L'humanité (1999)

In a small and mostly desolate, laid back French town, where seemingly nothing ever happens, an 11-year old girl is found brutally raped and murdered. The crime is unimaginably ghastly, the kind you would look away from. French filmmaker Bruno Dumont shows us the terrifying image of the brutalized body in considerable detail and for good reason too.

"L'humanité" (1999) is not about the mystery of the crime. It is in fact, about the psychological impact of witnessing something so inhuman, examined from one man's perspective, an awkward and socially inept police superintendent, Pharaon DeWinter (Emmanuel Schotté, in a hypnotic, tour de force act). A brilliant character study, the film explores the way this tragic event is received by Pharaon, a man visibly haunted by the gruesomeness of the crime, and its effect on his relationship with others around him, especially his next door neighbor Domino (Séverine Caneele).

Despite being a part of the investigating team, it is apparent from Pharaon's visage and body language that he possesses neither the attitude nor the energy that is essential to crack a case as dangerous as this. He is a very slow, soft, and mild-mannered fellow, a man-child, a weak nincompoop, with possibly some mental issues, and is clearly not fit for his position. The investigation doesn't seem to be moving as it should either. The attitude of the cops is as lackadaisical as the town they reside in. There are no leads. Help eventually has to be brought in from bigger cities.

While he is not on his rather unproductive pursuit of the killer, all that remains for Pharaon is to idle away, and tag along as a third wheel, with Domino and her vulgar boyfriend Joseph (Philippe Tullier) on their excursions around town. When alone, the brooding, contemplative Pharaon seems to be immersed in some sort of deep personal connect with his surroundings, soaking in nature, meditating, or just reflecting with a palpable sadness. There is certainly much more to Pharaon's personality than what meets the eye; perhaps something beyond human understanding. And yet, Pharaon seems to be the only one with any shred of humanity that stands in sharp contrast against the abundant moral corruption around him.

Dumont's languid style with its moody atmosphere and long silences, allows the viewer to comfortably settle in and fixate his/her gaze on Pharaon as the screenplay follows his every move. The camera captures the vast, bleak emptiness of the sleepy town in all its glory. Every frame, no matter how banal, seems to hint at something that Pharaon reflects upon.

Dumont commands our attention and implores us to empathize with Pharaon, as he goes on with his strange activities, some bordering on the downright weird. For instance, Dumont begs the question: why is Pharaon so intently staring at his Superior's chubby pink neck with all its sweat? Is he likening it to something else? Maybe the pig that he so lovingly caresses?

It is interesting how frequently we see a frame that seems to resemble a vaginal slit, an image from the crime that has certainly scarred Pharaon's mind. He cycles, looks back at a long slender road, flanked by bushes and trees on both sides. He looks down a building and in top view, sees two men fighting in a narrow way between two similar constructions. He rejects Domino's sexual advances. He refuses to smell her panties that her ill-humoured boyfriend Joseph passes to him. Could Pharaon be a closeted homosexual or has the image of a brutalized vagina put a dent on his ability to look straight at a woman? Could it have corrupted his vision to an extent that the sight of a woman's genitals seems ugly and sickens him?

There is a gay kiss that comes out of nowhere. If one is to think that Pharaon was in fact taking pleasure in watching Joseph and not Domino, as they make love in an earlier scene, then it would connect. That would also explain Pharaon's approval of Joseph's churlish behavior in public. As it would the twist ending, hinting at an exchange deal of sorts or as a mark of some kind of a sick triumph. But then again, perhaps it is not that easy an answer as a corruption of sexuality.

At one point of time, amid some flower plantations in a garden, Pharaon appears to levitate. Perhaps the levitation is not literal and it is just a trickery device employed by Dumont to visually manifest Pharaon's ethereal feelings of being swept away in nature's bounty.

And then again, there is a possibility that Pharaon indeed did levitate, in which case one can't help but read Dumont's material on a more metaphysical level. Pharaon is some angelic being above humanity, a kind soul, out to correct the balance between good and evil. Pharaon is probably a godsend, a Christ-like entity, albeit not strictly adhering to the popular notion of Christ. He is one who exists as the epitome of kindness; one who will even take the fall for sin of others in the interest of humanity, a supreme sacrifice.

If one were to indeed adhere to the theory that Pharaon is not normal and far beyond ordinary, beyond humanity, then it could explain his touchy-feely ways with suspects brought in for questioning too. Just what exactly does he do with all that too-close-for-comfort sniffing and touching of the suspects' faces? Startling is also the fact that they don't seem to question it or express shock in return. Could Pharaon have the supernatural ability to recognize if a person is guilty by touching and smelling them? Is that how he is, at one point of time, convinced of a certain suspect's guilt? There is nothing explicit to corroborate this, but a mild suggestion is certainly there. But then again, perhaps it means nothing, and they are just some eccentric mannerisms of a mentally unstable cop.

