Cinema Wednesdays - Special edition: Les coronarétrospectives du cinéma - Loris S. Musumeci
The name makes people cringe. After all the controversy, up to and including the latest at the Césars ceremony on February 28, talking about Polanski rhymes with bad taste, or worse. There are two camps: those who say you have to distinguish the man from the work, and those who see them as inseparable. The latter howled when the director was awarded Best Director for his film on the Dreyfus Affair. J'accuse. The first said that there was no moral problem in rewarding a man for his artistic work, which is quite distinct from his private life.
I try to avoid both pitfalls. No, a director is not his film; no, the film should not be judged in the first instance by the behavior of its director. A film shoot is a team, from the actors to the make-up artists. And no, a film, like any work of art, can't be considered as a product of nobody's making, as a kind of spur-of-the-moment creation. ex nihilo on the art scene, in this case the seventh.
A film cannot therefore be viewed solely in terms of the character who creates it, just as it cannot ignore its creator. A film is a style, the style of a director. It's a voice that speaks on screen, of course, but also from behind the camera. Polanski recounted the Dreyfus affair with J'accuse, But it also tells us something about himself. If only in the way he looks at it. It's a view that's forged from personal experience. Writers, musicians, directors, painters and film-makers will not contradict me.
And it so happens that Polanski has experienced anti-Semitism to the extreme. He grew up in the Krakow ghetto, from which he emerged a miraculous survivor. The rest of his family was deported, although his father survived. In the meantime, Roman experienced vagrancy, stalking and, in short, war. Then there's his artistic ascent, the accumulation of films that have become cult hits to this day, but also a collection of flops, right up to his most recent achievements, with the exception of J'accuse, a good thing.
There was a stint in Paris, then the peak of his art in the United States. This was the scene of the second great tragedy of his life, when his wife Sharon Tate and her friends were murdered on August 9, 1969 by the so-called Manson family, a Satanist cult. The rest, between return trips to Europe, rape cases, new consecrations and new arrests, would be interesting for a biography. But this article is not about that. For me, it's a question of considering whether a retrospective on Polanski's cinema is legitimate or not.
You've got the answer: the retrospective is legitimate, even precious. No special tribute to Roman Polanski, but a tribute to three of his films that have left their mark on two members of the editorial team: Rosemary's Baby (1968), The Pianist (2002), Carnage (2011). These are films born of an auteur's art, and therein lies the problem. We can talk about these three films without delving into Polanski's biography, but we can't talk about these three films without considering Polanski and his life experiences, which are in a way premonitory for the future. Rosemary's Baby, retrospective for The Pianist, and current for Carnage. None is an autobiography, but all speak through their director of confinement, evil, paranoia and sacrificed innocence.
Perhaps Polanski has always been both the victim and the executioner in his films. Maybe he's been more executioner than victim. Maybe he's paradoxical, like everyone else in fact, but his paradoxes touch on the extremes of suffering undergone and suffering inflicted. I prefer to avoid psychoanalytical theories; I'd get lost in them, and I'd lose the reader along the way.
In discussing three of Polanski's works today, we're not taking anyone's side. And if there were a side to take, it would always be that of the victims. Polanski may have been a victim, but Adèle Haenel and all those who have suffered rape and harassment are also victims. I say this all the more calmly because I have no particular sympathy for Haenel, Despentes or feminism in general. There, I've said it! No hypocrisy or double-dealing on my part. While I don't share many of the theses of feminism, I'm nonetheless sympathetic to the cry of indignation from’Haenel. Without approving Florence Foresti in her performance at the Césars awards ceremony, I'm not deaf to what she has to say. I don't approve of Despentes' violence in her column for Release, I respect her in the fight she leads with so many other women.
Honesty and a clear conscience are the keys to freedom. That's why today I feel free, along with the rest of the editorial team who don't necessarily share my ideas, to present films engraved in the history of cinema, whose director cannot be forgotten, nor his crimes, nor those who attack him. Justice will - one day or never - render its verdict. In the meantime, let's not deprive ourselves of cinema, especially when it can change lives. Let's not deprive ourselves of any work as long as it lifts the soul, as long as it has treasures to pass on. Let's not deprive ourselves of Polanski, even if he's behind bars. And above all, let us never ignore the voice of the victims. Let's do our part: let's remain dignified, let's listen. Free.
Write to the author: loris.musumeci@leregardlibre.com
Photo credit: © Allociné
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