Le Sex and Violence - Features - Films - The Independent

18/8/2014 Le sex and violence - Features - Films - The Independent
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In the 1920s, the French actor, director and poet Antonin Artaud
elaborated his vision of the Theatre of Cruelty, a form of
spectacle designed to rattle audiences' sensibilities with a force he
compared to that of the bubonic plague: "I propose a theatre
whose violent physical images pulverise, mesmerise the
audience's sensibilities, caught in the drama as if in a vortex of
higher forces." Substitute the word "cinema" for "theatre", and
you have a fair description of a prominent strain of contemporary
French cinema, one which Toronto-based critic James Quandt,
writing in Artforum, has dubbed the "New French Extremity".
In the 1920s, the French actor, director
and poet Antonin Artaud elaborated his
vision of the Theatre of Cruelty, a form
of spectacle designed to rattle audiences'
sensibilities with a force he compared to
that of the bubonic plague: "I propose a
theatre whose violent physical images
pulverise, mesmerise the audience's
sensibilities, caught in the drama as if in
a vortex of higher forces." Substitute
the word "cinema" for "theatre", and
you have a fair description of a
prominent strain of contemporary
French cinema, one which Toronto-
based critic James Quandt, writing in
Arts + Ents > Films > Features
Le sex and violence
Brutality, lust, cannibalism and ripped undergarments are
everywhere in French cinema - and the limits of extremity are
extended as each new film strives to out-shock the last. As yet
another beast-fest opens to gagging audiences, Jonathan Romney
explores that peculiarly Gallic place where sex and death meet

Sunday 12 September 2004
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Artforum, has dubbed the "New French Extremity".
Through the Eighties and Nineties, English-speaking audiences
have tended to entertain a stereotype of French cinema as
embodying an unthreatening upmarket heritage. This was the
world parodied in Stella Artois ads, of bucolic provenal dramas
such as Jean de Florette; the world in which arch-gamine Amlie
flutters around a digitally prettified Montmartre; or, at its more
exalted auteur pole, the world of Eric Rohmer's befuddled
Parisians, agonising over where to spend their summer holidays.
Increasingly, however, the most urgent new French cinema has
been dominated by graphic sexuality, violence and a sense of
social apocalypse. Among the defining images of the past decade,
we have seen the embittered butcher of Gaspar No's Seul
Contre Tous (I Stand Alone, 1998) on a spree of hate-filled
nihilism; the sudden eruption of violent death that ends
Catherine Breillat's study of teenage sexuality A Ma Soeur!
(2001); the inserts of internet torture in Olivier Assayas's cyber-
thriller Demonlover (2002). Many recent films either contain or
primarily address explicit sex: among them, Bertrand Bonello's
2001 Le Pornographe, with its no-frills ejaculation shot, which
uses the porn world to examine changes in French sexual and
social politics since the Sixties; while Jean-Claude Brisseau's
Secret Things (2002) - two young women plot to overthrow the
social order by old-fashioned pussy power - is Marxism filtered
through Penthouse.
But such films are exceptions. More characteristically, sex and
violence go together, embroiled in a brutal, not to say febrile,
dialectic of death, transgression and even spirituality. In Bruno
Dumont's road movie Twentynine Palms (2003), a couple drive
round the bleaker parts of California, stopping only for bouts of
raw and extremely noisy sex. The payoff is brutal: male rape
followed by murder in a strident slasher-pic register. Philippe
Grandrieux's La Vie Nouvelle (2002) explores an earthly hell of
human trafficking and brutish sex, culminating in a man being
torn apart by dogs.
The sex-and-death nexus has even attracted film-makers not
usually thought of as extremist. Claire Denis followed Beau
Travail, an elliptical and dream-like Foreign Legion story, with
the sanguinary gross-out of Trouble Every Day (2001), a story of
vampiric sex starring Vincent Gallo and Batrice Dalle, French
cinema's poster girl for bruising neurosis. Demonlover, about
Japanese S&M anime and torture websites, was Olivier Assayas's
follow-up to a costume drama about Limoges porcelain.
