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La Vie Nouvelle (Philippe Grandrieux, 2002)
* * * 02-21-03 Jeremy Heilman |
The human body is the most often photographed subject in
cinema, so when a director manages to find ways to make it look newly erotic,
alien, and exciting, it’s tough not to stand up and take notice of the
achievement. Set primarily in a derelict Eastern European hotel, La Vie Nouvelle (A New Life), the second feature from French
director Philippe Grandrieux aims to approximate a state of mind in which an
individual’s senses become overwhelmed to the point where they begin blanking
out. In pushing his characters to such extremes though sexual, emotional, and
chemical means, the director creates a style in which his experimental visual
and aural flourishes have as much narrative justification as anything else in
the film. By switching film stocks, allowing the camera’s focus to lapse, and
putting his camera so close to his actors that it becomes wholly complicit with
the cast in delivering the emotion in their performances, Grandrieux creates a
tactile, inescapably immediate atmosphere. The grim existence eked out by his
cast in a busted economy seemingly sustained by prostitution, gangsterism, and
the tourism of those looking for a place where money can buy them some wholesale
depravity is one where conventionality has no place. Even something as essential
to routine life as verbal communication seems out of place when it crops up in
this context, and the expressive body language of the actors rises up to fill
the gap.
I don’t know that my words can do justice to some of the
thrills that exist here, because they hit on some twisted nerves. For example,
there’s something morbidly beautiful as Grandrieux snuffs out the sound of a
rape victim’s scream. It’s a morally suspect moment, but the aesthetics are
undeniably pleasing, perhaps because it’s such a satisfying approximation of
the internalized horror that I described above. Similarly, the film’s most
stunning set piece, perhaps the best of all filmed rave sequences, internalizes
the rhythm of the music and just offers flashes of comprehension amid the
rapture and rupture that’s occurring in the dancer’s mind as she spins. The
shaky camerawork puts the audience next to the characters, and they’re
degraded people, but to spend time in such close proximity to them is
illuminating, especially since the director never for a moment makes their life
look attractive. Instead, the plot charts a downward spiral that takes the
characters into a nearly feral state. A complex and intense relationship exists
between viewer and image while they attempt to discern the face of an actor in
the absolute darkness as the amount of light in the chiaroscuro composition
becomes ever more gradiented or as they puzzle out whether the female
protagonist is raccoon-eyed because of her bruises or makeup. Because the
subject matter of the film is unremittingly bleak, the majority of the pleasure
for most viewers will likely be derived from decoding these beguiling visuals
and the thrill of not knowing what Grandrieux will come up with next. There are
definite points being made here about human nature and the different forms of
physical and mental dislocation, but they’re about as hard won as they come,
and it’s up to the sheer, surprising beauty carries the film. The biggest
saving grace and artistic defense here is the film’s relative purity of
language, composition, and mode of attack. Whatever La Vie Nouvelle might be, it’s undeniably representative of a
unique vision, and as such a valuable film.