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| Director Claire Denis |
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| novelist Christine Angot |
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| Denis with Angot and Juliette Binoche |
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| Denis with Vincent Lindon and Binoche |
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| Juliette Binoche and Vincent Lindon |
BOTH SIDES OF THE BLADE (Avec amour et acharnement) B+ aka: Fire France (116 mi) 2022 ‘Scope d: Claire Denis
She had lost herself somewhere along the frontier between her inventions, her stories, her fantasies and her true self. The boundaries had become effaced, the tracks lost; she had walked into pure chaos, and not a chaos which carried her like the galloping of romantic riders in operas and legends, but which suddenly revealed the stage props: A papier-mache horse. —Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love, 1954
A film that may haunt you for days, somehow changing the French title from With Love and Fury, which works extremely well, to the entitled Tindersticks song that concludes the film, Tindersticks - Both Sides of the Blade (Official Video) - YouTube (4:05), Claire Denis has made yet another boldly provocative film that dissects modern relationships with a curious eye, emphasizing betrayal and the fractious state of our lives, revealing how easily the past protrudes into the present, rupturing the status quo with a destabilizing force. Premiering at the Berlin Film Festival, Denis won the Silver Bear as Best Director, with the film introduced under the title Fire, yet Denis strongly objected, claiming it was not fitting, choosing a better title that represented what the film is about. Using familiar faces in Claire Denis films, co-written (with Denis) and adapted from Christine Angot’s 2018 novel, Un tournant de la vie, or A Turning Point in Life, Angot’s influence is built around introspective studies of women’s desire for men, as she is the same playwright of Let the Sunshine In (Un Beau Soleil Intérieur) (2017), both starring Juliette Binoche, among the more courageous actresses of our era, again playing a flawed woman making questionable choices, bringing back Vincent Lindon from VENDREDI SOIR (2002) and 2013 Top Ten List #6 Bastards (Les Salauds), Mati Diop from 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #1 35 Shots of Rum (2008), while in the same film Grégoire Colin was her boyfriend, making this his eighth appearance in a Denis film, only 16 when he first worked with her, also appearing in Nenette and Boni (Nénette et Boni) (1996), Beau Travail (1999), The Intruder (L’intrus) (2004), and 2013 Top Ten List #6 Bastards (Les Salauds). Hardly a happy reunion, what starts out as an affectionate portrait of a healthy relationship suddenly turns sour, as Sara (Juliette Binoche) is a middle-age Parisian radio host who engages in constructive on-air social justice commentary, hosting real-life commentators that include Lebanese educator Hind Darwish and French soccer star-turned-activist Lilian Thuram, who discusses the idea of being locked into “white thinking,” a topic that turns into the disruptive impact of the French colonial past and how it continues to wreak havoc on the present, troublesome subjects that mirror the unraveling of this seemingly perfect relationship. Sara is financially and professionally secure in her decade-long relationship with her unemployed boyfriend Jean (Vincent Lindon), a former professional rugby player with a prison record, but everything changes when Sara catches a random glance on the street of her ex-boyfriend François, Grégoire Colin, a heartthrob in DREAMLIFE FOR ANGELS (1998) and since then almost always playing the object of desire, unexpectedly reemerging after a ten-year absence, sending her into an emotional tailspin, bringing in a rush of new sensations that completely disrupt and alter her world, violating the opening Edenesque tranquility on the beaches of Corsica (apparently shot with an iPhone) that is so eloquently presented. A long single take through a dark railway tunnel as the couple returns to Paris seems to have ominous implications, completely darkening their outlook, like one of those playful twists in Rivette’s CÉLINE AND JULIE GO BOATING (1974). Ostensibly an elaborate character study constructed around the derailing repercussions spiraling out of control emanating from the dubiously shady François, a kind of nefarious film noir character that feels more like an apparition or a figment of the imagination, yet he forges a business relationship with Jean (deftly avoiding the prison sentence that Jean served), working as a talent scout identifying young developing rugby players. The couple is haunted by his reappearance, not just a former lover of Sara’s but a former best friend of Jean’s, having left François for Jean, yet Sara is understandably ecstatic as she holds her emotions in check, with Binoche’s head poking through the bathroom door like an eerie reference to Jack Nicholson in THE SHINING (1980), Both Sides of the Blade (Avec amour et acharnement) new clip official from Berlin Film Festival 1/2 YouTube (1:27), outwardly pretending she has no ulterior motive while encouraging Jean that this might present an excellent opportunity, both dancing around the topic like a hot potato, each one hiding something. Immediately red flags are raised, as a growing suspicion develops between the lead couple, yet never acknowledged, as they become more testy with each other, where there are signs everywhere that they blindly ignore, like Jean and François regularly meeting on the corner outside their apartment, never inviting him up, almost always conducting their business at night, Both Sides of the Blade (Avec amour et acharnement) new clip official from Berlin Film Festival 2/2 YouTube (44 seconds), creating a brooding, underlying tension that borders on a thriller.