Among the New French Extremity's most graphic and
confrontational texts is Baise-Moi (2000), a self-consciously
trashy exercise that is closer to the mode of triple-X porn - le
hard - than to art cinema. Co-directed by novelist Virginie
Despentes (adapting her own bestseller) and former porn actress
Coralie Trinh Thi, the film follows two angry women on a revenge
spree of sex and murder: often described by critics as a hardcore
Thelma and Louise, it could also be seen as a female rewrite of
Les Valseuses, Bertrand Blier's scandalous-at-the-time 1974
picaresque about two jovially macho thugs.
The other key texts of the new school come from the notorious
Argentinian-born prodigy Gaspar No, who has established
himself as French cinema's Prince of Darkness. Given his
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Tarantino-like enthusiasm for the grand guignol gore tradition,
his own work occupies a strange bridging position between
French high-art cinma d'auteur and Euro-pulp horror. If any
film could be regarded as a "hymn of hate", it's No's Seul Contre
Tous, which shows an astonishingly squalid, irredeemable world
through the eyes of an embittered butcher. The film brilliantly
pinpointed a very real French cultural mood, with the butcher's
rancorous worldview pushing the mindset of the Le Pen
constituency to its intolerable extreme. But No also set out to
brutalise and goad his viewers, taunting us by flashing up a 60-
second warning to the faint-hearted before an explosively
unsavoury ending.
No's 2002 follow-up, Irrversible, was even more of an assault
on audience sensibilities. A story told backwards about rape and
revenge, it starts with the revenge - a man battered to death
with a fire extinguisher in a gay S&M club - followed by the rape,
in an unforgiving nine-minute single take. Irrversible brutally
divided critics - understandably, since it arguably embodies an
oppressive, dominating form of cinema that allows the viewer no
possible reaction other than to submit to its virtuoso brutality or
reject it out of hand. Irrversible sealed the reputation of No's
work as the ne plus ultra of cinematic provocation, and as a sort
of macho endurance test designed to test the viewer's mettle.
"I'm happy some people walk out during my film," said No of
Seul Contre Tous. "It makes the ones who stay feel strong."
Other film-makers who might initially appear to be fellow shock-
cinastes have very different attitudes to their audience. Process
(2004) by C S Leigh - an American-born director working in
France - is an emotionally gruelling experience, with its heroine
(Batrice Dalle again) undergoing divorce, breakdown,
mastectomy, a brutish threesome (after which she settles down
with a TV documentary about the Holocaust), and a meal of
crushed glass. Self-consciously serious and gorgeously mounted
with high-fashion trimmings, Process might be dismissed as an
example of Bleak Chic, but it undoubtedly assaults the viewer's
sensibilities as mercilessly as No's films. "A lot of people felt that
the film made them feel very lonely and afraid," says Leigh. "I've
twice been asked, 'Why did you want to hurt me?'" Leigh's
intentions, however, are very different from No's: "I definitely
want to shake, not to shock, and certainly not to aggress. There's
this notion that cinema is a great uniter, but I like the idea that
this film would force people to confront what's in themselves."
Similarly touting a more nuanced approach is Marina De Van,
whose first feature Dans Ma Peau (In My Skin) is released next
week. De Van made her name acting for and co-writing with
Franois Ozon, a prolific enfant terrible whose own early films,
such as the John Waters tribute Sitcom, loosely align him with
the New Extremists, although he's since moved into more
temperate zones. In Dans Ma Peau, De Van plays Esther, who
develops an obsession with self-mutilation: her increasingly grisly
odyssey sees her grazing on her own flesh and preserving her
flayed skin with tanning chemicals (giving a macabre new sense
to self-preservation). Although the film is bloodily gruesome, De
Van sustains a glacial detachment worthy of David Cronenberg. A
prime example of the film's controlled delirium is the scene
where Esther, at a business dinner, stares at her severed arm
resting on the table: a coolly observed nightmare in the Buuel
tradition.
