skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Film: La veuve de Saint-Pierre
Year of production: 2000
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: Park Circus
Certificate: 15
Running time: 112 mins
Director: Patrice Leconte
Starring: Juliette Binoche, Daniel Auteuil, Emir Kusturica, Michel Duchaussoy, Philippe Magnan
Genre: Drama/Romance
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France/Canada
Language: French
Review by: Gordon James Knox
La veuve de Saint-Pierre (The Widow Of Saint Pierre) is a period drama set on an isolated archipelago just off the Canadian cost in the days of the Second French Republic. Despite starring two of France’s most revered actors in Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil, the film didn’t exactly set the world alight upon its original 2000 release. A stranger film than might be anticipated, La veuve… contains enough originality and moments of genuine inspiration to steer clear of Merchant Ivory territory and justify this re-release.
In 1849 on the island of Saint-Pierre, fisherman Ariel Neel Auguste is sentenced to death after being found guilty of the murder of the fishing boat Captain, Coupard. Since there is no guillotine on the island, arrangements have to be made to ship one in from the island of Martinique. In the meantime, Neel is placed under the custody of Captain Jean, Captain of the troops in Saint-Pierre.
While spending his days in the cell waiting for the guillotine and executioner, Neel is invited by the Captain’s kindly wife, Pauline, to assist her in her garden. Soon a growing bond develops between Neel and Pauline, watched over approvingly by her trusting husband, as she teaches him to read and allows him the freedom to perform odd jobs around the island.
Less pleased with Neel’s rehabilitation and integration into the community of Saint-Pierre is the island’s governing elite. Anxious to push ahead with the execution as a means of asserting their authority and maintain their privileged status, they are only too aware of the increasing popularity of the man they condemned to death. Their fears are soon realised as the islanders voice their opposition and make it clear they will in no way assist in Neel’s execution.
Finally, the guillotine arrives, shortly followed by a destitute immigrant who the authorities pressure into accepting the role of executioner. Tensions soon come to a head, and when the Captain makes it clear to the island governor that he will refuse orders to shoot on the crowds in the event of a riot over Neel’s execution, the governor writes to Paris accusing him of sedition. It is not long before Jean’s life also hangs in the balance…
The original French title of the film loses something in translation. ‘La veuve’ does indeed mean ‘widow’ in French, but it is also 19th century slang for the guillotine, similar to the American slang of ‘widowmaker’. Thus, the ‘veuve’ of the title refers both to the execution device which has to be shipped onto the island as well as to the eventual fate of Pauline. A certain element of miscommunication carries over into the film: a period piece which attempts to act simultaneously as an indictment of capital punishment, as well as a portrayal of the lengths people will go to for love and their ideals, it doesn’t always come together in a convincing manner. If it was not for the fact the film was based on actual events preserved in court records, the story itself would seem scarcely believable.
Some of the film’s shortcomings may be explained by Patrice Leconte only assuming the role of director at the 11th hour (the original director, Alain Corneau, dropped out of the project just four months before shooting was due to start). Leconte has been quite open in admitting his main motive in accepting the project was the opportunity to work with Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil. Two of the brightest stars in French cinema, their performances are the main reasons to catch the film.
Only last year, Gerard Depardieu caused something of a stir in French film circles by launching a scathing attack on the acting abilities of Binoche, the darling of French cinema. Her performance here is unlikely to change the opinion of Depardieu, but it is another example of why many consider Binoche the finest actress of her generation. She gives yet another excellent, accomplished performance; everything below the surface, in stolen sideward glances, in slight but telling gestures. Resolutely unspectacular, so naturalistic and subtle that you don’t realise how much she is actually communicating until afterwards. It appears simple, only because Binoche’s talent makes it appear so effortless.
