When Fall Is Coming (Quand vient l'automne)

 

Director François Ozon

WHEN FALL IS COMING (Quand vient l'automne)                      B                                            France  (104 mi)  2024  d: François Ozon

It’s hard to believe this is an Ozon film, though a cinematic subtlety is on display throughout, with one foot in melodrama and one foot in realism, filmed like a mystery thriller.  Having seen all but one of his nearly two dozen features, making this his 24th feature in the last 24 years, deception is a prevalent theme, where what matters most is what lies below the surface, as earlier assumptions are later shattered, with a shift in tone, suggesting people are not who they appear to be.  There’s really nothing else in his repertoire like this, as it deals with death and aging, offering a reflection on mortality, something he dealt with previously in TIME TO LEAVE (2005), which examined the ramifications of a terminal illness, where life literally slips away from a young gay man, while this may be the only Ozon film, now in his mid-50’s, to star an aging protagonist, though SWIMMING POOL (2003) featured a middle-aged Charlotte Rampling in her 50’s grieving over the loss of her husband.  Retaining his penchant for minimalism, the film this most closely resembles may be Céline Sciamma’s Petite Maman (2021), switching the focus from children to the elderly, as there’s a mystifying ghostly presence of death lurking underneath this film.  At the center of the picture is Michelle (French stage and screen actress and reputable theater director Hélène Vincent, frequently working with Patrice Chereau when she was young), an elderly grandmother who has retired to a quiet existence in a small village in Burgundy near her longtime friend Marie-Claude (Josiane Balasko), having left a tumultuous life in Paris.  Both appear in Ozon’s By the Grace of God (Grâce à Dieu) (2019), while Vincent appeared in Alain Berliner’s My Life in Pink (Ma Vie en Rose) (1997) as well as Kieślowski’s THREE COLORS: BLUE (1993), and made her first movie in 1969.  One of the things driving the film is how easily older people are forgotten in today’s society, rarely appearing onscreen, with Ozon intentionally choosing actresses in their 70’s and 80’s to be at the heart of the picture, offering an intimate portrait of mature independent women in a stripped down film anchored in reality, turning into an understated psychological crime drama and a poignant character study.  Michelle’s life is uncomplicated, attending services at her local parrish, taking long walks in the woods, driving her friend around, tending to an overgrown garden, or reading, often seen eating alone, where her days are filled with silence.  One thing that jumps out at you are the impossible-to-miss words “Liberté! Égalité! Sexualité!” chiseled onto the outdoor stone structure of a church, which plays a prominent role in this film, where funerals are like the changing cycles of the seasons.  That phrase is the official slogan of the French Republic, enshrined in the Constitution, representing the fundamental values of the French nation, prominently featured in the May 1968 Paris protests, stressing the importance of freedom and equality in the context of sexuality.