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Not that De Van necessarily is Esther, but the film certainly
stems from her own equivocal attitude to pain. Her leg was
broken by a car at the age of eight and she felt no pain;
thereafter, she was fascinated with testing her physical
sensitivity, jabbing needles in her scars as a child. De Van insists
she is not out to horrify but to fascinate. "I wanted the viewer to
identify with a character who is doing things that are very violent
and shocking. I tried to show her sensibility, to show everything
that was touching, caressing, desiring." De Van certainly doesn't
feel part of any extreme tendency. "There are hard images in my
film, but it's not trash cinema, and not violent in that way. It's
rather classical in its construction. For me, the film's mood is not
extreme at all."
One director who certainly does intend to be confrontational is
Catherine Breillat, who has been exploring images of women's
sexuality since the mid-Seventies. Breillat's prominence soared
with Romance (1998), an interrogation of bedroom politics in
which she cast leading European porn stud Rocco Siffredi, with
his priapic assets proudly displayed. Ostensibly a meta-porn
exercise about an Emmanuelle-like ingnue exploring her desire,
Romance culminated in a close-up shot of childbirth - perversely,
the most shocking thing in the quasi-porn context.
Breillat's new film, Anatomy of Hell, goes a lot further. A young
woman (Amira Casar) pays a gay man (Siffredi again) to visit her
over several nights for a private colloquium on the female body,
particularly those aspects of it that, according to Breillat, men
find repellent. Where Romance, with its ironically sheened
images, played with the aesthetics of softcore, Anatomy of Hell is
intentionally grimmer, and grimier, its images designed to be
unpalatable both to art-house audiences and to seasoned porn
consumers: among them, menstrual blood, a stone dildo, a baby
bird and small children playing doctors and nurses.
The film was an attempt to go beyond accepted limits, Breillat
says: "It's about watching what is unwatchable. I wanted to make
a film about obscenity. There are laws against obscenity, but I
wanted to know what it was about from the point of view of an
artist - not from the point of view of the law which forbids you to
be an artist." In Anatomy, Breillat contends, "I'm trying to
present people with something they can't bear, so as to make
them see how miserable it is to be able to bear so little. People
asked why I filmed the birth face-on in Romance. I say: 'Because
you're asking me that question.'"
"French cinema is terribly bourgeois," complains Breillat. "You're
either an artist or a conformist - if you're conformist, you show
society conforming to the way it likes to see itself. If you're an
artist, you show a society that's much more transgressive."
This formula carries echoes of a long French tradition of artistic
and social dissent, in cinema, literature and art alike: a
continuous thread running through the Enlightenment, the
Revolution, Romanticism and Surrealism. In cinema, it was
Surrealism that inaugurated the school of extremity, with two
Spanish visitors, Luis Buuel and Salvador Dali, kickstarting the
poetic strain of art-horror in the eye-slashing sequence of Un
Chien Andalou (1929). They were at the start of a long line of
visiting film-makers who found France fertile for transgressive
experiment - through Roman Polanski to Austria's Michael
Haneke. From Poland came Walerian Borowczyk, whose 1975
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fairy-tale La Bte is Perrault reimagined as hard-porn horror
farce, with the maddest, most prolific come-shot in film history.
His compatriot Andrzej Zulawski specialises in frenetic Freudian
nightmares, notably Possession (1981), in which Isabelle Adjani
made love with a flailing squid-thing from her Id.
But it was Jean-Luc Godard who made what remains the most
merciless satire of modern French living, in Week End (1967), his
satiric vision of self-destructive leisure culture. It begins with the
explicit sexual confidences of a bourgeois couple, progresses to a
holiday-season traffic jam that degenerates into carnage, and
ends with apocalypse at the hands of a revolutionary cadre. Here,
nerve-shattering and acidly comic, is a complete blueprint for J G
Ballard and David Cronenberg's Crash, not to mention for the
novels of Michel Houellebecq.
