Stars at Noon

 

novelist Denis Johnson

Director Claire Denis

Denis accepting Grand Prix award at Cannes

Denis flanked by Joe Alwyn and Margaret Qualley

Margaret Qualley

Alwyn and Qualley

Denis with Alwyn and Qualley

STARS AT NOON                B                                                                                                    France  Panama  USA  (135 mi)  2022  ‘Scope  d: Claire Denis

Fuck is a good word.  Fuck is the property of the whole world.                                                  —Coyote (Alexis Quintero)

The films of Claire Denis have been surprisingly absent from the competition selections at the Cannes Film Festival, as after her first film Chocolat (1988) was selected, she waited 34 years before she was welcomed back again, with her films instead appearing in Un Certain Regard or Director’s Fortnight, or premiering in other festivals.  Perhaps correcting a lifelong oversight, this film was selected at Cannes and shared the Grand Prix (2nd place) award with Lukas Dhont’s Belgium film CLOSE (2022), a prestigious honor for what many are considering one of her weaker efforts, taking critics completely by surprise, inspiring a divisive critical reception, with many dismissing it as a misfire, barely screening at all in the United States before quickly moving to various screening platforms.  Artists like Denis often face a wall of critical rejection, always a little ahead of the curve, defying expectations and baffling viewers with the complexity of her work, but her films typically find renewed interest and gain a more positive critical reappraisal over time, where she is arguably the greatest female director who ever walked the planet.  You simply can’t go wrong watching any of her films.  A political thriller that doesn’t really care about politics or action, this is more of an observational commentary on the misadventures of an oddly misplaced couple adrift in a foreign territory they no longer recognize, offering surprisingly astute commentary on the effects of colonialism without ever politicizing the subject.  A French director shooting a film in a Spanish language country where the protagonists are speaking English may explain everything, as this is more of a state of mind film, exploring the interiority of the characters.  Viewed as a road trip to Hell, somewhat reminiscent of an earlier Denis film, White Material (2010), which was set amidst the turmoil of a civil war in a French colonial African country, this also accentuates the same lush, dreamy landscape, adding a love angle, becoming a heated romantic thriller of personal betrayal and political intrigue, something along the lines of Hitchcock’s NOTORIOUS (1946) or Peter Weir’s THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY (1982), yet reminiscent of Nicholas Ray’s outlaws on the run movie, They Live By Night (1948).  Mysteriously set in Nicaragua on the eve of the heavily militarized Sandinista revolution in 1984, the film is updated into the pandemic-era present, masks included, representing an all-encompassing police state presence, with uniformed men carrying automatic weapons patrolling every corner, where a darkened sense of foreboding and violence are seen and felt everywhere.  Adapted from the 1986 novel by Denis Johnson, expressing a ruthlessly honest, stream-of-consciousness characterization about the failed and the desperate, whose portrait is seen at the end of the film, he is perhaps best known for his 1992 collection of short stories entitled Jesus’ Son, which was also turned into a very successful indie movie in 1999.  This feminist reappraisal, however, takes us into the bowels of an inferno, a spiritual allegory of hell on earth, a nightmarish bad dream evolving into a near hallucinogenic depiction of psychological dread and despair, yet from this ash heap of fear rises a most unexpected romance between two white foreigners, turning Godard’s über colorful outlaws on the run movie Pierrot le Fou (1965) on its ear, instead expressing a dangerous labyrinth of lies and conspiracies, featuring a depressing setting spent mostly in beds and bedrooms, moving from the comfort of an air-conditioned tourist hotel to small local motels to literally horribly run-down motels, mostly having sex and drinking their troubles away as they experience a world coming apart at the seams with seemingly no way out.  Since its independence in 1821, Nicaragua has had a troubled history, and two hundred years later Nicaraguans are still struggling to define their nation’s post-colonial identity, as the Marxist Sandinista rule of the 80’s was a decades-long attempt to liberate the small Central American country from both a repressive dictatorship and the corporate subjugation of Latin America from U.S. imperialism, leaving ordinary citizens caught in the middle.  The Sandinistas promised a wave of reforms, and had only been in power for a short time when a right-wing rebel group known as the Contras, encouraged and financed by the United States, emerged to challenge their power, part of the post-war communist Domino theory that plagued American foreign policy for decades until the Contra-wars of the 80’s took more than 40,000 lives, where names like Iran-Contra (The Real Story of the Iran-Contra Affair | by Gena Vazquez) and Dark Alliance (The Storm over "Dark Alliance" - The National Security Archive) recall a toxic mixture of drugs, cash, and arms.  The Sandinista government’s nationwide popularity was always questionable, but the Contra forces squandered many opportunities to gain support by engaging in brutal atrocities and human rights abuses of their own.  Ironically, Daniel Ortega, leader of the Sandinistan Revolution, was the Presidential winner of that 1984 general election in Nicaragua, voted out of office in 1990, but is once again in power, having been re-elected President since 2007, basically dismantling all institutions of democracy.  Without identifying any specific political parties, the background of the film remains murky, with Denis intentionally avoiding any backstory or historical detail, instead providing a militarized landscape of fear, exposing a cesspool of power and corruption, as if wading into the end of Coppola’s APOCALYPSE NOW (1979) transported to South America, where a growing sense of evil and madness lurks everywhere. 

