Film Review
Like all visual arts, cinema is fundamentally a medium of
contrasts. Just as a cinematographer will use light and shade to
create atmosphere, so screenwriters combine comedy and drama to
emphasise the contrasting facets of human nature. We like to
think we can distinguish comedy from drama, but there are situations
when the two overlap to such a degree that we cannot tell them
apart. A perfect example of this is Alain Corneau's film
Série noire, a bizarre
conflation of film noir and theatre of the absurd which is both comical
(in the blackest sense of the term) and deeply unsettling.
With its portrayal of a man sliding inexorably into insanity,
Série noire is a hard film
to watch if you take it too seriously, but if you try to watch it as a
comedy it somehow manages to feel even more disturbing. It is as
if we can no longer distinguish black from white.
This was Alain Corneau's fourth full-length film and came straight
after two popular but pretty conventional thrillers -
Police
Python 357 (1976) and
La Menace (1977). For
both of these films, Corneau was heavily influenced by contemporary
American thrillers, notably the Clint Eastwood
Dirty
Harry films for
Police
Python 357.
Série
noire was adapted from a pulp fiction crime novel entitled
A Hell of a woman by the American
writer Jim Thompson and has one obvious cinema reference: Martin
Scorsese's
Taxi Driver (1976). As in
Scorsese's film, the main protagonist of
Série noire (a clueless
door-to-door salesman named Franck) is one of life's losers, someone
who lives a mediocre existence on the dark fringes of society and whose
reason is slowly but surely coming apart at the seams. (The most
overt reference to
Taxi Driver
is the scene in which, having casually asphyxiated his wife, Franck
looks into the bathroom mirror and disapprovingly utters a variant on
De Niro's famous 'You talkin' to me?' line.)
Série noire is one of the
few films that can match
Taxi Driver
in its unremitting bleakness and harrowing portrayal of mental
derangement.
The world that
Série noire
projects us into is one that could hardly be more depressing - a dull
post-industrial landscape in which money is as scarce as charm, where
mud brown is the colour scheme of choice for every home and office, and
where all of the nobler human qualities have somehow been totally
eradicated. The main character, Franck, is as dismal as the world
he inhabits, a pathetic individual who suffers from Tourette's syndrome
and who is constantly hassled by his exploitative boss and domineering
wife. Franck's life is one of abject vacuity, until the day he
meets Mona, a young prostitute with whom he forms an instant emotional
bond. Like Franck, Mona is trapped in a horribly empty world from
which she cannot escape. A victim of autism, she has difficulty
communicating with others and lives under the thumb of her mean old
aunt. Mona is the unlikeliest femme fatale, but that is the role
she fulfils for the wretched Franck - she offers the prospect of escape
(via an unexpected windfall) but ends up driving him to his doom, in
the best and grisliest tradition of film noir.
The character of Franck Poupart looks suspiciously as if it was created
for Patrick Dewaere, an actor renowned for playing sympathetic
grotesques who live either on the cusp of insanity or else at the limit
of their passions. Needless to say, the part of Franck fits
Dewaere like a glove and the actor throws everything he has into it -
one minute he is head-butting a stationary car, the next he is calmly
drowning himself in a bath. His tirades are like battlefield
barrages and his monologues are scarier than the scariest scene in
Psycho. You'd almost think
Dewaere was trying his damnedest to get himself committed to a lunatic asylum.
And yet the odd thing is that no other character in the film seems to
notice Franck's descent into insanity. The world that surrounds
him appears just as warped and emotionally disfigured. Only
Mona, bound by her autism, is aware of the change in
Franck's behaviour and has sufficient compassion to try to pull him
back from the brink. In such a cold and loveless world, Franck's
metamorphosis into an unhinged killer would seem to be
inevitable. People take on the character of their
environment - this is presumably the message that Corneau had in mind
whilst making the film.
Série noire was not
only an important film for Patrick Dewaere, it was also the first film
in which Marie Trintignant (the daughter of Jean-Louis) had her first
significant role, as the strangely beguiling prostitute Mona.
Bernard Blier also has a strong presence, as Dewaere's seemingly
omniscient boss and principal tormentor, whilst Myriam Boyer is perfect
for the part of Dewaere's shrewish wife. The film was nominated
for the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 1979 and received
five César nominations the following year, in categories that
included Best Actor (Dewaere) and Best Screenplay, although
(inexplicably) it failed to win a single award.
Série noire may not
have been Corneau's biggest success at the box office (it attracted an
audience of 0.9 million in France, half what his next film
Le Choix des armes would
achieve), but it is unquestionably one of his most inspired and
original films. It offers a vision of a broken down society that
is at first depressing but, on further reflection, utterly terrifying -
a nightmarish reality devoid of hope and love, where human beings
cannot even engage with one another at the most superficial level, and
where the sane and insane are differentiated only by the number of
corpses that litter their living rooms. Has cinema ever given us
a bleaker and more thought-provoking view of where we might be heading?
Série noire is
an excursion into Hell. Laugh if you dare.
© James Travers 2012
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Next Alain Corneau film:
Le Choix des armes (1981)