French cinematic extremity is never a matter of celluloid alone,
but always refers to a wider artistic context. A key visual
reference for both Dumont and Catherine Breillat is Gustave
Courbet's 1866 painting The Origin of the World, an anatomically
detailed close-up of a woman's crotch - a Hustler centrespread
100 years avant la lettre. Breillat admits she is "obsessed" with
it, and Anatomy of Hell could be seen in its entirety as a set of
variations on the painting. Bruno Dumont's L'Humanit (1999)
alludes to it in an alarming shot showing the body of a murdered
11-year-old girl - which also echoes Marcel Duchamp's own
variation on Courbet, the installation Etant donns, its naked
torso suggestive of dismemberment. Duchamp's image was
designed to be viewed through a kind of peepshow structure,
suggesting not merely voyeurism but an apparatus akin to
cinema itself.
But it is especially in a literary heritage that French extreme
cinema finds its wellsprings. The dominant figure of French
literary extremism is undoubtedly the Marquis de Sade, not only
for his still-disturbing content but for the way that generations of
commentators - philosophers, structuralists, Surrealists,
feminists - have taken his work seriously as a system of thought
to be glossed and deconstructed.
Another dark star is Isidore Ducasse, aka the Comte de
Lautramont, regarded as a patron saint by the Surrealists,
whose Les Chants de Maldoror remains the most delirious work
of French 19th-century literature. Lautramont's stylistic
radicalism and flights of black fantasy make him a direct
precursor of William Burroughs. (Episodes include sexual
dalliance with a shark, and an apocalyptic vision of the earth
engulfed by fleas.) Not surprisingly, Lautramont is a hero to
Breillat, who sees in him "an extremely black violence that is
really an incandescent idealism. Better to be a prince of evil than
a king of conformity".
A no less influential 20th-century figure is Georges Bataille,
philosopher and writer of a deliriously sordid brand of literary
pornography - whose most famous work The Story of the Eye
(1928) stages fantasies of death, mutilation and rampant sex. For
Bataille, transgression is all, a quasi-religious yearning towards
transcendence, in which abjection and exaltation go hand in hand.
Perhaps it takes a lapsed Catholic to get the most out of Bataille,
but even this intractably recondite writer has now reached the
screen, with his posthumously published Ma Mre filmed by
Christophe Honor. This exploration of debauchery and the
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incest taboo stars no less an eminence than Isabelle Huppert,
which testifies to the seriousness with which Bataille is taken in
France.
The transgressive tradition is thriving in current literature, this
time reaching a mainstream readership - subversion as bestseller
chic. The most famous succs de scandale is Houellebecq, whose
novels - Whatever (Extension du domaine de la lutte), Atomised
and Platform - explore France's conformist work-and-leisure
culture and its libidinal outlets in sexual escapism and racial
hatred. Marie Darrieussecq has traced various versions of the
abject, dissolving self, notably in her Truismes (Pig Tales), an
extended female reworking of a Lautramont episode in which a
human mutates into a ravenous, voluptuous pig.
Virginie Despentes celebrates a sardonic hard-boiled punk
nihilism in her novels Baise-Moi and Teen Spirit (a title surely
calculated to pitch her as French literature's own Kurt-cum-
Courtney). The film-literature crossover is nothing new - leading
lights working successfully in both fields have included Jean
Cocteau, Bertrand Blier and novelist Alain Robbe-Grillet. The
current generation continues to keep the dual faith: Despentes,
Breillat and Christophe Honor are all established in both fields.
In France, it's considered legitimate for film-makers to refer
openly to "difficult" literary influences, something which would
certainly be regarded with suspicion in Britain or America:
Honor, for example, freely admits to cribbing passages of his Ma
Mre script from two English-language extremists: the British
playwright Sarah Kane and American novelist Dennis Cooper,
sombre chronicler of gay necro-punk fantasies.
As to why extremity is currently flourishing in French cinema, it
is clearly in tune with literary trends. The film critic and
academic Ginette Vincendeau comments: "I went to a conference
last year about literature and film about the body in
contemporary France, and self-mutilation seemed to be hugely
on the agenda." Vincendeau points out that sexuality is
increasingly visible as a mainstream preoccupation in France,
with changiste (swingers') clubs and sexual tourism in general
becoming accepted bourgeois pastimes. (Note the bestseller
success of art critic Catherine Millet's book of sexual confessions.)