Autuiel’s performance is equally fine, and even more low-key, so carefully contained that, at times he appears almost unhinged. And perhaps there is something in this. The theme of sexual desire verging on obsession was explored by the director in his earlier Monsieur Hire, Le Mari de la coiffeuse and Le Parfum d'Yvonne, and it’s definitely at work here. One society lady, noting the way the Captain watches his wife, remarks to her companion, “He devours his lady with his eyes.” These society ladies often provide astute observations, a generally reliable chorus to the action of the story (an example of the film’s subtle unconventionality). The companion responds to that comment with the claim that their own husbands would be similarly attentive should their wives take up a handsome burly protégé for themselves. The juxtaposition of a scene where Pauline teaches Neel to read, their growing attraction to one another quite palpable, with a particularly impassioned love scene between the Captain and his wife seems to confirm this. Is the rehabilitation of Neel simply a form of foreplay, unconscious or not, for the couple; a testing of their love? Is this the significance of Pauline’s sensuous red dresses, the dark carmine so conspicuous among the washed out greys and subdue hues of the cinematography: a dangerous game both are playing that will eventually result in the shedding of blood?
This ambiguity makes for interesting viewing, but it does tend to clash with the fatalistic nature of the film and the way it plays out as pure tragedy in the classical tradition. While some may find the ambiguity and shades of grey enthralling, others may see confusion and a lack of focus in the presentation of the film’s main message and themes, compounded by the filmmaker’s predilection for offering up questions rather than answers. The relationship between the Captain and his wife is successful (mainly due to the nuanced performances of Autuiel and Binoche), but the character of Neel is less convincing. Since the director focuses mainly on his rehabilitation, there is little effort given to explain the inexplicable murder at the beginning of the film. “They aren’t punishing the man they sentenced,” Pauline proclaims. The only problem is what we see on screen doesn’t quite back this up. Neel does not really change, since we know little about him prior to his imprisonment; he is essentially portrayed as a gentle giant, essentially good, even saint-like, forever putting the needs of others before his own (even at the risk of his own life). None of this is the fault of Emir Kusturica (better known as a director in his own right, he is quietly impressive in his acting debut), but can be attributed to significant gaps in the initial development of his character. A more interesting question raised by the film but never truly explored is that of the capability of ‘good’ people to commit ‘evil’ acts. The same themes of crime and punishment, rehabilitation, redemption and responsibility touched upon in Le veuve were explored with far greater sensitivity and thoughtfulness in Tim Robbin’s Dead Man Walking. In its desire to hammer home its anti-capital punishment stance, La veuve sacrifices psychology and crucially its overall impact.
La veuve de Saint-Pierre is a good film, although far from a great one. It’s handsomely shot, with fine set design and costumes, and excellent performances from two of France’s greatest actors. Ultimately, though, it’s let down by some muddied thinking and a lack of substantial depth behind its ideas. An intriguing, if somewhat frustrating film.
![]()
Film: Paris
Release date: 2nd February 2009
Certificate: 15
Running time: 125 mins
Director: Cedric Klapisch
Starring: Juliette Binoche, Romain Duris, Fabrice Luchini, Albert Dupontel, Mélanie Laurent
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: France
César Award Nominee Cédric Klapisch pays homage to his home city in this 2008 ensemble feature, focusing on a diverse group of characters living in Paris. Klapisch intermittently observes and intertwines the lives of various inhabitants of the City of Love, and whilst illustrating an ever-unfulfilled society, ponders the motivations behind humanity’s desire to survive.
The film opens with and centres on Pierre (Romain Duris), a cabaret dancer who is told by his cardiologist that he will require a heart transplant if he is to have even a chance of surviving. Pierre’s heart condition leads him to reflect upon his life, his passions, and those transient moments which are so effortlessly taken for granted.
Refined to his apartment, Pierre observes the lives of the people wandering in the city below. It is this pastime which provokes Pierre to evaluate his own experiences, and to develop a true appreciation for those which made him feel the most happy and alive.
