Film Review
With its striking, self-consciously arty design,
Diva heralded the emergence of a
new trend in French cinema which, although short-lived, would have an
enduring and wide-ranging impact that would extend as far as American
cinema, influencing the development of the policier genre in the '80s
and '90s. Dubbed the
cinéma
du look, this new style of film placed much greater emphasis on
visual impact than content, blurred the boundary between reality and
fantasy to the point where the two became virtually indistinguishable,
and generally concerned itself with marginalized young people
struggling to get by in bleak economic times. Jean-Jacques
Beineix set the ball rolling with his startling debut feature
Diva, a strong reaction against the
increasingly violent realist thrillers of the 1970s, but equally
impressive examples are to be found in the oeuvre of Luc Besson -
Subway
(1985),
Nikita
(1990) - and Leos Carax -
Mauvais sang (1986),
Les Amants du Pont-Neuf
(1991).
What most characterises the
cinéma
du look aesthetic is a heightened sense of reality which is
conveyed, perhaps paradoxically, by a subtly expressionistic
approach to each of the elements which make up the film - design, shot
composition, camerawork and editing. When they are employed at
their best, the stylised design and exaggerated camera movements in
Diva provide an intensely subjective
experience, evoking the fear, panic and hopelessness of the hunted
outsider who finds himself caught up in a Kafkaesque nightmare and is
suddenly confronted with his own mortality. The best instance of
this is the spectacular chase through the Paris underground, which
feels horribly like one of those slow-motion dreams in which you
desperately try to escape from some unknown, unseen horror, running in
naked terror from what you sense is the spectre of death itself (that or the tax man).
Diva is unlike many thrillers of
its time in that it is far more preoccupied with the sensation of fear
than with the reality of physical violence, and this is what sets it apart.
Films such as
Diva and
Subway represented such a strong
stylistic departure from what had gone before that they proved to be
easy targets for many critics, who were quick to dismiss them as futile
exercises in style over content.
Diva certainly has its flaws.
The plot is ludicrous beyond belief, overly complex and muddled, with
characters that are poorly developed and, in many cases, unconvincingly
played. The film also suffers from some uneven pacing, its
breathtaking action sequences often followed by languorous scenes that
offer as much excitement and interest as watching paint dry. Yet,
taken as a whole, if you don't peer too closely beneath its shiny
surface,
Diva offers an
arresting, highly entertaining piece of cinema. With a
remarkable panache that would be lacking in many of his subsequent
films, Beineix successfully brings into collision two very different
worlds - the world of opera, with its harmony, beauty and
immediate contact with the divine, and that of the Parisian underworld, represented by
prostitutes, corrupt cops and sadistic killers in dark glasses.
The presence and singing voice of world-class soprano Wilhelmenia
Fernández (in her one and only dramatic screen appearance)
imbues the film with a sublime elegance, making an almost surreal
contrast with the sordid reality which the other characters represent
as they allow themselves to be drawn into a vicious dance of death and
destruction. The cast includes no established stars but several
actors who would go on to become very familiar faces in French cinema -
Richard Bohringer, Gérard Darmon and Dominique Pinon. As
the enigmatic Zen-empowered guardian angel, Bohringer exerts a strangely
calming influence over the proceedings, so laid-back and detached that
he appears to be the exact polar opposite of the conventional thriller hero
(either that or an extreme paraody of the aloof heroes played by Alain Delon).
Meanwhile, Darmon and Pinon form a surprisingly effective
double act, resembling a cheap vaudeville team moonlighting as
underpaid hired assassins. Through a suitably understated
performance, Frédéric Andréi perfectly captures
the helplessness of an innocent caught up in a brutal and unkind world
- symbolising France's neglected youth at the time the film was made.
Although it was destined to become a cult classic,
Diva had very little impact when it
was first released in France. It wasn't until it proved to be a
box office hit in America that the film acquired its cult status and
the respect of serious film critics. At the 1982 Césars,
the film picked up four awards, in the categories of Best First Work
(Jean-Jacques Beineix), Best Cinematography (Philippe Rousselot), Best
Music (Vladimir Cosma) and Best Sound (Jean-Pierre Ruh).
Beineix's follow-up film,
La Lune dans le caniveau
(1983), was far less enthusiastically received and was even booed when
it was shown at Cannes in 1984. The director then scored a
notable hit in France with his next film, the hauntingly poetic
37°2
le matin (aka
Betty Blue)
(1986). Since, Beineix has been largely overlooked by all but his
most loyal followers, even though his films continue to be distinctive
and strangely compelling reflections on life and death. His
most interesting film to date is, arguably, his 1997 television short
Assigné à residence
(a.k.a.
Locked-in Syndrome),
which powerfully chronicles the last days of Jean Dominique Bauby, the
subject of Julian Schnabel's
Le Scaphandre et le papillon
(2007).
© James Travers 2010
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Next Jean-Jacques Beineix film:
La Lune dans le caniveau (1983)