He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not [2002] [Laetitia Colombani]

He Loves me, He Loves Me Not – The very title conjures up images of lovelorn girls bemoaning their romantic tribulations, falling in and out of love and pursuing the un-pursuable. At first it seems like the director makes the typical plot work, with a vibrant visual eye and knack for keeping the relationship at a fast but believable pace. For a time it’s ridiculously but bearably sugary, even the opening credits are laid over images of love heart merchandise, with a delightful bells and whistles score chiming out for new romance in the background. As expected he state of the relationship gets progressively worse, the tone then fades slowly into a darker one, becoming like increasingly like a tragic melodrama. Angelique, the central character, goes overboard and overreacts to the downward slide – As happens due to love, so we sympathise. Then everything changes, a monumental twist occurs and the film changes into a different one. The audacity in such a move isn’t because it’s especially deceptive or unjustifiable (ala The Usual Suspects), but because it so fluidly and intelligently reinvents everything we’ve already seen – But yet still ties in with all we’ve witnessed, making complete sense because of how it is implemented within the boundaries of the film. The sweetness tastes bitter, pleasant events become darkly comedic and the emotional tragedies of the first half have to be urgently reconsidered.

Audrey Tautou, as well as playing the Amelie charm and feminine charisma wonderfully, adds a new level of oddity and disturbance rarely seen in roles played by young women. In tune with the films development her characters real nature comes out gradually, but because she plays up the quintessential lightness it’s almost hard to believe when more is revealed about her. I found myself asking “How could Audrey Tautou do that???”, which was obviously the reaction the director and Tautou herself wanted to project – With her image adorned to the character, the eventual narrative twists and re-assessments that follow are made all the more hard to swallow but even more interesting to consider. An inspired piece of casting and one of many brilliant uses of subversion the film employs. The cinematography carries the same structural and performance development, with the first section making use of slow-motion, colour and intentionally formal methods, in many ways lulling the viewer and taking advantage of the expectation that what we see is the one and only truth. The second half appears more shadowy, with an emphasis on handheld movements. More scenes are inside with a greater feeling of paranoia and worry, with very little bright light or colour. The background appears to be out of focus more often than not, whether this is the case or I just was more aware of it, looking out for another threat, after the sudden burst of unpredictability the twist unleashes.

Even with the elements of romance and suspense, the director manages to squeeze a perfect amount of dark humour out of genuinely macabre situations. Not a single joke is told, but through manipulation of musical and narrative cues and clues, there are some hilariously dark and bizarre comedy elements at play – Not the kind of humour I personally would expect from the romance genre, least of all French romantic cinema. Equally intelligently worked in are some of the more grim strands, looking at the film as a whole some of the revelations are quite shocking, but the subtle humour and tragedy are both secondary to the expertly weaved story structure and character expositions. He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not is riveting because of the director’s ability to celebrate, indulge in, and subvert convention. In a “Why didn’t I notice that?” fashion the director toys with the fundamentals of perception, in the internal sense of character focus and reaction, and the external case of playing with the viewer’s engrained expectations of structure and narrative. The plot does slightly peter out towards the end, as all of the pieces of the puzzle have to naturally fall into place, but we’re left looking at a pleasantly surprising, challenging work of unique excitement.

The Double Life of Veronique [1991] [Krzysztof Kieslowski]

With The Double Life of Veronique Krzysztof Kieslowski wraps a multitude of cinematic mysteries around a highly emotionally diverse tale. Beginning with two identical girls, who grow up to be two identical women, we follow them both separately as they each work, feel and grow. Kieslowski’s strength once again is not in a single element, but in the overall refinement. He fluidly manages to fuse an alarming range of both spiritual, existential concerns with the frequent emotional struggles and occasional simple joys found in modern life - From metaphysical doubles and prophetic puppet shows, to backwards cigarettes and choral solos. I personally find it calls to mind one of Ingmar Bergman’s best works, Fanny and Alexander. In it there was a similar nourishing delight seeping through to the viewer by virtue of the luxurious primary colour and light-based compositions, and a similar hard-hitting conflict of the spirit shining through the characters, with both works giving the viewer the deciding verdict on the definitive truth of it all. Both contain the ever-changing tones of daily life in all its highs, lows and ambiguities. While undeniably ‘unsolvable’, with its true meaning remaining elusive and subjective down to the individual, there is a glorious beating heart to it, emotion constantly in flow and spiralling in all directions, so much so that I would say The Double Life of Veronique’s beauty comes directly from its perplexity. Upon reflection it can be frustrating to try and tie down what makes the experience so affecting, it feels like the futility in trying to remember the single detail that made an idea perfect, or attempting to replicate a drawing done previously, but during each moment there is a preciousness, a feeling of peace and harmony with every frame.