With his concerned sister, Élise (Juliette Binoche), caring for him, Pierre keeps himself occupied by watching those in the city below live their lives. When he is feeling up to it, Pierre takes walks outside, and crosses paths with those he has observed from above.
Inevitably, Pierre longs to dance, to run, and to make love to beautiful women as he once did. This regret and appetite for life leads him to encourage his sister to take more chances in life, rather than being so persistently pessimistic, like much of the Parisian society…
In a similar style to Paris Je t’aime, the film doesn’t purport that Paris is merely the city of romance, and proceed to spin its audience a clichéd yarn of happily ever after relationships. Instead, the film illustrates the different effects that love and sex can have on those involved, and analyses how different people approach the subject under different circumstances.
Klapisch is able to capture some of those rare moments which illustrate the frailty of human life, the beauty and the heart-ache of love, and the never sufficiently appreciated moments that pass us by too quickly. Nevertheless, Paris, much like the idealised city itself, and the often selfish and ignorant characters on display here, is beautiful but flawed.
There are some undeniably talented actors on display here, and the characters which they portray are worthy of far more screen time than can be afforded to them in one production. Indeed, some of the characters and sub-plots are so beguiling that Klapisch might have devoted a full script entirely to their cause.
Sadly, however, this is not the case, and Klapisch fails to develop upon any one character enough to leave viewers thoroughly satisfied, yet wanting more. Instead, the audience are left ever so slightly disappointed. Whether or not it is Klapisch’s intention to leave the audience, like many of his characters here, confused and unfulfilled, condensing the plots and saturating the number of characters would have been better avoided.
For instance, whilst being the focal point of the film, Pierre is not developed upon thoroughly enough for the audience to fully empathise with him and his changing perceptions towards life and people. It is evident that Pierre is a charismatic young man, and that he enjoyed his life as a cabaret dancer before his heart condition developed, but the fact that we see him so infrequently, and are given only a minor insight into his life, reduces the effect that his character should have on the audience.
This disassociation from Pierre is most evident in the closing scene, where Pierre appears almost resentful towards society for being so melancholic, and for not embracing life fully. The final words with which the audience are left are clearly intended to leave a lasting impression on the viewer, and yet the impact of this dialogue is diminished by our lack of understanding of Pierre, and how he lived his life prior to his illness. To Duris’ credit, he utilises his screen time well, and provides a convincing portrayal of a reflective young man, burdened with the fear of an imminent death. It is a shame, though, that his role is minimised by the inclusion of unnecessary excess characters.
Similarly, Elise (Binoche) serves as a further example of how Klapisch’s attempt to encompass such a broad scope of characters falls just short of the mark. Elise is a caring and selfless social worker, who despite her own problems at work and in her personal life, wants only to help her dying brother. Again, though, whilst the audience will certainly be grateful that Binoche’s natural beauty and captivating portrayal graces this production, they will undoubtedly be left with a sense of longing. The conclusion to Elise’s story, in particular, feels rushed and unconvincing, as if written merely as a convenient way to tie up some lose ends.
Roland Verneuil (Fabrice Luchini) is perhaps the most intriguing and complex character of all, and certainly the most bizarre. An expert in the history of Paris, teaching at the former University of Paris, Sorbonne, he becomes besotted by the young and beautiful Laetitia (Mélanie Laurent). This leads at first to panic attacks and a sudden change of job, quickly followed by an unlikely affair, which begins as a somewhat cringe-worthy and creepy stalking by Roland. This relationship sparks excitement in Roland, and causes him to act almost like a teenager, encountering his first love.
Again, though, this is a story that could be told all on its own, without the distracting interruptions of the other ongoing plots. Luchini, as with much of the cast, is a worthy addition to the production and certainly offers up many laughs and awkward moments, but it is his last dialogue that will impact most upon the audience.