Michelle eagerly awaits an upcoming visit from her her adult daughter Valérie (Ludivine Sagnier from SWIMMING POOL, but hasn’t worked with Ozon in decades, appearing earlier in 8 WOMEN in 2002 and WATER DROPS ON BURNING ROCKS in 2000) accompanied by her ten-year old grandson Lucas (Garlan Erlos), with the women picking wild mushrooms in the woods anticipating their visit from Paris.  While Michelle showers affection on a grandson she adores, who obviously loves spending time with his grandmother in the countryside, her narcissistic daughter is another story, as she’s going through a separation from her husband in Dubai, is constantly on her phone, and is emotionally distant right from the outset, showing signs of antagonism towards her mother, completely altering the peaceful dynamic of a countryside retreat.  The hostile demeanor of Valérie isn’t understood right away, as we’re not privy to the root of the problem, but her outspoken animosity suggests this is Ozon’s answer to the ungrateful children in Ozu’s Tokyo Story (Tokyo Monogatari) (1953), where the busy necessities of life, working and raising a family, have unintended consequences, as they tend to leave their own parents behind, no longer viewed as needed anymore, where they are easily discarded as non-essential.  The stark contrast between mother and daughter couldn’t be more apparent, as Michelle is obviously a generous and kind-hearted woman, while her self-absorbed daughter thinks of little other than herself, brazenly demanding that her mother immediately transfer the deed of her Burgundy property, as it’s in her son’s best interests.  A dumbfounded Michelle reminds her that she already gave her the title to her property in Paris.  Similarly, Marie-Claude’s grown son Vincent (Pierre Lottin), is fresh out of prison, and all we really know about his past is that “he got into some trouble when he was younger.”  The weight of the past is very apparent, but the perspective driving the film is that of the two older friends, as they obviously have regrets about the troubles their children face, yet they’re willing to excuse bad behavior in others while refusing to extend similar grace to themselves, as Marie-Claude’s harsh view of Vincent, who’s had his fair share of failures, contrasts sharply with Michelle’s more forgiving demeanor, yet the onslaught of criticism Michelle faces from her daughter, whose pervasive scorn and bitterness overshadows everything, leaves her reeling in silent anguish, having no answers to combat her heavy resentment.  While it’s clear these women have extremely strained relationships with their adult children, there is less emphasis on the children, who simply aren’t as fully formed characters.  But a terrible accident occurs when Valérie is poisoned from the mushrooms her mother picked earlier that day with Marie-Claude, requiring emergency intervention and a trip to the hospital, where she nearly dies, and couldn’t be more bitter towards her mother afterwards, suspecting she actually tried to kill her.  Right then and there she grabs her son and leaves, with no intentions of ever coming back, leaving Michelle devastated by the tragic turn of events.  Perhaps the most telling point is that Ozon’s own aunt accidentally poisoned the entire family with mushrooms she picked herself, a haunting memory that lingers in the imagination, something one never forgets, while there is a cinematic precedent in Sacha Guitry’s CONFESSIONS OF A CHEAT (1936), listed at #49 on Cahiers du Cinema’s 2008 list of greatest 100 films.

In order to help Vincent get a fresh start and stay out of trouble, Michelle agrees to employ him as her gardener, which is more than she can handle, and he does an excellent job, becoming an invaluable asset and someone she can rely upon.  Marie-Claude is a bit taken aback by Michelle’s growing relationship with her son, and is shocked to learn she’s loaned him money to start a bar, something he’s always wanted to do, but his mother is afraid it will attract the wrong kind of people.  Perhaps trying to fill the void of her missing daughter, this friendship with Vincent feels startling and abrupt, where we never really learn about the mysteries of his past, which remain unspoken, wondering what trouble may erupt at any moment, as he does sneak out at night into a gay cruising area, but we do learn of the dark past that connects Michelle to Marie-Claude, as they were former Belle de Jour prostitutes in Paris with a high-priced clientele, an unorthodox way of earning money to support their children on their own, with no conventional jobs available to women at the time, establishing a connection to Chantal Akerman’s eye-opening and massively influential Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce,1080 Bruxelles (1976).  This revelation may explain why they left Paris and ventured into the countryside, remaining lifelong friends, where one of the first church sermons we hear from a priest concerns Mary Magdalene, the prostitute that Christ blessed, expressing a theme of atonement for the sins of the past.  People easily overlook the lives of older people, as we often forget about the complexities of their own lives, with Michelle remaining a woman of mystery, where even at the end, we’re not really sure of just who she is.  Written by Ozon in collaboration with Philippe Piazzo, shot by Jérôme Alméras, who shot Ozon’s wonderfully inventive In the House (Dans La Maison) (2012), and was one of three cinematographers used in Bertrand Tavernier’s Journey Through French Cinema (Voyage à travers le cinéma français) (2016), while the delicate musical score is written by Evgueni and Sacha Galperine, two brothers who composed the music for Audrey Diwan’s 2023 Top Ten List #10 Happening (L’événement) (2021).  A series of unexpected deaths occurs, with the circumstances clouded in ambiguity, with the director deliberately subverting our expectations by leaving out what actually happened, a device that was also used in Justine Triet’s Anatomy of a Fall (Anatomie d'une chute) (2023), exploring questions of guilt and innocence that viewers must decide for themselves, where a pregnant female police inspector (Sophie Guillemin) suspects a tragic accident may have actually been a murder, with a dark cloud hovering over the bucolic landscape, establishing a kinship with the same elusive questions asked in Alain Guiraudie’s Misericordia (Miséricorde) (2024).  While moral questions are introduced, they remain unanswered, with the film reaching no easy conclusions, where a ghostly presence haunts Michelle, like a physical manifestation of her fears, and a guilt that is troubling her, providing an eerie strangeness to what we witness in the latter stages of one’s life.