Few filmmakers have been able to demonstrate the kind of range that Denis has managed to achieve throughout her career, from post-colonial explorations to innovative experimentations within various genres, a director who tends to work instinctively, developing relationships with her collaborators, and refuses to spell things out for her audience, yet broadens the reach of the “female gaze” in every picture while remaining an essential part of the contemporary landscape of cinema. Part of her skill is amassing sensual detail as she poetically realizes texture and rhythm in establishing continually shifting moods, often wordlessly, leaving gaping holes in the narrative while finding new ways to tell stories, moving her characters around like chess pieces, yet one constant is just how intelligently she imbues each film with her own existentialist perspective. While Christine Angot’s earlier work was a sex comedy, this is a darker subject, more exasperating, with Denis adding a female counterpoint to her male-dominated 2013 Top Ten List #6 Bastards (Les Salauds), plunging into the depths of personal destruction, exploring the intensely personal interiority of a love triangle, with Sara at the center, as her startled reaction at seeing François sets the story in motion, more of a melodramatic swoon, arousing something deeply unsettling stirring inside, drawing all three lives into a web of deception and desire as François tries to wedge his way back into her life, yet the obvious question is why does he matter so much? Denis spares us the details, and only slowly provides any backstory, as all that matters is that her life implodes with a stunning force as she starts living a lie, exploring how love moves in unpredictable ways, often from one partner to the next. It’s like watching poetry in motion to see the extent that Binoche becomes a master of artful deception, a heroine in distress yearning to test the waters once again, with the past coming back with a ferocity, reminding her of memories that have been missing in her life, though it happens imperceptibly at first. The way she immediately succumbs at seeing him only heightens the significance of the mysterious François, kept out of sight mostly, allowing the inexplicable allure of his murky character to literally inhabit the couple, each in their own way, carefully concealing their private thoughts from the other, seemingly dwelling in darker spaces. Creating a sports agency, they eventually choose a location for their business, having an opening night party with friends and family invited, yet Jean hesitates to invite Sara, as if afraid a spark might reignite, so he downplays this decision with Sara, acting casual, like she can certainly come if she wants, but he’ll be busy with invited guests, not really having time to spend with her. This only heightens her anticipation, getting all worked up, vacillating between love and fury, unable to set foot inside, disturbed by what she’s really feeling, as she could publicly lose herself in the moment, so instead she remains outside, calling Jean, who puts François on the phone, and all bets are off, as she literally melts at the sound of his voice. Agnès Godard has been the regular cinematographer for Claire Denis since 1990, providing that lushly visualized poetic texture she is known for, yet she was unavailable in 2021, so this is the director’s first venture with Éric Gautier, who worked on and off with Olivier Assayas, Arnaud Desplechin, and Alain Resnais, more recently with Jia Zhang-ke in Ash Is Purest White (Jiang hu er nv) (2018), utilizing close-ups with a sense of urgency, especially during heated arguments, with the camera holding close to Binoche’s remarkable reactions filled with naked emotion, a wise choice, subjecting each character with a sense of scrutiny, as it tells the interior story, seemingly trapped by the moment, exposing all underlying tensions. Shot during the Covid pandemic, using only a few locations, revealing a somewhat desolate city, requiring occasional scenes with masks, one recurring visual motif is the use of the apartment balcony overlooking the rooftops of Paris, like a character unto itself, with the Basilica of the Sacré Cœur seen off in the distance, as Jean typically takes business calls from François out there as his own private domain, yet the invasion of that territorial space leads to disastrous consequences, culminating into a series of excruciating fights.