It was only after the death of Denis Johnson in 2017 that Denis felt a sense of urgency to make this film, something she had previously discussed with the author, yet for him it was a traumatic memory, making it difficult to relive the personal experience.  While the film is told through the eyes of an aspiring female journalist, it was Johnson who went to Managua in the midst of the Nicaraguan Revolution wanting to become a journalist, with the novel expressing the journey of his own failed dreams.  Vividly recreating that aura of disillusionment and self-deception through a rapturously lyrical cinematic vision of Claire Denis, adapted by Léa Mysius, Andrew Litvack, and the director, the film was shot in ‘Scope by Éric Gautier, primarily filmed in Panama in the fall of 2021.  Trish Johnson (Margaret Qualley), a woman in dire straits, becomes the central focus, arriving in the country as a bilingual Witness for Peace human rights observer but quickly finds herself at the mercy of a devalued black market currency, insisting she is a journalist, but is unable to find work, harshly rebuked by a travel magazine editor (John C. Reilly in a hilarious cameo appearance), as no one wants to pay for her gloomy war crimes articles about murders and disappeared persons, only to end up hanging around the upscale hotel bar of the Intercontinental Hotel in Managua, drinking herself into oblivion while picking up stray men for American dollars.  Languid and seductive, enlivened by a freewheeling, charismatic performance by Qualley, many of the film’s best early passages consist of little more than watching her walk the streets of Managua to a largely improvised jazz score by Tindersticks, perhaps a riff on Jeanne Moreau’s famous Paris-by-night scenes in Louis Malle’s Elevator to the Gallows (Ascenseur pour l'échafaud) (1958), creating a moodily impressionistic and deeply sensory experience, with an opening jolt into an abruptly realistic sex scene where an army lieutenant (Nick Romano) views her as a prized possession, taking her whenever he likes, feeling more like rape, as she views a photograph of a young Che Guevara on the wall during sex to divert her attention, an objectification of exoticized men, and in return he provides some of life’s necessities, hardly a fair exchange, as he keeps her passport hostage as well, so she has no means of escape.  This establishes the savagery of her mindset, a down on her luck woman having to survive by her wits, able to surveil the landscape and take advantage of opportunities, stealing what she can, becoming a scavenger in a desolate wasteland that seems like the end of the world, where rampant fear and unending violence have taken a toll on an emotionally exhausted and economically starved society.  There’s nothing likeable about Trish or anyone else in this doomed world, at times appearing relentlessly naïve, feeling like an overly entitled American used to privilege, looking down on everyone around her, showing little empathy or respect, describing this as a “hopeless country,” ultimately running into a handsome and well-groomed Englishman at a bar named Daniel (Joe Alwyn), easily recognizable in his white suit, like a knight in shining armor, conveying a suave, James Bond style of coolness.  The music of Tindersticks sets the mood, Tindersticks - Hotel Bar (Stars at Noon OST) - YouTube (4:33), slipping back into his hotel room as much for the cooling relief from the sweltering heat as the money, with the camera exposing sensual close-ups of her face and naked body, eventually discovering Daniel is different, supposedly working as an oil consultant, yet she wonders why any rational business would send anyone into such an economically depraved part of the world, opening up questions about who he is and what he’s really doing, questions that remain unanswered, part of the fog of ambiguity that comes with living in such a neglected territory.  But her suspicions are aroused over the breakfast buffet, helping herself to heaping portions even after being ushered away as she’s not a paying guest, yet she recognizes an undercover Costa Rican cop (Danny Ramirez) meeting with Daniel, another Miami Vice style man in a white suite with designer shades pretending to be a friend and business associate, but she knows better, even after the overly smug Daniel refuses to believe her, convinced he’s in the clear.  Nonetheless, the cop follows them, just as she predicted, forcing them to take extreme measures to ditch him, taking refuge in her ratty motel room, suddenly feeling like giddy outlaws on the run, strangers in a strange land, where escape seems like the only sensible thing to do in this quagmire of discarded dreams, both seemingly helpless to navigate safe passage in this labyrinth of death.  