The Room Next Door

 

Director Pedro Almodóvar

Almodóvar winning the Golden Lion at Venice

The director on the set

Almodóvar with his two actresses

THE ROOM NEXT DOOR               B+                                                                                      Spain  USA  France  (107 mi)  2024  ‘Scope  d: Pedro Almodóvar

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window.  It had begun to snow again.  He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight.  The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward.  Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland.  It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves.  It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried.  It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns.  His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

—James Joyce The Dead, last short story from Dubliners, 1914, The Dead by James Joyce

This is the kind of thing that people in their 20’s will probably find turgid and endlessly insufferable, but people over 50 will find much more insightful, as it deals with the latter stages of life instead of the early years, a common subject of interest as people mature.  Think of final films by Ingmar Bergman with SARABAND (2003), Andrei Tarkovsky’s The Sacrifice (Offret) (1986), or Béla Tarr’s The Turin Horse (2011), but also Leo McCarey’s MAKE WAY FOR TOMORROW (1937), Vittorio de Sica’s UMBERTO D (1952), Akira Kurosawa’s IKIRU (1952), Yasujirō Ozu’s Tokyo Story (Tokyo Monogatari) (1953), Cynthia Scott’s Strangers in Good Company (Le Fabuleux gang des sept) (1990), David Lynch’s THE STRAIGHT STORY (1999), Isabel Coixet’s My Life Without Me (2003), Sarah Polley’s Away from Her (2006), Michael Haneke’s Amour (Love) (2012), and Chantal Akerman’s No Home Movie (2015).  Death is an ominous subject for anyone to approach, at any age, yet when you’re young, it’s just not something you think about unless you have to, like near fatal accidents or illnesses, or having to attend funerals.  Pedro Almodóvar is not a director one would associate with aging or death, as his bad boy charisma and youthful energy are seemingly boundless, yet he was inspired by the 2020 novel What Are You Going Through by American writer Sigrid Nunez, and while it’s about a woman accompanying a terminally ill friend through her last months, offering many existential questions about impermanence and death, what stands out is the book’s conversation-heavy structure.  In this regard, the filmmaker was required to find two actresses who fit the mold, who could speak calmly and quietly through a stream of personal and mostly secluded conversations that capture our attention by exploring nothing less than the realities of living and dying in this world and how we feel about both.  We don’t often see these probing in-depth discussions on death and dying when it comes to adult friendships, revealing hidden truths we often shy away from, but Almodóvar directly faces several taboos of society such as the illegality of euthanasia or assisted suicide in forty out of fifty states in America, with only two states making it legal for non-residents, where his emotional connection to this forbidden terrain is undeniable, allowing the personal and political to intersect, expressed without a trace of sentimentality.  Spain legalized euthanasia in 2021 and is one of only 11 countries in which any form of assisted dying is legal.  In Great Britain, assisted suicide is punishable by up to 14 years’ imprisonment, while euthanasia is regarded as either manslaughter or murder, where the maximum penalty is life imprisonment.  Choosing two New York-based writers, Ingrid (Julianne Moore, who won a Best Actress Academy Award for Still Alice in 2015), a successful autofiction novelist, reconnects with a lifelong friend Martha (Tilda Swinton, who won a Best Supporting Actress Academy Award for MICHAEL CLAYTON in 2008), a hard-nosed war reporter, who is in the final stages of cervical cancer, THE ROOM NEXT DOOR | Official Clip YouTube (32 seconds).  Very few filmmakers, especially those who are male, have consistently captured the inner lives of women and the actresses playing them like Almodóvar, whose earlier film ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER (1999) was an affecting ode to the female spirit, dedicated “To Bette Davis, Gena Rowlands, Romy Schneider…To all actresses who have played actresses, to all women who act, to men who act and become women, to all people who want to become mothers.  To my mother.”  In keeping with the novel, Almodóvar chose to make his first English-language feature, having made two earlier shorts in English, one of them starring Tilda Swinton, now channeling his inner Douglas Sirk in the brightly colored costumes and set designs, where you literally feel like you’re walking back in time directly into a Douglas Sirk film, and since Julianne Moore was already in Todd Haynes’ FAR FROM HEAVEN (2002), an homage to Sirk films from the 50’s like All That Heaven Allows (1955), Written On the Wind (1956), and Imitation of Life (1959), that’s not entirely unexpected, yet everything that we’ve come to appreciate about Almodóvar is on display here, where a heightened sense of artifice has always been present in his work.