It isn’t just the characters that suffer, however, as some of the peripheral subject matter of the film is too quickly brushed over. This lack of development of such topics ultimately means that they are put to the back of the viewer’s minds, and become almost pointless touching upon in the first place. For example, Khadija, a student of North African origin, takes a job working for a bigoted owner of a bakery, who nevertheless likes her for the simple reason that she works hard. This plot is barely developed at all, and would be better left for another project, rather than diverting away from the more prominent storylines.
Similarly, the story of Benoit (Kingsley Kum Abang), a resort worker in Cameroon, seems to have been thrown in only as an afterthought by Klapisch. Benoit is a somewhat misguided man who risks his life crossing the Straights of Gibraltar in an attempt to reach his brother, and a beautiful acquaintance, in Paris. Unfortunately, this rather serious and harrowing subject matter is turned into an almost redundant storyline, as it is thrown into the caldron of plots and picked out on too few occasions to have any real impact on the audience.
The splendid views of Paris and the inclusion of such tourist highlights as the Sacre Coeur, the Eiffel Tower and the Bastille are aesthetically beautiful, but occasionally make this feel like an advertisement for the city, pieced together by the Office du Tourisme. Like Woody Allen’s Manhattan, there’s a seeming intention to draw people to the city, as well as to provoke nostalgia, and remind those already living there why it is so romanticised. Klapisch, however, does not reach the same heights or achieve the same outcome as Allen did with Manhattan, nor which Klapisch himself has done in the past with films such as When the Cat’s Away or Russian Dolls.
Despite the film’s shortfalls, however, the audience will ultimately be rewarded for taking the time to view what is on offer. The film doesn’t apologise for sending out a clichéd message, and this is evident from the opening credits. Wax Taylor’s ‘Seize The Day’ is played to set the tone for the movie, and this carpe diem theme is wholly embraced and continued through to the film’s conclusion. The lyrics are echoed to the audience in the final scene and closing credits, leaving the audience with a familiar, but important message.
Paris is a film which offers nothing new in terms of its cardinal message to the audience, and certainly it suffers for its attempt to abbreviate the stories of too many fascinating characters into one sitting. Yet, there are some genuinely funny, bizarre and heartfelt moments to be shared here, and with the aid of some polished performances from a beautifully diverse cast, the audience could almost be forgiven for casting a shadow over the movie’s faults. TMO
Film: Certified Copy
Release date: 17th January 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 106 mins
Director: Abbas Kiarostami
Starring: Juliette Binoche, William Shimell, Jean-Claude Carrière, Agathe Natanson, Gianna Giachetti
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: France/Italy/Iran
Like the vacant microphones which dominate the first still of Abbas Kiarostami’s Certified Copy, one feels like a lonely figure waiting to be broached; waiting for an unknown address from an unknown addressee. Throughout the film this feeling never really dies, since its two principal characters each take it in turns to validate their case, like barristers squabbling in a courtroom. And yet Certified Copy, as dialogue-heavy and briskly meditative it is as an assessment of what constitutes a committed relationship, is as fluid and engaging a disquisition as Kiarostami has produced since 1997’s Taste Of Cherry.
Those microphones stand for James Miller (Shimell), who is attending a conference to promote, recite, and discuss his book, ‘Copie Conforme’ (Certified Copy). As he charms the Tuscan audience with his ambivalence and dry, pronounced British humour, he also draws apparent enthusiast Elle (Binoche) into his gaze. After she quarrels with her young son about the extent of her feelings for James, they later meet inside the boutique that she owns, and embark on a day trip to a handsome nearby town.
When journeying to get to this town, their conversation in the car extends to intellectual debate based on James’s book, the philosophy of which is framed upon cultural artefacts: what makes one artefact authentic and another false? They appear to have opposing views, his disillusionment with celebrity mirrored with her embracing of the PR world. And as Elle berates her own friend Marie’s simplistic attitude towards realness, he reveals a pedantic, self-righteous streak in endeavouring to fight Marie’s corner, claiming a final, elitist word on the matter.
