The Servant (1963)

A wealthy young British aristocrat, Tony (James Fox) hires Hugo Barrett (Dirk Bogarde, fabulous as always) as his live-in servant, to cook and offer general help around his large house. Hugo is mostly a very diligent and efficient worker and especially particular about the decoration and neatness around the house.

A usually lazy and habitually spoiled Tony is quite pleased with Hugo's work and both appear to be quite happy with the established arrangement. Tony's fiancée Susan (Wendy Craig) disapproves, however, and is quite uncomfortable with his presence and a resulting invasion of privacy. She also seems to be quite distrustful of him and his motives.

The status quo begins to shift, when Hugo brings home Vera (Sarah Miles), who he introduces as his sister, to help around the house as a maid. Her presence creates ripples in the existing scheme of things, as certain social barriers are transgressed. A devious machination of Tony's psychological manipulation begins to become apparent, with Tony's existence getting increasingly dependent on Hugo, giving way to a shift of power as the master and the servant gradually appear to switch roles!

Joseph Losey's "The Servant" boasts of Harold Pinter's complex script with an intriguing premise, that makes it a powerful psychological drama addressing a multitude of issues such as power play, social class conflict, an existential ennui associated with the decadent wealthy, and an employee's desire to realize the unrealistic ambition of stepping into the employer's shoes.

But the thematic concerns don't end there. As veiled as it may seem, Pinter makes a cryptic but very tangible exploration of repressed homosexuality, a sexual preference that was a criminal offence at the time, and its depiction in film, generally forbidden.

The stage is set for an unnerving sense of tension and unease, the moment Hugo enters Tony's plush abode. The house is in a sorry, messy shape with its owner slumped on an easy chair, asleep because of too many beers at lunch! Of course, it is learnt that he just returned from Africa, which explains the state of the house. Hugo's interview with Tony begins and ends well, but the interaction itself seems somewhat awkward.

Perhaps Hugo senses some trait of Tony which seems unpleasant or unusual to him. It's a cleverly executed sequence in which the duel has already begun between the two classes. Although it is Hugo who is being interviewed, he is in turn gauging his would-be employer, and studying his body language, and perhaps at that very moment has sensed something queer about him. Noteworthy is the somewhat oblique verbal exchange here, when Hugo raises an eyebrow as Tony takes a moment's pause whilst outlining what he expects of him.

Tony's fiancée Susan belongs to the class conscious breed of the rich and is more concerned about the encroachment and invasion of privacy. She looks down upon Barrett from the beginning, and her loathing for him is cemented early on when he deliberately barges in on the couple, without knocking, in the middle of their canoodling. Most of the film's heightened dramatic tension comes from the exchange between Susan and Hugo, who realizes Susan's contempt for his kind, and Bogarde's very expressive face, conveys this most accurately.

Vera is the mysterious fourth side of this quadrangle. She is the perfect epitome of lascivious desire with her strange mix of childlike yet carnal aura. Vera's arrival makes things a bit more ambiguous, but it is not a stretch to assume that she is brought in disturb Tony's relationship with Susan, knowing that theirs wasn't a strong bond to begin with. Another motive could also be to make Tony more dependent on Hugo. An assumption based on the homosexual subtext here is, that Tony isn't straight and hence he is probably feigning his normal relationship.

The intentionally nebulous dialog is a highlight of the film, and may leave a viewer scratching his/her head at times. For instance, one wonders why Susan once in a lovingly mocking way calls Tony a "bachelor"! Then there is that brief scene in which Tony tells Hugo that sometimes he gets the feeling that they are old friends, a feeling that he last experienced only in the army. Hugo reciprocates and says he identifies with such a feeling; very off-kilter musings but they certainly hint at a confession of a past homosexual experience.

The seemingly unconnected scene in a restaurant and the sudden random focus on characters completely unrelated to the story (the great Patrick Magee included!) may seem befuddling but one must carefully observe these characters and pay attention to their conversations. There is enough to suggest the presence of homoerotic undercurrents in the unpleasant exchanges of these characters. One of these characters also mentions about some artist or comedian being in prison; perhaps arrested on charges of homosexuality or even referring to it?

Losey abundantly employs the visual device of mirror reflections and distortions to emphasize the film's themes. Characters' crooked images are often shown in the convex mirror in the main room, symbolizing that they are deviant individuals, and they are all twisted in some way! Mirror images that swap positions of the two characters in various scenes symbolize the switch or a role reversal that has irreversibly been set in motion.

The visual gimmickry doesn't end with the mirrors. The third act takes a rather sudden and bizarre turn when we see the personalities of Hugo and Tony gradually changing, as the reversal begins to occur. In that one segment, Hugo and Tony almost seem to cohabit as a gay couple, bickering as partners, over sharing responsibilities! Hugo seems more temperamental and dominating, while Tony begins to get more submissive, gradually dissipating and presumably losing his sanity under the influence of drinks and other intoxicants.

To accentuate this surreal change in the scheme of things and to heighten the impact of Tony's steady decline, Losey employs an often creepy background score and a frighteningly effective use of lights and shadows to create a maddening, hallucinatory atmosphere of doom and hopelessness.

The ideas conveyed in the film wouldn't be as effective if not for the superlative performances. James Fox is a revelation, and Dirk Bogarde shines as is expected of the fine actor. His transformation from the controlled to the controller is beyond extraordinary. Joseph Losey's "The Servant" (1963) is a forgotten masterpiece that promises a more rewarding and enriching film experience with each viewing.

Score: 10/10

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