Jean is a complex character, yet always authentic, carrying the weight of a man who has struggled in his life and found it difficult to be happy, with Lindon, at times, on the verge of bashing in walls from frustration, while also showing a surprising amount of restraint, especially how he interacts with his biracial son Marcus, Issa Perica from Ladj Ly’s Les Misérables (2019), who is being raised by Jean’s very sweet elderly mother (Bulle Ogier), given custody after his ex-wife took off when he went to jail, both having difficulties with him, as he’s restless and wanders the streets, yet also on the verge of being expelled from school, another example of how the past comes back to haunt the present. Yet it’s revealing how he tries to take control over the poor decisions Marcus is making, hoping he’ll realize the error of his ways, though hardly setting a good example himself, framing his arguments by suggesting his son has to make his own decisions, an apparent contradiction when he’s attempting to make the best decisions for him, with Jean distanced and estranged from the racial circumstances Marcus is facing, blinded by his own white perspective, feeling more like a helpless outsider watching his son’s life fall apart, the same role he unfortunately takes with Sara, becoming something of a jealous spectator. This family visit, however, offers insight into his own tenuous relationship with Sara, where he also tries to control the narrative through his passive/aggressive tendencies, always suspecting she’s cheating on him, but she’s quick to deny his accusations through her own sense of moral outrage, indignant at his insinuations, leading to a kind of charade of changing emotions, as she always reassures him of her love even as she’s cheating behind his back. What really stands out is the grown-up feel to this film, sparing nothing, exposing the vulnerabilities of each character, though much of it is told from a female perspective, with the initial pangs of desire felt so intensely by Sara, yet anxiety develops about decisions made in the past that now lead to recklessly impulsive acts, featuring interior passages from Binoche that no other director would have included, like continually murmuring his name in an elevator, or finding herself in the bathroom at night with rhapsodic soliloquies of sexual infatuation, suggesting “old loves never really die,” fearlessly surrendering to a resurgence of former passions, like blood rushing to her head, while at the same time betraying her partner, yet she’s one of the few major female stars who would allow their reputations to be stained by a duplicitous character like this. It seems a bit like a newly revised version of VENDREDI SOIR, which also featured Vincent Lindon in a spontaneous one night stand, appearing here 20 years later in a more mature context, infused with adult responsibilities, yet he’s embroiled in another morality tale, but instead of falling for someone new, this film explores the eruptive force of an old flame. Both rely upon a poetic female perspective, visually impressive, psychologically astute observations, featuring strong naturalistic performances, with a vibrant soundtrack by Stuart Staples from Tindersticks, a British alt-rock band that has composed every one of the director’s film scores except one (Beau Travail in 1999) since Nenette and Boni (Nénette et Boni) (1996), yet Denis always finds a unique angle to subvert familiar stories, going off the rails with blistering back and forth arguments at the heart of the drama that become a scream fest of unleashed fears, all initiated by a betrayal that was covered up in a wealth of lies. Her own confusion feels outrageously melodramatic, yet that’s the novelty of the film, so over-exposed, so vulnerable, with so much to lose, yet she can’t help herself, lying every step of the way, creating a corrosive fissure in their built-up trust, blowing it wide open, where the more she’s caught, the more she covers up, ultimately ensnared by her own deceit. While the brutality from the verbal fireworks can feel exhaustive, recalling the cruel explosions in Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage (Scener ur ett äktenskap) (1973), there’s also an element of humor, as her phone, the instrument of her betrayal, making appointments and leaving text messages, has all the contents erased after she accidentally on purpose drops it in the bathwater while attempting to conceal the evidence. It’s only fitting, perhaps, that her darkly acerbic day of reckoning quite literally disconnects her from her past, with the picture continuing to play out as the closing credits roll, adding another interesting development, a clever device rarely utilized in cinema.
Claire Denis and Jim Jarmusch In Conversation - YouTube Rendez-Vous with French Cinema at Film at Lincoln Center, March 2022 (1:07:03)
