A Childhood (Une enfance)

A CHILDHOOD (Une enfance)        B+                  

France (100 mi)  2015  d:  Phillipe Claudel

Philippe Claudel has written half a dozen novels and spent more than a decade working as a teacher in prisons, currently a Professor of Literature at the University of Lyon while turning out his fourth film, a coming-of-age foray into social realism, using a novelistic, kitchen sink style portrait of a child coping with the brutality of life while living a marginal existence, following Jimmy (Alexei Mathieu), a 12-year old in 5th grade, having already repeated two grades.  As much a portrait of a deeply troubled child as it is the working class environment where he lives, it’s appropriately set in the filmmaker’s home town of Dombasle-sur-Meurthe, a small industrial town of less than 10,000 residents in northeastern France not far from the German border.  No one photographs children like the French, where they seem to have a mastery over the medium.  To the filmmaker’s credit, except for a few exceptions, the small cast consists of non-professionals working for the first time, where he plans to revisit the subject of Jimmy in three and six years from now, completing a trilogy by the time he turns 18.  Using the Truffaut template from The 400 Blows (Les quatre cents coups) (1959) or The Kid With a Bike (Le gamin au vélo) (2011) from the Dardennes brothers, the strongest elements of the film are its naturalism and the stunning power of Mathieu’s performance.  From the outset we see the difficulty he’s in, all but ignored by his drug addicted mother Pris (Angelica Sarre) who has just been released from prison, living on her welfare check, while her boyfriend Duke, Pierre Deladonchamps, last seen in Stranger By the Lake (L'inconnu du lac) (2013), is an obnoxious, continually agitating petty thief, dope dealer and pimp that ridicules the working class while sitting on his ass watching television, drinking beer, and an assortment of other drugs while abusively scaring the living bejesus out of the kids to leave them alone, where Jimmy and his 9-year old brother Kevin (Jules Gauzelin) are forced to take care of themselves, which includes setting the morning alarm, making sure his little brother is up, clean and fed, as they’re off to school without the adults so much as moving an inch, as they spend their nights partying and making a racket, drinking and consuming whatever drugs they can find.  Duke is a candidate for the worst stepfather cinema has ever seen, though Deladonchamps literally inhabits the role, as you don’t wish him on anyone, even your worst enemy.

Since they’re constantly kicked out of the house, Jimmy and his brother turn up everywhere, breaking into an abandoned warehouse screaming profanities, seen wandering the streets, the city canals, and the nearby farmer’s orchards in the countryside, where they’re often shooed away for trespassing in areas they’re not supposed to be.  Kevin follows him around, sometimes as a comical sidekick, profanely lambasting his ineptitude as goalie in a local soccer match or wanting to come to a student’s birthday party he wasn’t invited to, which turns out to be a cute girl from Jimmy’s class named Lison (Lola Dubois) living in the luxury of a giant backyard surrounded by gardens and trees, stealing a pair of earrings from his mother (that she never notices missing) to offer as a gift.  Picking up an old racket from the trash, Jimmy spends idle time watching the action on the tennis courts, where he has seen footage of Jimmy Connors play tennis on TV.  When the instructor encourages him to sign up for lessons at 60 euros, this is way beyond anything his family can afford, so he doesn’t even bother to ask for it.  On Sunday’s they visit their grandmother, wishing they could stay with her instead, as she leads a much more calm and sensible lifestyle, but she can’t accommodate them, leaving them stuck in an endless cycle of misery.  While their life would be altogether different without the sinister presence of Duke, the kids can see their mother is brutalized by him, literally beating her into submission in order to pimp her out for sexual favors, as they helplessly see him rewarding her afterwards with flights of heroin, making her more dependent upon him than ever.  Seething with an inner rage, Jimmy tries to stand up to him, but he’s just a kid, where he’s routinely instructed to get lost.  Claudel continually contrasts the incessant brutality with tender moments from an original musical score by Ray LaMontagne reminiscent of the early folk style of Neil Young, or scenes of Jimmy sheltering a baby kitten in the wilds of a nearby bush, or inexplicably getting occasional hugs from his mother. 

