymnast (Ariane Labed) and her coach (Johnny Vekris) are an odd pair. She appears to be quite dependent on him and very submissive too. When they argue about the style of music to use or even when a rather stern warning is issued, it is done in a manner so poker-faced, one begins to wonder what they are on. As the film progresses, it subtly raises doubts in our minds. How credible is the identity of these characters? The man is the girl's coach...or is he? Recurring dialog and repeating situations between people seem to hint at a wholly different perspective. It is tough to pinpoint reality against role-playing, as the line between the actual existences of this lot and their acted lives begins to obfuscate.

There are no easy answers to what is happening on screen, but gradually it all begins to make sense in a weird sort of way. One could think of Lanthimos' film as an absurdist black comedy that works as somewhat of a satire on feigned relationships and emphasizes on how unknowingly, there is an underlying pretense in almost every social connection. Don't we all put on an act in real life, no matter how small? Acting has become such an inherent part of our lives, that we tend to ignore it. Isn't it very common for an employee to put on a smiling face in front of his boss, despite not being given a raise? Aren't we all polite in the face of that untimely entry of an uninvited guest?

"Alps" simply amplifies this idea and makes it a way of life of our central characters. He taps into the very concept of replacing the loved ones and poses the question; how loved were they really if merely mouthing their commonly used words, wearing their clothes, and exhibiting their behavioural traits like a ritual, could be enough to substitute them?

The nurse comes home to her father at the end of the day and they follow a routine almost like clockwork, but their exchanges are very reserved. We learn later, how little she really knows her father, automatically planting a shred of doubt in our minds about even this father-daughter relationship. Is it for real? Or is it subconsciously turning into another acting assignment for her? And if it is real, then how appallingly detached this relationship is!

It is possible that perhaps, the people who actually buy these services are doing it out of sheer guilt or a desire to make amends for not being there for the ones who died. Cracks may have appeared in their bonds and the sudden deaths awaken them from their slumber. The Alps serve as a gateway to salvation, an alleviation of guilt rather than sorrow. How ironic, though, that the alleviation process itself borders on hilarity, owing to how mechanical it is. We see a man hire the nurse to fill in for his Canadian wife who presumably died from Diabetes. Their conversations in English are the strangest and funniest of the lot; right down to a deliberately fake orgasmic utterance during a feigned cunnilingus!

The peculiar camerawork is suggestive of the theme of an inherent alienation or emotional distance between individuals. The extensive use of shallow focus puts one character in the sharp forefront, while the other individual (or two) remain out of focus and blurred in the same frame, despite not being placed very far from this character. Sometimes, the head of a person or his/her entire body is cut out from the frame. 

This could be the filmmaker's way of withholding the emotions on his characters' faces, thereby not revealing or creating any sort of emotional bias. Or perhaps, more befittingly, it could be symbolic of total detachment. In tune with this idea, one could also think of the methods of the Alps and acting as a means of reconnecting alienated individuals, a theme explored in an extraordinarily ambiguous fashion in Abbas Kiarostami's wonderful "Certified Copy" (2010).

Lanthimos goes one step further. He makes acting actually look like acting by stripping it of the histrionics as well as the naturalism. The film is primarily about role-playing, and there is a deliberate pretense about it, accentuated with the deadpan and visibly rehearsed kind of line deliveries of these characters, given their daily acting routine. And this part reflects that awe-inspiring idea of how acting takes over real life, essentially nullifying the actual existence of an individual, as was explored in a more explicit and unequivocal fashion in Leos Carax's "Holy Motors" (2012).

It is no surprise then, that the characters are all obsessed with actors and more notably, Hollywood. A recurring line of conversation always pertains to enquiring about someone's favourite actors or singers. Hollywood seems to be either mocked at or paid tribute to, with a lot of references to various celebrities, living or dead. A blind woman would rather listen to a Winona Ryder interview about her day to day life than to other current affairs. Even a tiny detail about a coffee mug is shared, that incidentally has the name "Los Angeles" inscribed on it!

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players", goes an old, almost prophetic Shakespearean quote. Yorgos Lanthimos melds it with our reality as we know it, and demonstrates just how unreal it could be.


Score: 9/10