The increase of tension flaunts a degree of harvested resentment; she’s frustrated, he’s resigned, and we aren’t quite sure until halfway through the film quite why they’re acting in this way...
Kiarostami uses the basis of a book about authenticity to show conflicting views about what a relationship and a marriage means; whether relationships are a product of natural chemistry, or whether we construct them to suit our own needs and plug inherent insecurities. The cavalier (anti?) charm about Certified Copy is that the subjects at the head of it, James and Elle, are either theorising their real feelings to accommodate the context of their exchange, or regressing to idealistic views of romance. Each grows more direct and assertive as they learn how much they can give of themselves without being stung, and the dynamic of their dialogue grows more tumultuous and unpredictable with every passing frame.
Certified Copy becomes a fascinating study of relationships, of how we use different modes of address to assert our point-of-view, and to justify ourselves to each other. Binoche and Shimell’s canny ability to draw you into their interplay makes the film vibrant and stimulating as an intellectual standoff, keenly mysterious in alluding to how emotional connection can devolve into figurative deadness. Even the quaint Tuscan hideaway that they peruse, with its dotted galleries and towering antiquity, becomes more of a weapon to the couple than a distraction - a method of instilling ideological sentiment into an emotional outlet that feels all but extinct. Art becomes the subjective canvas on which they coat their philosophies and belief systems, either through frustration towards the other, or to confirm to themselves that their lives aren’t an exception to a rule.
Binoche gives Elle startling complexity, flirting with the active courage of a teenager, and cunningly baying James to play along in her playground fantasy. She colours her impassioned silent hope with bitter self-realised existential crisis, painfully unable to quash the mentality that keeps her family in a tentatively ephemeral state.
Certified Copy recalls the recently-released Blue Valentine in its display of a disintegrated romance that may have failed through being formed upon impulsivity and false perceptions, but rather than show the car crash, Kiarostami’s film is more about picking up the pieces and confronting one’s own failures. Particularly in Elle’s case, it feels as though she’s trying to find if her grievous loss is genuine: whether she’s mourning for something that ever existed, or if it all began as a result of mismatched agendas.
Gorgeously crafted and expertly played, Certified Copy achieves profound worth at generating back-story through spirited cajoling, even as deeper motives lie underneath the exterior. Such is the depth of each exchange between James and Elle, one can see a single scene of this succeeding as a short film, with enough tiny inflections of hollow affection to allude to years of unspoken contempt. What begins as a resurrection turns into a fatal re-enactment, and finally a sorrowful lament. The film’s title says it all: never has an imitation of a marriage felt so true. CR
Film: Code Unknown
Release date: 19th November 2001
Certificate: 15
Running time: 112 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Juliette Binoche, Thierry Neuvic, Josef Bierbichler, Alexandre Hamidi, Maimouna Hélène Diarra
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France/Germany/Romania
Austrian director Michael Haneke has drawn comparisons with the late, great Stanley Kubrick due to the cold distant manner in which he observes the sometimes cruel nature of human behaviour. In his 2000 thriller Code Unknown, Haneke turns his critical eye upon the cultural and racial differences simmering underneath the urban sprawl of modern Paris, whilst at the same time delivering a fractured narrative which demands the audience’s attention from the opening scene.
When the younger brother of an actress’ boyfriend throws a piece of rubbish into a Kosovan beggar’s lap, a chain of events is set into motion which has drastic implications for all concerned; the affluent actress currently filming a thriller (Binoche), the black voluntary worker who confronts the youth in the street (Yenke), the beggar herself (Gheorghiu), and the actress’s boyfriend, coincidentally returning from a stint photographing the conflict in Kosovo (Neuvic). From this seemingly minor incident, the repercussions ripple outwards, and previously unrevealed connections between these characters begin to emerge.