Winner of the Gold Hugo for Best Film at the 2015 Chicago International Film Festival, one gets the sense that there’s an improvisatory rhythm to the way the story unfolds, loosely structured with a very matter-of-fact maturity surrounding Jimmy’s perspective, often feeling like an extended series of small incidents that may serve little overall purpose except to highlight his reaction to a variety of circumstances, where he’s often forced to play the adult, seen buying the family’s groceries or allowing his younger brother into bed with him after having a nightmare, but scenes from his classroom suggest he just doesn’t fit, where in a film about childhood what’s surprising is how little time is actually spent in the company of other kids.  These two simply don’t have any friends to speak of, as they’re instead continually left alone to fend for themselves.  Despite the best efforts of his well-meaning teacher (Patrick d’Assumçao), he can’t prevent this kid from falling through the cracks, as there’s literally so support system in place.  A visit from the welfare worker is an infuriating joke, the neighbor next door who can hear and see it all keeps his mouth shut, where the saddest truth about a world besieged by budget cuts is allowing kids like this to fail, where there’s no tutor, extracurricular activity, or the availability to spend quality time with others.  The benefits of learning socialization skills have been replaced by test scores and a reliance on scientific measurements at the expense of helping a child adjust to an often cruel world around them.  This kid is bright and mature beyond his years, but lacks proper guidance, where there’s clearly no indication he has much of a chance to succeed.  It’s a dense and often muddled journey, with literally inspired acting from the two brothers, where you can literally feel the accumulation of time, beautifully shot by Denis Lenoir, the longtime cinematographer for Olivier Assayas, prolonged by a continual series of painterly images accentuated by the bright sunlit colors of the long and lazy days of summer vacation where Jimmy futzes around with nothing to do, as his brother is shipped off to grandmother’s house, where the world is radiantly alive, but he’s simply not a part of it.  The director himself makes an appearance at the end as a tennis instructor, finally allowing Jimmy onto the court once all the lessons are done and there’s otherwise no activity to speak of, adding a personal autobiographical context that at least offers a sliver of hope. 

Stranger By the Lake (L'inconnu du lac)

STRANGER BY THE LAKE (L'inconnu du lac)      B+       
France  (97 mi)  2013  ‘Scope  d:  Alain Guiraudie        Website            Trailer

A sexually explicit film that might qualify as porn noir, where if there is an insatiable public appetite for watching gay sex onscreen, this is the film of choice, as the salacious titillation is just the preliminary course, so to speak, only part of what evolves into a modernist existential thriller, one that evokes a darkening mood of murder and enveloping danger.  What’s immediately apparent is the meticulous precision of the film, which gives pause for reflection, as it does exhibit a rare intelligence, but the overly detached, deeply repressive territory may be too subtle for most viewers, as this minimalist, near Bressonian exercise offers few clues as an intricately probing psychological thriller.  What it does do is perfectly capture an enclosed space, a restricted territory, a perfectly secluded summer lake that becomes a haven for gay men to lie around naked on the beach, occasionally swimming, before pairing off in the nearby woods for actual unsimulated sex, where the director confines his camera to the same few locations, never once leaving the beach surroundings, becoming stiflingly claustrophobic, and eventually suffocating.  The film’s structure is built upon a carefully designed monotony of surface detail, where the rhythm is established through a series of repetitive routines, where the audience gets lulled to sleep by the familiarity, as each new day begins with the exact same camera shot of an approaching car searching for a spot to park in the small lot, then there’s a short walk through the woods to the beach where unadorned figures are seen sporadically lying about sun-bathing nude, as friends politely acknowledge one another with kisses to the cheek as they arrive.  While there’s an interesting geometry to the way bodies remain at a careful distance from one another, perhaps more intriguing is the realization that this view of the beach can’t be shot from anywhere except the middle of the lake, which becomes a disturbing point of view as the film unravels.  The characteristic long shots and extended takes from cinematographer Claire Mathon are reminiscent of Michael Haneke’s CACHÉ (2005), which invite the viewer to focus their attention on anything out of place and on carefully placed details.