The leading light of contemporary Spanish cinema, Almodóvar’s characteristic splashes of vibrant color and bold melodramatic flourishes are everpresent at every turn, though this feels more tightly compressed due to the severity of the subject matter, adopting a more introspective and sober tone, as the weight of mortality is carried on both of their shoulders, told with a biting wit and a bold intellectual curiosity, along with an appreciation for an empathetic ear, adopting a very literary feel, while also including a screening of Roberto Rossellini’s Journey to Italy (1954).  Both actresses, by the way, have a history of working front and center for extraordinary queer filmmakers, Julianne Moore with Todd Haynes, and Tilda Swinton first with Derek Jarman and then with Luca Guadagnino and Apichatpong Weerasethakul, so their choice to grace the screen feels appropriate.  Winner of the Golden Lion (1st place) at the 2024 Venice Film Festival, with Almodóvar acknowledging in his acceptance speech, “As directors, we are privileged to be the first witness when a miracle occurs in front of the camera,” this is a film that examines mortality through the lens of human frailty, as we have two women who couldn’t be more different.  A caring and compassionate woman, Ingrid responds to a reader at a heavily populated book signing in Manhattan’s Rizzoli Bookstore, with the reader questioning whether writing the book changed her perceptions, “In the prologue, you say you wrote this book in order to better understand and accept death,” to which she responds that she’s still afraid of death, “It feels unnatural to me.  I can’t accept that something alive has to die.”  It’s only through these readers that Ingrid learns Martha is seriously ill in a nearby hospital, as the two haven’t spoken to each other in years, losing contact after Ingrid moved to Paris for a few years, though they worked together for Paper magazine in the 80’s, during the “party girl” phases of their lives, sharing, at different times, the same sexually volcanic boyfriend (John Turturro, who appears later with Ingrid, actually quoting a line from Almodóvar’s 1988 film WOMAN ON THE VERGE OF A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN), and may have even been lovers, but that didn’t last, yet they’ve remained lifelong friends.  The visit in the hospital is heartening, as she’s clearly welcomed, but Martha informs her, “I swing between euphoria and depression,” concluding “Survival feels almost disappointing.”  Something of a force of nature, fiercely independent and bluntly direct, hard and self-centered by nature, exhibiting no signs of self-pity, having a complicated and distant relationship with her only daughter Michelle (also played by Swinton), though with all the chemotherapy drugs filtering through her system, still lingering long afterwards, she doesn’t have the same mental sharpness, becoming more forgetful, losing focus, where the blend between reality and dreams is intermixed, causing extreme internal anguish, “I’ve been reduced to very little of myself.”  Yet our eye can’t help looking out the window at this enormous, picture-perfect New York City skyline, impeccably framed, exquisitely shot by Eduard Grau, where you wonder what it costs to be in a place like that, as it’s like no hospital room we have ever seen, where it’s idyllic in so many ways, with freshly cut flowers by the bedside, but then the crushing reality hits like a ton of bricks with the real reason why she’s there.  It’s just so Sirkian, a women’s drama with melodramatic hysteria reduced to minimalist theater, never depressing with all the eye-popping color, with occasional moments of unexpected humor.  Death is an unseen character in this suffocatingly embalmed chamber drama, as its ghostly presence is always hovering nearby, where both women have a fragile relationship with death that evolves over time, yet the core of their humanity is everpresent, a shining light continually elevating the material from the shadows.  The other aspect of the film is the intense, non-stop musical score by Alberto Iglesias, who has composed the music of every single Almodóvar feature since THE FLOWER OF MY SECRET (1995), where the sensuously provocative music is often the core of the films, most especially TALK TO HER (2002), with a remastered 12-CD edition of those compositions released in 2020, as the music literally plays throughout the entire film, except for a few moments near the end, so the entire composition is about as long as a Mahler symphony.           

