CACHÉ (Hidden)
A
Austria (117 mi) 2005 d: Michael
Haneke
Winner of Best Director at Cannes, delving into the
complexities of a modern era thriller, surveillance, and social privilege,
perhaps not on the same level as, but in the same manner as Dreyer, Ozu,
Bresson, or Tarkovsky, Haneke's formalistic execution is so flawless and
precise that he disciplines the audience to reconfigure their conceptual vision
of film, using a cinema by reduction, reducing what’s shown onscreen to only
the barest minimum, employing subtlety to an extreme degree. An
appropriate title for this film, which is an elegantly filmed, internationally
implicating whodunit that offers so few clues that by the end of the film, the
viewer is required to return to all the scenes of the crime and come up with
their best explanation. That, ultimately, is the power of this film, that
it so purposefully motivates the viewer to think for themselves in trying to
figure this out. Opening with a static shot overlooking a street into a
facing apartment, we sit there awhile, as if in a state of pause, and reflect
on what we see. What immediately comes to mind is looking for Raymond
Burr with a suitcase in a window, or leaning more towards the Clue factor,
searching for the butler, with a kitchen knife, in the dining room. This
simply sets the stage for what follows, as it emphasizes how the viewer might
approach the practice of watching carefully. The residents of that apartment,
Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil as Anne and Georges Laurent, both working
professionals with a moody, yet intelligent teenage son, have received a video
tape that simply watches their home over an extended period of time. This
sends them into a series of questions, such as who or why, and how? Their
life continues pretty much as it did before, until they receive even more
specific video tapes from someone who has personal access to their lives, who
is in fact spying on them, but again, they do not know who or why. When
they go to the police, since no direct threat has been made on their lives, the
police refuse to intervene. However their nerves begin to fray, which is
expressed by Georges stepping out into the street and nearly getting his head
taken off by a speeding cyclist, yelling out “You dickhead!” The cyclist, who
is black, stops to confront Georges about the nature of his offensive
comments. What’s curious here is how the camera itself becomes an unseen
collaborator simply by observing everyday events, where viewers are caught
between what appears to be reality, until suddenly what we see is being
rewound, revealed to be a surveillance tape, where it’s hard as we‘re watching
the film to distinguish one from the other.
With all the notoriety surrounding this film, Haneke becomes
the most celebrated European filmmaker, reaching the apex moment of his entire
his career, even though it was afterwards that he was twice awarded the Palme
d’Or (1st prize) award for best film at Cannes, as much of his subsequent
notoriety was obtained by the power and influence of this film. Exploring
the personal guilt associated with past actions, this film internalizes and
externalizes the consequences, using history to comment upon the malaise of the
present, suggesting the past cannot stay hidden. Seeking refuge through
withdrawal of moral responsibilities, people retreat to the isolation of their
home, like a cocoon, hoping it provides a buttress to the violence and cruelty
that exists outside. The Laurent apartment is the picture of wealth and
comfort, spacious, with an entire wall lined with books, in the center a giant
TV screen. He works as a television literary reviewer, where we see him
working to edit out much of the dense, analytical discussion in favor of the
more incendiary views sure to heighten the ratings. Georges has a hunch
who the culprit may be, but he refuses to share it with his wife, claiming it
is irrelevant, which sends her into a rage, an internalized disgust with him,
unable to believe he doesn’t include her and what could potentially bring her
harm as relevant. This also signals a guilt trip from the position of a
white privileged bourgeoisie, something Georges refuses to delve into.
Through a series of dreams and personal conversations, we learn more about
Georges’ childhood, that an Algerian family lived and worked at his parent’s
country estate when he was age 6, and they had a child about his age. At
that time a historical event took place when Algeria, then a colony of France,
was fighting France for its independence, an event known as Black Night on
October 17, 1961 (Algerians
massacred in Paris - Oct 17, 1961 - HISTORY.com), when a peaceful demonstration
taking place in an Algerian neighborhood in Paris protesting the Algerian War
was brutally attacked by police, rounding up 200 unarmed protesters who drowned
mysteriously in the Seine River, an incident that remains thoroughly concealed
in France’s colonial past, a dirty little secret that is kept hidden, wiped
clean from the nation’s collective consciousness. Among the deaths are
both parents of the Algerian family living with Georges, leaving behind an
orphaned Algerian boy who finds himself all alone, which the family decides to
adopt, but Georges was jealous of all the attention he received, and devised a
plan to get rid of him. It is this boy, now a grown man, Majid (Maurice
Bénichou), that Georges suspects of getting his revenge.
Interspersed with this information, we see an international
television news report about the current war in Iraq, as people of Arabic
descent are rounded up and arrested, many of them tortured or killed, events
that have become so commonplace that they are ignored, hardly stirring up any
emotions any more, events that seem to mirror the historic events in Paris some
40 years earlier. No one in the film ever questions the war. And
while its presence is felt, in particular the methodology of war, which certainly
includes extensive surveillance techniques, Italy, France, England, and the
United States, a coalition of the willing, seem to be a gang of majority white
citizens rounding up and attacking largely minority Arabic citizens, with the
invading nations showing little or no regard for any cultural understanding or
respect, or any regard to the consequences of their actions when so many
innocents are implicated, harmed, or even killed by these methods.