And that is the essence of Dumont's cinematic craft. His magic lies in suspending the truth in this manner so as to not give easy answers. The restraint exercised is remarkable and it is no mean feat that he manages to open up a number of gates for possible interpretations to this enigmatic film in just the last ten minutes of the film! Everything is handled in a very delicate, calculated fashion; be it the sprinkling of humour in the right doses throughout the somber, melancholic atmosphere or maintaining an air of mystery throughout, ensuring that this film experience remains an intoxicating one, long after the credits roll by.

Score: 9/10

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

Alice or The Last Escapade (1977)

Lewis Carroll's classic tale, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" gets a psychological horror/thriller/mystery makeover in Claude Chabrol's "Alice or The Last Escapade" (1977). The connection with Carroll's story is only superficial, however, including a reference to Carroll in the name of the title character. The protagonist in Chabrol's film is an adult, and the world she finds herself in is more surreal and spooky, rather than fantastical. 

It all begins with Alice (Sylvia Kristel) listening to her husband rant out his work troubles while munching on some grapes and hardly even looking at her. After he is done, Alice informs him that she couldn't stand him anymore and had decided to leave him. It appears from this little but important sequence, that perhaps, Alice's husband is only a talker and not a listener.

Alice storms out of the house that stormy night, taking along a suitcase and driving off, only to be overpowered by the unrelenting rains. The windshield suddenly breaks and she is forced to pull over at the nearest gate, which happens to be of a plush estate with a large mansion. Her host, a sweet old man, Mr. Vergennes (Charles Vanel) and his butler Colas (Jean Carmet) are most hospitable and they provide her food and shelter for the night.

Come morning, and Alice finds that her car has been fixed; there is coffee and breakfast laid out on the table, but her hosts seem to have mysteriously disappeared! She attempts to pack up and leave, but finds that she is unable to do so, as there no longer seems to be an exit to the estate! As she struggles to escape the property, she encounters some bizarre events and strange characters in the ghostly mansion. Just where exactly has Alice landed herself?

"Alice or The Last Escapade" is unlike any other Chabrol film, and the great filmmaker does a commendable job with a premise outside of his comfort zone. An unsettling, chilling atmosphere dominates every frame, even in scenes shot during the daytime, as for the most part, Alice seems to be the only one around. It's like everyone else has practically vanished from the world. 

An eerie sound design and score contribute to the slow burning tension which escalates, establishes its presence and stays afloat in an elegantly controlled form, thereby leaving the viewer in a wide-eyed state of suspense throughout the film's duration. The cinematography is exquisite with an exemplary use of lights and shadows, rendering a creepy touch to most of the sequences shot in the dimly lit mansion.

There is that familiar horror film cliché of a broken clock that stops and starts functioning at its will, and mostly in a definite time window. "We don't care too much about time around here", Colas the butler quips upon being asked about the clock. It is a rather ominous exchange, which makes one think; could Alice have crossed over to another dimension where time and space, as we know it, don't exist? In an interesting twist, the clock doesn't serve as a mere cliché, once Alice intelligently deduces its purpose!

Chabrol's usual mastery in characterizationis put to good use here in the portrayal of Alice. In a situation like this, one would expect Alice to be a hysterical and sobbing victim. Chabrol betrays viewer expectations, however, and turns predictability over its head by giving Alice an icy cool and mildly arrogant aura. She takes her predicament in her stride with an unusual élan.

Even following the initial realization that she cannot get out, Alice sheds a few tears of fear, but the feisty, headstrong woman that she is, she quickly regains composure, determined not to be licked by her captors. When each one of the weird lot she meets refuses to answer questions saying it is futile to ask, she decides to play by their rules by shutting herself off and refusing to divulge her feelings about the whole thing. The shift of power is noteworthy; the ones supposedly playing her begin to look innocent and nice, while the captive seems strangely unconcerned and grows increasingly smug, subtly taking charge.

With characters like the little boy with a bird cage and via the strange occurrence at the diner, Chabrol subtly hints at the nature of Alice's predicament and what in fact, could be happening to her. A particular episode at the gas station is rather unnerving, but also one that is there for a purpose. None of this is heavy-handed though, and melds in seamlessly with the intriguing narrative until the third act, when a particular sequence does tend to sway a bit on the expository side. The exposition itself is vague, fortunately and doesn't entirely insult the intelligence of the viewers.

While some of the special effects, thankfully used only in a couple of scenes, may have a dated feel, there is no denying that "Alice or The Last Escapade" (1977) is an overlooked, essential Chabrol classic, a genre-bending work that is perhaps, unique to his filmography, and one that needs to be recognized among his best works.

Score: 9/10