Perhaps the most intriguing elements of the film are the artistic references, so while the film is essentially about dying, and doing so on your own terms, it’s also about the living, where these references are bridges from the past to the present and even into the future.  As the two of them head out of town into upstate New York around Woodstock (actually shot at Casa Szoke in the mountains just outside Madrid, Szoke House: The 'Silent' Hero of Almodóvar's Film), Martha has chosen a state-of-the-art residence to rent for a month, literally immersed in nature, deep in the woods in an idyllic, dream-like location where glass walls make the inside and outside merge, THE ROOM NEXT DOOR | Official Clip YouTube (34 seconds), with designs to end it all in a completely unorthodox manner, one that challenges the right of the living to take their own lives, especially under these terms, as all Martha has to expect is an excruciatingly slow and painful decline, so she constructs her own timeline, which may, in fact, be illegal.  Viewers are also aware that, starting at least with the powerfully autobiographical Pain and Glory (Dolor y Gloria) (2019), followed by the equally compelling Parallel Mothers (Madres paralelas) (2021), arguably his most political work that unearths ghosts of the past, Almodóvar himself has been wrestling with his own mortality.  Without getting into the specifics (“You can find almost anything on the dark web”), let’s just say that it’s a perplexing moral dilemma that continues to haunt the living, especially bypassing the authority of religion and law enforcement.  And while they bide their time, they renew their friendship through some of the most intimately revealing observations, none more prominent than Martha’s word-for-word remembrance of the final words in the James Joyce short story The Dead, a monument of literature that was also made into a stellar movie by John Huston in 1987, working from a wheelchair while hooked up to an oxygen tank (Huston didn’t live to see his final film, released several months after his death), directing his own daughter Angelica Huston, yet what’s so memorable about that film is the unforgettable ending, where the poetic power of the words mix so perfectly with the sublime imagery of quietly falling snow, The Dead (1987) End Monologue YouTube (4:18).  And they watch a DVD of the film one night, after spending the entire night viewing the hilarious Buster Keaton comedy SEVEN CHANCES (1925) and the melodramatic tale of doomed love in Max Ophüls’ LETTER FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN (1948), finally ending with the Huston film at sunrise just as a new day is about to begin, an apt metaphor.  The Nunez book is filled with plenty of references to other literary and artistic works, but Almodóvar chooses his own distinct set of references that are not in the book, and they are each rife with meaning and context, like a window into the souls of these complex women.  Ingrid tells Martha that she is planning a book on Dora Carrington (who is mentioned in the book, but Almodóvar invents a different conversation), a painter affiliated with the Bloomsbury Group that included novelist Virginia Woolf, openly bisexual and known for her many love affairs, who agreed to marry Ralph Partridge, not for love but to secure the 3-way relationship, as she was obsessed by the unrequited love from gay writer Lytton Strachey, becoming distraught by his death from cancer, dying by suicide two months later at age 38.  While there are visual references of Edward Hopper’s paintings, most notably People in the Sun | Smithsonian American Art Museum, by the end, the glamor element for Martha is right out of a magazine photoshoot, where there’s even a cinematic reference to the red lipstick sequence in Powell and Pressburger’s BLACK NARCISSUS (1947) (Sequence Analysis “Lipstick” in Black Narcissus), and, of course, there’s an inevitable shot that mirrors Bergman’s Persona (1966), where after death there’s a symbolic transference of identity that resembles a rebirth, with Ingrid inheriting Martha’s strength and fortitude, as she is literally transformed by the experience.  Almodóvar adds his own spin on it in the final memorable frames as once again the snow drifts down, with the filmmaker utilizing Joyce as the narrator of his own haunting elegy.