White Material (Denis, 2009)

I think it's interesting that for the last film she shot completely on film, Denis returns to Africa (non-specific country), where she spent her youth and where her career as a filmmaker/director began in full. Decades after the look at colonial Cameroon in Chocolat, we see what has become of the continent after the white man's influence has begun to slip, per se. A legacy filled with the torture, rape, and destruction of an entire people(s) and their homeland. When the revolution starts, your money can only save you for so long. 

The way Denis has always treated class and race has always been even-handed and even-keeled. Her protagonists are those who strive for betterment, and often monetary means are required to escape whatever strife they happen to have found themselves within. Here, perhaps the first time in her filmography, she presents a protagonist who's troubles cannot be solved in this way. Due to said protagonist being Isabelle Huppert, a very white woman, and one for whom could be assumed at the top of the hierarchical chain of command, we must view this change in class perspective in context of her entire body of work. 

This is most definitely a piece where the bourgeois are under siege. The pillaging of a land and enslavement of its people for generations has come back to haunt the legacy children of these captors. But what does it mean to frame this narrative through the eyes, mainly, of an upper-class white family? Jon makes a good point in his review by saying this is ultimately a piece that will mostly play to the type of people it's criticizing (and I do think that Denis' sympathies are more in tune with the African revolutionaries than the plantation owners here) and so it's worth pondering what the ultimate goal is in presenting it through this perspective. Clearly having a presence of a star like Huppert will draw in more eyes than otherwise, though this had never seemed to be much of a priority of Denis' up to this point (though what do I know about the "stars" of France). But what good does showing the film through their eyes ultimately do. 

I think, perhaps, that it's less trying to gain sympathy from its audience and perhaps forcing us to grapple with the legacy of colonization as a whole. The older generation (Huppert and Lambert, and to a certain extent Subor) appear to exhibit less entitlement over the land and its people than the younger generation (Duvauchelle) does. This older group is more in touch, in a sense, with their foreign-ness in this land, while the younger, presumably having grown up in this country and with the amount of wealth always present, views themselves as the better. I think it's telling that after being threatened by child soldiers, Duvauchelle's character returns to his family's plantation and shaves his head, leaving home with a shotgun. His tattoos reveal some seeming awareness of "black culture" and there is some form of adopting/appropriation. His boredom that his entitlement has fostered ultimately leading him towards awareness at the hands of children. 

It's not an act of pacification on the elders of this class, but attempting to confront them with the results of their imperial drive. They may see their racism as relatively banal or even inert, but it does still exist. Not presenting for all to see the disdain or annoyance one has for those of a different race, or class, is obvious in the interactions throughout. A clear level of entitlement is present in all of Huppert's interactions with the coffee-pickers and revolutionaries. Though perhaps this is all just a horror story to those who watch this film. A view into a world they would prefer never to have to acknowledge.

35 Shots of Rum (Denis, 2008)

There's a quality to Denis' work that is rarely commented upon, as far as I've seen anyway, and that's her generous approach to empathy. Not simply for the main players in her narratives or docs, but for all people. She is a woman who's gaze does not show preference, it merely wanders and lingers, it allows all those within its frame(s) to exist and live either with dignity or struggling to achieve dignity. Here, it's more the former than the latter. 

In what may be her simplest, or certainly the slightest, narrative she's made, she defines her characters as those who deserve our most respect. These are people who work not to achieve some higher status or fortune, but simply for the pleasure of working. To exist within the means of their living. We are not asked to identify with those who are so different from us - a superhero, a mercenary, a spy, etc. - these are men and women who work jobs some might think unnecessary, but they find fulfillment in the connections made and earning a living. 

Denis' vision as always been one of inclusion, of all people, all sexes, but rarely has her view ever been so gentle. So completely understanding of the stillness and subtlety of those she's shooting. Often described as a filmmaker who's focus on "the body" is paramount to her perspective and in understanding her films. But as stated above, it isn't her gaze upon the bodily form(s) as much as the space she gives her performers to exist. The form is simply allowed to be, it does not have to be in motion or posing. Though one could certainly say this is the influence of Ozu on her specifically within this film, but it exists outside of it. 

Perhaps it was all just building up inside of her after years and years of making films that are darker and more oblique. The desire to return to something simpler, calmer. One typically associates building emotions to that of anger and rage or sadness, one does not typically explode after holding happiness within after _____ period, but for Denis this does feel like something cumulative. A sigh or a long exhale after years of making films that can feel almost oppressive in their emotional and conceptual weight (to me at least). It was time for her to at least release and make a film that simply breathes.

The Intruder (Denis, 2004)

Denis' filmic preoccupations focused into a single point and then shattered into fragments. A shotgun shell in images. A work of sheer domination and empathy, where the idea of "intruding" or "being the intruder" is put through the ringer and tested to its limits as a metaphor. Everything and everyone is an intruder. Existing is simply a matter of forever encroaching upon foreign territories. Reaching into the void, alone, and invading it, or letting it invade us. 

Denis vision, filtered through Godard's camera and Quettier's editing, is restless. A presence not entirely of this world, scanning across bodies, landscapes, etc. as though trying to absorb as much as possible, as quickly as possible. Traversing countries, crossing borders, in search for a center that may not even exist. How does one grasp onto what may not be real in the first place? An idea, but even less solid. How would we expect to be received as an unwelcome guest in someone else's house. 

I think it's telling that Denis manages to imbue each country she shoots in with its own tactility. The bustling cities in France, against the open grasslands of the Franco-Swiss border, against the glassy industrial quality of Busan, the tropical beaches and forests of Tahiti, or the icy and isolated rooms and hills of Eastern Europe/Russia(?). Each area stands on it's own but bleeds into each other as though they were themselves all a part of a larger tapestry. Each image is indelible but presented in a manner that is surprisingly even-handed. There appears to be a very egalitarian approach to the edit. As beautiful or striking (or whatever adjective you wish to use) an image may be, Denis' approach is to let the images speak their peace and then toss them off. 

The constant sense of unease that permeates the film as a whole, a sense of dread, creeping inside of us. The onset of disaster looming on the horizon. The intruder may be good but may also be a harbinger for hell, in all its forms. We may be the intruder in our own bodies. A life lived knowing that we are not who we think/wish/etc. we were. We are incomplete striving to be. To achieve solace and/or order within ourselves despite always being the intruder.