The beggar is deported back to her country as an illegal immigrant, and the voluntary worker is arrested for affray, while there are problems too for the actress Anne - her relationship with her photographer partner is adversely affected by his problems with his rural dwelling father. Interspersed throughout are dramatic scenes from her new film, further blurring the lines between what is presented to us as reality and what is fictional.
As events seem poised to be resolved, all of a sudden some shocking revelations emerge and shake things up still further…
Michael Haneke’s examination of society’s failure to communicate in the 21st century is bookended by two fascinating and compelling scenes – the initial confrontation which sparks the narrative is presented as a long single take following the action on a typically busy Parisian street, handled effortlessly by the director. The penultimate scene, which features a public harassment of Anne by a youth of Moroccan descent, is both harrowing and spellbinding. Sadly, these scenes serve to highlight what Code Unknown could have been, for the film in-between does not live up to these individual moments.
All the usual features of Haneke’s work are present and correct - the lack of a music score, the stark colour scheme, the liberal use of natural acting - yet the overall event is far below the filmmaking heights that Haneke achieves in other, superior films. Perhaps the fault lies in the narrative structure itself: whereas in films such as Cache and Funny Games the plot is tight and tense, allowing the director’s trademark aggressive style to truly immerse the viewer in the action, in Code Unknown, the plot construction is too disjointed to ever really catch our attention.
All of which make the scenes that do work standout in their individual quality - a scene involving the beggar’s return to her native homeland is understated and quietly affecting, while the snippets we see of Binoche’s fictional thriller are of a quality high enough to make one wish they were watching that film instead (incidentally, the promotional team behind the film deserve derision for the dishonesty they display in using a dramatic still from one of those scenes as the poster for the film, thereby misleading the potential viewer as to the film they are about to see).
Binoche herself provides her usual sterling effort in the lead role, but even a more skilled actor than her (and there are few of those) would struggle with the limited material she is given to work with.
One of Haneke’s favourite themes is social awkwardness taken to an almost unbearable degree, and viewers who share similar tastes will not be disappointed in Code Unknown. We are constantly bombarded with images that we all recognise as times where we, as members of a society, can either stand up and assist, or keep a low profile and hope it goes away. From a middle-aged man breaking down and sobbing in his bathroom, to the aforementioned scene of abuse in a metro car - where a youth actually spits in Binoche’s face – Haneke keeps the same impartial, unflinching eye trained to the dark underbelly of the bourgeoisie, a hallmark that has served him well throughout his career.
Those expecting a neat resolution to the story will, as usual with Haneke’s films, be disappointed with the extremely open-ended finale, which barely qualifies as such. Whereas Cache made the viewer interpret their own ending by providing them with the most sparing of visual references in the last scene, Code Unknown does not even bother with this. Instead, Haneke opts for a multi-vantage point scene, revolving around Binoche’s apartment door, which is rendered ultimately pointless due to the overly oblique and frankly uninteresting material that the director decides to wrap up the narrative with.
Code Unknown is not wholly without redeeming features. Gheorghiu gives a touching performance as the beggar who is considerably more than that in her homeland, and the scenes set in Kosovo bristle with authenticity. Similarly, the individual scenes that follow the family of the voluntary worker quickly and effectively depict the everyday trials and tribulations that the ethnic minority underclass must face in modern France. Again, these scenes contribute to the overall sense of frustration, as they demonstrate what a fantastic and intellectually stimulating experience this could have been, rather than the hollow movie we are left with.
Code Unknown stands out as a rare misstep in Michael Haneke’s glittering Euro-intellectual career. Trapped somewhere in the mishmash of the social commentary and fractured thriller that was very much in vogue at the start of the 21st century - with films such as amores perros and Traffic also hitting cinemas - is a biting reflection of social mores and cultural misunderstanding. However, it was not until Cache, five years later, that Haneke finally made this film. Unfortunately Code Unknown suffers badly from sharing such similar features and themes, not to mention the same lead actress, for it cannot avoid seeming like merely a dry run for what was one of the best films of the decade.