The film is seen through the eyes of Franck (Pierre Deladonchamps), a twentysomething who is a regular at the beach, where we follow his vantage point even as he is swimming in the water, where his surveillance of the shoreline reveals a man sitting off to the side away from the others, Henri (Patrick d’Assumçao), a somewhat chubby but congenial outsider who remains clothed and never goes into the water, striking up an easygoing friendship, chatting each day until someone more desirous arrives.  Henri is a recent widower, a reported bisexual who remains a picture of loneliness and solitude, never venturing to the cruising section of the beach, never talking to anyone except Franck, but often comments on gay behavior.  Since there are so few doors into this enclosed culture, his insights are particularly welcome, even when offered so casually, as they offer a window into this tightly constricted universe.  Franck’s sexual interest perks up with the arrival of Michel (Christophe Paou), sort of a cross between Mark Spitz and Harry Reems, a muscular swimmer with a perfect physique, where everything about him is desirable, except he has a needy partner, with whom he disappears after a brief exchange.  Later that evening, however, when Franck is alone in the woods overlooking the tranquil lake, he watches Michel drown his partner before swimming ashore.  Despite the continuing presence of the murdered man’s car in the lot and his beach towel and clothes on the beach, Franck remains silent about what he saw while entering into a furiously passionate, sexual affair with the killer, as if the murder was an aphrodisiac to his senses.  As the relationship deepens, Franck attempts to expand it beyond the confines of the beach, but Michel continually rejects the notion, insisting his private life remain private.  When the body washes ashore and the police begin asking questions, Franck is surprised when Michel shows no discomfort whatsoever over the loss of his partner.

Much like Henri, the Police Inspector (Jérôme Chappatte) offers curious insight into this secretive community, becoming a commentary on sad and empty lives that mechanically have sexual experiences with no lasting value, often without sharing names, as almost immediately, they’re in need of sexual replenishment, routinely changing partners.  The film bears an uncanny resemblance to Éric Rohmer’s A SUMMER’S TALE (Conte d'été) 1996, especially the idyllic seaside location searching for love, becoming a summertime flirtation without the sexual explicitness, but featuring characters who are unable to make commitments and are constantly avoiding emotional connections.  In this secluded spot on a picturesque lake, there is no real love or commitment, but an anonymous game of musical chairs, where man is often seen as a hunter surviving on animal instincts, searching out sexual conquests or liaisons, yet remaining imprisoned by the existential nature of remaining isolated and alone.  Aware of the potential danger, or more likely excited by it, Franck ignores the advice of his friend Henri and indulges his passion, where an alarm bell goes off when Michel invites him into the water to go swimming, which all of a sudden exudes a sense of overwhelming danger.  In the water, Michel is the alpha male, where all others must submit to his dominating physical prowess, becoming an object of obsession in Franck’s eyes, who still remains hopelessly drawn to him.  It’s impossible to understand what possible self-justifying logic Franck uses where he’s willing to risk death for a love he barely understands and instead feels controlled by, veering into the psychological void of amorality, questioning the limits of illicit sexual desire and the eroticism inherent in dangerous situations.  The film appears heavily influenced by French writer/philosopher George Bataille, author of Christophe Honoré’s MA MÈRE (2004), a transgressive work that equates base sexuality with the divine, where transcendence is achieved only through indulgence.  Elaborating on a Sartrian No Exit theme, Guiraudie may be drawing upon a gay preoccupation with self loathing, failing to live up to “straight” society’s conception of beauty and sex, and in pursuit of an ever elusive perfect erotic desire, may equate sexuality with a drive towards death (including anal sex without condoms), where in perhaps the scene of the film, Franck joins Michel *in* the lake at the scene of the crime, at the exact same evening hour when no one else is around.  What happens afterwards only punctuates the intrusive presence of blackness that has pervaded Franck’s desirous soul, like an otherworldly presence, forced to live in the self-imposed blindness of a murky void, where the director offers no comfort that there is any way out.