Instead this aggression is fueled by stockpiles of ammunitions and raw military
power. Georges, living as comfortably as he does, feels no guilt or
responsibility for either his own complicity with the eventual eviction of a
6-year old Algerian kid from his home, or with the unfolding international
events. In fact, if Georges represents the behavior of the privileged,
he’s not interested in learning the truth about any of these events, which he’d
just as soon ignore and forget, as he’s too busy misplacing the blame on
others, devising ways to threaten them, anything to avoid personal
responsibility. Hidden behind the psychological violence of the
relationship between the wealthy white man and his mysterious Algerian nemesis
is the deep-seeded harm and psychological torment to his own family, something
Georges completely ignores, becoming obsessed instead with the idea of blaming
Majid for everything, despite his vociferous denials. Georges is Haneke’s
representative of the French collective consciousness, the one that refuses to
acknowledge the tragedy as well as his own involvement in the events at the
Seine River in 1961. In a mirror of modern times, Georges’ contempt for
and fear of Majid, as well as his refusal to face his own abusive past,
reflects the exploding national crisis that burst into incendiary riots in
France’s poorest communities, the urban banlieue suburbs of France last
November (2005), that involved the nightly burning of cars and three weeks of
rage that stemmed in part from rampant unemployment, lack of opportunities,
widespread ignorance, and a complete disregard of those suffering from economic
and racial discrimination. If history has taught us anything, it has
always been the privileged bourgeois majority torturing the minority, never the
other way around. Similarly, this is how news coverage is received in the
United States, as we hear from only one side, never from the Iraqi or Arabic
point of view, which keeps the truth of the current occupation “hidden” from
unsuspecting viewers who, like Georges, feel no guilt or responsibility.
What we are asked to do is question the validity of media information and our
own understanding of how we view ourselves in relationship to others, how
quickly do we implicate others, how easily are we ourselves manipulated, how
long do we live in denial and fail to implicate our own actions?
This just scratches the surface of some of the unanswered questions of the
film.
One of the ugly truths about the film exposes negative
interactions by Georges with anybody who’s non-white, always filled with
threats and aggressive confrontation, where his inner rage is associated with
his own pent-up white guilt. As we learn Georges lied to his parents,
blaming an innocent Algerian boy, it is significant no one listened to or
believed the Algerian kid. Only the white kid was believed. Georges
was only six at the time, but his lies forever changed Majid’s life. This
theme continues into adulthood, where Georges can be heard talking with his
wife about his past, “What should I call it? A tragedy? Maybe it
was a tragedy, I don’t know. I don’t feel responsible for it. Why
should I?” Georges refuses to listen to or believe anything Majid or his
son in the film are telling him, instead he’s quick to blame and threaten both
of them. Majid, on the other hand, takes a differing view, which is
cinematically shocking, in what may culturally be a noble and dignified
act. The pain and suffering of all those involved are unintended
consequences, something the United States military calls “collateral
damage.” We never learn who initiated the surveillance, but the final
shot of the film running over the credits reveals the sons of the two
antagonists talking on the steps of their school, speaking comfortably and
relaxed in a non-threatening manner, which at least opens up the possibility
that they acted together. Majid’s son, in a confrontation with Georges,
declares he didn’t make or send the tapes, as did his father, but no one asked
if he knew who did. The most likely culprit, at initial viewing, acting
with the knowledge and complicity of Majid’s son, who may be ashamed and
disgraced by what he perceives as his own father’s submissive emasculation
(which may have unexpectedly led to his own surprising actions), is Georges’
own son, Pierrot (Lester Makedonsky), who may be equally pissed with his
parents for a number of possible reasons, though only his displeasure with his
mother is even hinted at in the film, nothing else is revealed about either
son. It’s all speculation suggesting the sins of the fathers are twistingly
revisited onto the sons, but certainly Georges’ son has the means and
opportunity, and similar to Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols, based on the
color of his skin, no one suspects him. For that matter, what about
Georges himself, in an attempt to expunge his guilt about his past? On
the other hand, this may be, if you will, a mindfuck of a film, as Haneke
simply leaves this an open question without resolution. Initially, not
knowing who sent the tapes, this feels like an optimistic ending, as the
parental animosity seemed to be replaced by a kind of accepting friendship of
the sons. Naahhh, this is a Haneke film, how can you trust
optimism? Perhaps living with unanswered questions is the way it has to
be, as contemporary society so often misjudges or misunderstands the
information it already has at its disposal, and governments have grown so used
to lying, concealing, even fabricating information, all have contributed to the
disastrous consequences that reflect the world situation today.