Indeed, cinephile bible Cahiers du cinma startled adherents by
running a sex-and-porn issue a couple of years ago, with even its
staid rival Positif eventually following suit. Importantly, notes
Vincendeau, the new cinematic and literary extremity is partly a
female phenomenon: "It allows women to explore sexuality but
in a way that's acceptable to the mainstream. In one sense, the
gap left by what might have been feminist politics is filled by
extreme sex."
Another gap is that vacated by political engagement. In his
Artforum article, James Quandt wonders whether cinema's
extreme tendency is "a narcissistic response to the collapse of
ideology in a society traditionally defined by political polarity and
theoretical certitude." Some of the new films, it's true, depict a
world in which society has fractured into mutually combative,
self-mortifying individuals - existential loners suffering a degree
of isolation that Camus never dreamed of. Nevertheless, the new
films can hardly be accused of lacking a political drive - whether
it's in the fiercely engaged sexual politics of Breillat's films, the
cultural analysis of corporate-image trafficking in Assayas's
Demonlover, or No's venomously precise diagnosis of the
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alienated extreme right in Seul Contre Tous.
It might also be argued that the search for extremes responds to
a professional numbness in France, where a regimentation of
workplace practices - and a peculiarly overpowering managerial
jargon - creates a tightly gridded society that gives rise to violent
responses. Many recent films and novels, "Extremist" or
otherwise, specifically concern the woes of workplace hell -
Houellebecq's novels, and films such as Laurent Cantet's Time
Out and Marina De Van's unorthodox depiction of executive
stress as self-dismemberment. Also reflected is the commodified
escapism of the sexual tourism industry - Houellebecq again -
and Honor's relocation of Bataille to the after-hours fleshpots of
the Canaries.
But there is also a professional bottom line for film-makers who
want to be noticed: directors who would be cutting-edge must
choose cutting-edge topics, and by necessity, the edge gets
further out all the time. Certainly, the New Extremity in French
cinema sets itself in opposition to the bombastic pastoralism of
the Jean de Florette school, and to the empty chic of the briefly
glittering cinma du look (Beineix, Besson et al). Vincendeau
notes: "Auteur cinema has difficulties in positioning itself - it has
to find a niche in the market. In the auteur niche, innovation has
to be found at all costs." This means forever raising the bar, and
the next generation of would-be auteurs now dreams of rattling
Cannes as violently as Irrversible did in 2002.
But it shouldn't be forgotten that many of the films mentioned
above are also stylistically extreme and innovative, whether it's
in shades of austere detachment (Breillat, De Van, Honor), in
No's lapel-grabbing kineticism, or in the inscrutable
experimentalism of Philippe Grandrieux's La Vie Nouvelle, which
resorts to such disorienting tactics as heat photography and long
silences.
Below the shocking surface, these film-makers have only so much
in common. The New French Extremity, like any tendency, has
its misfires, indulgences, pomposities and masterpieces - No has
made one of the best in Seul Contre Tous, arguably the most
misguided in Irrversible. But the prevalence and unnerving
force of such cinema suggest that the French cultural imagination
is drawing its most reviving energies from its darkest, most
painful neuroses. James Quandt may decry the New Extremity
as "an aggressiveness that is really a grandiose form of
passivity". Antonin Artaud, however, might have relished the
similarities with the theatre he dreamed of - one that would
"choose themes and subjects corresponding to the agitation and
unrest of our times", one with "an impassioned convulsive
concept of life".
'Dans Ma Peau' is released on Friday. 'Anatomy of Hell' is
released later this year, 'Ma Mre', 'Process' and 'Twentynine
Palms' are released next year
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myself in jail'
Following last week's
Cameraphones at
the National
Gallery
Photography is now
Swan, egret,
heron...
The Richard III diet
Doctor Who's
Jenna Coleman:
Capaldi vs Smith
The actress is returning

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18/8/2014 Le sex and violence - Features - Films - The Independent

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