On the film Kieslowski said “this story deals with things you can’t name. If you do, they seem trivial and stupid” which in a way instead of making the properties of the film seem unnameable, makes what the film is dealing with seem endless. It is difficult to tie all of the ideas down to earth (it is a metaphysical tale after all) but with such a highly emotional story some things can be recognised. The centrepiece enigma is of course the relationship between Weronika and Veronique. It is important to note the bond is referenced in the film explicitly. The mystical effects are felt acutely by each woman, making the relationship’s literal meanings significantly widen and open up to the metaphysical. Some theories lean towards the notion of skips in time, twin angels and of the spirit as a real, ghostly entity. It’s easier to access when looked at allegorically, functioning as a symbol for the contemporary independent identity, with the freedom of choice bringing the curse of circumstance, and intellect bringing suffering and friction. At heart the twin soul device works in bridging a literal divide in a representation of the duality in modern existence – With one representing the naive, thoughtless, pathless individual, who when shined a light from the heavens (in the form of an external symbol of her place in society) instead remains ensnared in carefree self-involvement, rejecting this sign and reverting to escapism through her art, in this case singing. The other, whether guided by the spirit of the first or not, has a determination to be happy through relations and ties to the world, even to the point where she forgets her own ability to choose and sustain herself spiritually – Only when faced with her double in a photograph (who is notably standing alone, looking directly at the camera) does she realise the importance of both sides of her emotional leanings, weeping uncontrollably as her partner tries to bring her back to him and to submission. At the end, the decision she makes could be seen as a sacrifice, of her artistic leanings, of her romanticised sexual desires, and of her chance to reject responsibility and choice – But there is a definite balance, and perhaps for the first time in her life, a symmetry of mind and spirit.

A continual motif from start (the first shot is an upside down view of a Polish skyline) to finish is the distortion of common, worldly objects and people. Whether by refraction from an internal source, such as coloured glass, layers of windows forming multiple reflections and tones or through vivid lens distortion and quick movement, they evoke a flow of change, both distance and closeness with the outside world, but above all a lack of grounded perspective, emphasising the uncertainties and struggles, both of the self and with others, the women face. I mentioned earlier my preferred way to experience the film, that of surface engagement and ‘giving’ oneself to the picture, stepping out of the well of thought and idea the film clearly possesses and simply gazing in, mesmerized. There are two major reasons why this is my preference. The first is the visual atmosphere, which is arguably the most revelatory aspect of the film. The use of a golden filter gives the film an emanating warmth (lending some to call it 'Three Colours: Gold', referencing Kieslowski's later Three Colours trilogy and their similar visual model of one dominating colour), a luminous hum that can be felt throughout. Coupled with the above uses of internal and external distortion, which like the narrative itself is challenge to the audience to ground their own perspective, the cinematography has an astounding effect few films attain in such simply ingenious ways. The second reason is, as anyone who will have seen the film have guessed, Irene Jacob. While obviously physically beautiful, her capitating effect comes from her ability to inject an honest human quality into even the smallest moments. When Weronika runs after her partner and hops on his motorbike, the practicality of holding on for safety is turned into a tender instance of embrace. Her women are tested by life a great deal (melancholy is the most present feeling in the picture) but Jacob’s talent ensures there’s nothing one-sided about it. While an obvious thing to say, it’s hard not to think it - Her characters feel like real people. Loving, suffering, growing people. Even while her characters writhe in emotion Jacob breathes a powerful, soulful realism into them. The opening moment of Weronika singing with passion as the rain begins to fall down, the other choir girls scattering as she holds the note, seems so heavenly and otherworldly, but the striking thing Jacob is really projecting to us here and throughout is the true, full, beauty of an individual humanity. Her full-faced smile as she finishes the song says it all.