Among the more stunning critiques of the remnants of colonialism, expressing a steep decline in moral standards, the filmmaker creates a lurid depiction of eroticism, mutual lies, and vagueness, building a huge impressionistic tapestry with Qualley’s eyes, hands, and entire body, always up close, then through the streets of a city whose walls, full of graffiti, are blurred in tracking shots viewed through taxi windows.  Without realizing it, thoroughly distracted by an encroaching police threat, Daniel has been unceremoniously checked out of his hotel, taking his money, credit cards, and belongings, leaving him a narrowing window of available options, putting them both in the same precarious position.  Trish seeks help from a protective relationship with a vice-minister of tourism (Stephan Proaño), who has ensured she could live in peace in her hotel, but he cuts off all ties, claiming she’s gotten too dangerous, suddenly fearing for his own safety, having been threatened by police, no longer wanting to have anything to do with her, finding herself stuck in a filthy flophouse with no money or passport to fly back home.  She gets the same response when she tries black market remedies, as even they refuse to help her, while a man promising to sell them a car for their escape suddenly discovers his car go up in flames, creating an extravagant visualization of the surrounding chaos, an eerie landscape of deserted streets, filled only with military personnel, with burning flames seen alongside dead bodies shot and killed from routine traffic stops.  With the government, once again, postponing elections, on the brink of social and economic collapse, instilling fear and hopelessness in the population, it’s a unique environment for an erotic love story to develop, where one has to question everyone’s motives, especially the lead protagonists, as truth is a nonexistent commodity.  Both retreat to an underground bar, taking refuge from the storm, finding themselves alone in a deserted subterranean universe that seems to exist only for them, like a projected fever dream of inflamed senses, expressed in a Tindersticks trance-like, slow dance of heated passion, Stars at Noon by tindersticks - YouTube (3:38), taking their relationship to a new level, discovering love and disillusionment amidst the ruins of destruction.  There is something remarkable about the undefined nature of the situation, the cloudy threat, turned into murder and violence on the one hand, but at the same time the relationship feels amorphous, as they don’t fully trust each other, each apparently with different aims, probably lying to each other, yet they can’t help themselves, remaining inseparable, where she despairs and is full of tears when he seems to have disappeared, apparently overwhelmed by it all, only to act cool and confident when he turns up again.  With Trish initially displaying a playfully erotic nonchalance, featuring lots of nudity and some fiery sex, things get serious as the situation becomes more dangerous, turning into a timeless, feverishly erotic tropical adventure as they attempt to flee together for the southern border of Costa Rica.  An outlaw on the run saga turns into a staggering identity crisis with constantly shifting perspectives, evidence of the sensuality of Claire Denis films, as she doesn’t make action adventures, but explores the space between the action instead, existing in its own sensual rhythm of movement and grace.  This journey couldn’t be more deglamorized, atypical of a travel adventure, instead growing more fraught with danger at every turn, with Trish meeting an American who is no ordinary American, but a CIA man (Benny Safdie), taking inordinate interest in her traveling companion, suggesting he is working for the “other” side, pressuring her to give him up, to turn the tables, offering incentives, suggesting everything has a price, informing her “This country is kind of like a gambler’s paradise.  Everybody’s giving the odds a shake, whichever game they feel like playing.”  Trish finds him a grotesque throwback to the past when America treated Latin America as a banana republic, a position grounded in white supremacy and colonialism, leaving countries under the economic stranglehold of foreign-owned companies or industries, with the U.S. government continually meddling into the affairs of poor and politically unstable nations, dangling economic investment or reconstruction development projects as a means to wield influence, yet this stronghanded approach was primarily concerned with serving only U.S. interests.  As if walking into a dream, the couple gets deeper into the wilds of the jungle, turning into a James Conrad Heart of Darkness scenario, with smaller villages and fewer signs of civilization, revealing a ghostly detachment with reality fraying at the edges, reducing the dramatic intensity to a slow crawl, growing more and more inexpressible and incomprehensible, yet vaguely mystical and poetic, like the end of the road, a place where all hopes and dreams come to die, becoming more vividly dark and despairing, ending on a cloud of ambiguity and uncertainty.