Film: Hidden
Release date: 19th June 2006
Certificate: 15
Running time: 113 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Daniel Auteuil, Juliette Binoche, Maurice Benichou, Annie Girardot, Bernard Le Coq
Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France
Being spied on as we go about our daily lives is virtually impossible to avoid in CCTV-covered cities across the globe, but in Hidden, director Michael Haneke’s 2005 thriller, surveillance is given a far more ominous dimension.
Georges and Anne Laurent are a married upper-middle class couple who enjoy a comfortable, if slightly muted existence in the stylishly understated, book-lined Parisian home they share with their 12-year-old son Pierrot.
Both Georges and Anne have good jobs that they seem to enjoy: Georges is the host of a TV chat show about literature and Anne works for a publisher. They have dinner parties with friends, and tend to the needs of their slightly sullen son, but we see their routine being shattered right at the beginning of the film, when they watch and try to make sense of a video that has been anonymously left at their front door.
The video, shot from an adjacent street, shows them leaving their home on their way to work. Who sent it and why is a mystery, but as further videos and disturbing drawings begin to appear, Georges is forced to look back to his childhood, and an episode from his past that he would have preferred to remain hidden.
At first, Georges is unwilling to share his suspicions about a young Algerian boy who his parents adopted then later sent away, and his relationship with his wife suffers as a result, but as events unfold and edge beyond his control, his past comes messily spilling out, with terrible results…
There is no neat conclusion to the events that unfold in Hidden, and Haneke deliberately avoids providing the audience with a definite answer as to who was responsible for the videos and drawings. Whether this makes him a bold provocateur or a perverse fraud is a matter that has divided many viewers and critics, but what is certain is that Haneke enjoys unsettling audience expectations, and disobeying narrative conventions.
Frustrating, thought-provoking or both, Hidden is not afraid to touch a few raw nerves in its treatment of everything from colonialism and marital fidelity to childhood innocence and guilt. If there was a Hollywood remake of Hidden, and Haneke chose not to direct to it himself (as he did in the case of Funny Games), such topics would no doubt be dealt with in a far less ambiguous, open-ended way, but that is not the case here.
Haneke seems to revel in the insecurity and lack of certainty that plagues his characters, and he makes sure that we, as viewers, share in this unease. At times, you are not even sure whether what you are watching is part of the main body of the film or a section of one of the surveillance tapes. The two blur into one another, and we can’t help but be drawn into this voyeuristic, deeply unsettling world, wanting to see and know more.
Daniel Auteuil (Georges) and Juliette Binoche (Anne) are both exceptional in their roles, each expertly drawing out the nuances in their respective characters. It’s difficult not to sympathise with Georges as his cool facade unravels under the pressure, but, at the same time, you question who the real Georges is, as he begins to show increased aggression and an inability to own up to his past mistakes. Anne, too, elicits conflicting responses in the way she responds to the growing turmoil: at times vulnerable and confused, at others tetchy and self-centred.
Lester Makedonsky’s Pierrot, likeable yet prone to typical preteen sulkiness, is cleverly kept on the margins and we’re never quite sure what he makes of his parents. Does the Eminem poster in his room signal a rejection of parental control, or is he just another well-to-do kid going through growing pains?
There are significant stretches of the film where not a lot really happens, and the tone is one of detachment, as though what is happening to Georges and Anne is more of a rude inconvenience than a crisis in the making, but this only serves to make the film’s shocking moments all the more powerful and emotionally jarring.
The final scene, a static long shot showing pupils leaving a school, is quietly devastating in the way it echoes the earlier surveillance footage and suggests new, profoundly disturbing possibilities. If you don’t watch very carefully, you may miss this final sucker punch, and the full, quietly chilling effect of Hidden may remain exactly that.
Austrian director Michael Haneke has stated that he uses his films to pose questions rather than provide answers, and it is this approach that makes Hidden such a compelling and memorable viewing experience. JG
