A real exercise in style doesn't guarantee real cinema. It doesn't even make a real film. The proof is in this Suede which is nauseatingly close to a video rather than a film. Yet Quentin Dupieux is neither a director devoid of talent nor a witless artist. Not to mention his lead actor, the immense Jean Dujardin, one of the few French actors today to achieve international recognition.
An absurdity that makes no sense
But it's no use: when creative exercise takes the place of cinematic art, a screenplay, a story, all that's left to do is observe the damage. The debacle of a film that ventures down the road of the absurd without succeeding in to make sense of its absurdity. It's strange to want to make sense of something that's supposed supposed to be meaningless, isn't it?
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Yes, paradoxical. But it has to be. Because if you don't, you can't make a film. Faced with the absurd, the only response is silence. So when Albert Camus writes The Stranger, He has to break the rule by putting words to the absurdity of Meursault's existence. Quentin Dupieux, on the other hand, simply strings together a series of images around a semblance of a plot. Georges (Jean Dujardin) buys himself a 100% suede jacket, with which he talks, with which he has a dream: to be the only man to wear a jacket. To achieve this, he kills anyone wearing a jacket, filming himself in the act and making a film in the process.
A film without impact
I will be criticized for my severity OCNI - unidentified cinematic object - saying that a screenplay doesn't need lengthy developments to make an impact. But we have to admit that Le Daim had, at least on me, no impact! I'm sorry, but this film provides no amusement, no reflection, no aesthetic pleasure, no feeling. I dare to call it laziness.
Quentin Dupieux thought he was a genius before he became one through more serious work. Jean Dujardin, for his part, shows off in his monologues, in which he thinks he's the nec plus ultra of film acting. He's talented and excellent in most of his roles. Here, he's just uninteresting and tiresome. Adèle Haenel, praised for her prodigious tenderness in this role, is no better.
Nothing to do with To the station!
So many defects that have nothing to do with To the station! (2018) by the same director, starring Benoît Poelvoorde. A film that also plays with the absurd, but with an absurd that knows how to communicate something. One that makes people laugh, like The Bald Cantatrice d’Eugène Ionesco makes us laugh. Which is intelligent and delicious, with its farandole of wordplay and language manipulation. An absurdity that makes sense!
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Nevertheless, the projects and references of the Suede are still noticeable. Which, to my mind, doesn't save the film. The music goes from the flute of the Great West to the spontaneous, dubious notes of a horror film. So what? The character is in fact a schizophrenic madman. Yes, we get it; but couldn't there have been a more delicate way of approaching the subject? Quentin Dupieux is actually talking a bit about himself when he shows his character pitifully trying to make a film. Yes, but we don't really care.
And of course, the director refers to Michael Cimino's feature film Journey to the end of hell - a masterpiece in its own right - which also gives a white deer a very special status. However, apart from the frontal shot of the white deer, I don't see many links between the two films. It's probably one of those pedantic, irrelevant references that people use when they want to show off their culture.
Trivialized death
If one were to consider the philosophical dimension of this achievement, there would be plenty to scream about. A number of critics Le Daim It's almost an essay in itself, as it discusses madness, solitude, obsession and consumerism. You bet! Philosophically, there's only one point in this film that's worthy of interest and deeply irritating: the relationship with death. The main character kills with a fan propeller transformed into a machete, without question. Free of charge.
One dead, two dead, three dead, and so on. No screams, no tears, no meaning. Just blood spurting. People dying, just like that. And we dare to call it a comedy? To treat death in this way is indecent. Cinema is not morality, of course. But this trivialization must nonetheless be seen as wrong and disgusting. Maybe some people find it hilarious and exciting. Good for them. As for me, I weep when life is reduced to nothing by such irresponsible stupidity.
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But there's no need to give up on Quentin Dupieux. Because this versatile man has already proved his intelligence and talent. All we can do now is wait for his next film. Without suede and jackets, please! And maybe we'll feel a little less stupid and a little less alone in a cinema that isn't a cinema at all, in an auditorium that suddenly becomes austere and sad.
Write to the author: loris.musumeci@leregardlibre.com
Photo credit: © Praesens-Film
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