Notwithstanding their national origins, Belgium director Frédéric Fonteyne and Iranian scenarist Philippe Blasband have managed to create the quintessential French film: a film created for adults, with a theme to match, unusual maybe, but still taken out of "real" life, psychological, philosophical and challenging to the viewer. Fonteyne, in spite of his young age (born in 1968), speaks about love and feelings with great maturity. He mystifies the viewer with his approach to modern sexuality.
Blasband's scenario presents his love story "upside-down." Starting from a fantasy, which will eventually end up in love, he surrounds the slow but inevitable drift of the protagonists' feelings for each other. Refined, with simple and subtle dialogue, he facilitated enormously the director's work. The two characters recount to a third party, with emotion and an air of propriety, the passion that they were unable either to control or to really confess to each other. We know that their experiment was a failure, because from the outset, their testimonies indicate that they are apart. But the way each talks about "the other" makes us want to discover this "other." We would like to get involved in their story, know their pasts, their presents, and understand why they speak about the "other" with so much nostalgia. They will never know each other's names, their ages, professions. What they do after their trysts, we'll never know, either.
The rhythm and content of the story is controlled by the two protagonists who refuse to disclose the nature of their fantasy, allowing the director to impose upon the viewer the role of voyeur by limiting the viewer's space to that of the fantasy never revealed. Actually, the word "pornographique" in the original title, "Une Affaire Pornographique," is a joke, as there is nothing pornographic about this film. Unfortunately, the American title denies Fonteyne's intention to fully condition, right from the start, the viewer's state of mind. Each time the camera in the red hotel hallway bumps against the closed door of room 118, it renews and heightens the voyeur-viewer's interest. This contrasts sharply with the only time the camera penetrates in the lovers' blue room to witness a banal love scene, which in fact leaves the viewer even more bewildered as to the nature of the fantasy.
The success of this film rests entirely on the flawless acting of Nathalie Baye and Sergi Lopez. These two actors developed chemistry, which is the undeniable sign of mature artists. Their interaction is totally genuine in their exchanges, both verbal and unspoken. We can read on her face the birth of her love for "He": she wants to be happy next to this man, this one and none other. "He" drinks cognac and dips sugar cubes into it while undressing her with his eyes. We can tell that this man knows how to love women, mixing tenderness with desire. There are also their gestures: "Her" expressing herself with her hands, admitting her need to always talk, even during love-making. "He" is reserved, observant, always answering her many questions.
The camera movements often consist of static shots on the two characters, in medium-close shots and close shots, contributing further to the viewer's probing into the two characters psyches.
The original film score is some electronic music, unfortunately up to now unavailable on CD, by André Dziezuk, Marc Mergen, and Jeannot Sanavia. When the credits are rolling, one hears a downtempo/trip-hop, drum and bass music, which recalls Funki Porcini. It all fits perfectly with this unreal situation.
The main theme of this film is boundaries and their perilous crossings. At the beginning of the film, "She" is within her own world, inside her own boundary. This is symbolically represented during the opening as a crowd of pedestrians seen from her point of view, out of focus. "She" has a sexual fantasy, but in order to satisfy it, she will have to cross the first boundary, one set by society. Her fantasy cannot be fulfilled with members of her own entourage, husband, or intimate friends. For this, "She" must look beyond the boundaries of socially accepted behavior, to a stranger. As both meet, they will be beyond society's boundaries in their fantasy world. This accomplished, they breach another boundary when feelings develop: the boundary fixed by love. A whole new world appears to them, a totally unexpected world. Finally, there are the boundaries of understanding and commitment, which they are unable to cross, for previously mentioned reasons. At the very end of the film, we see again a crowd of pedestrians out of focus: she is back within the confines of her own boundary.
Fonteyne shows us a modern society where sex is no longer taboo, but love is becoming such. He never moralizes or resolves these apparent contradictions, but instead brings them into harmony as never done before him: the modern world denying love and the Judeo-Christian world negating sexuality. In the process, Fonteyne destroys the actuation of the fantasy and reinstates it in the secret, in the intimacy, both personal and private of the viewer.
Finally, the film tackles another great theme in the relationship between man and woman: the incommunicability. The fears that each feels: the fear of love, the fear of confessing the love one bears for the other to the other, the fear of appearing ridiculous, the fear that the feeling may not be reciprocated or has not progressed as rapidly in the other. The final scene at the café reveals and underscores a cruel, intense moment, the like of which I do not remember having ever witnessed in any film before. Very little is actually said, as most of the dialogue is in individual voice-overs. All the walls come crashing down on one woman and one man who, by all accounts, we judge were meant to be united for life. And this failure in a relationship which we were starting to take for granted is due to their incapacity to communicate.
Blasband's scenario presents his love story "upside-down." Starting from a fantasy, which will eventually end up in love, he surrounds the slow but inevitable drift of the protagonists' feelings for each other. Refined, with simple and subtle dialogue, he facilitated enormously the director's work. The two characters recount to a third party, with emotion and an air of propriety, the passion that they were unable either to control or to really confess to each other. We know that their experiment was a failure, because from the outset, their testimonies indicate that they are apart. But the way each talks about "the other" makes us want to discover this "other." We would like to get involved in their story, know their pasts, their presents, and understand why they speak about the "other" with so much nostalgia. They will never know each other's names, their ages, professions. What they do after their trysts, we'll never know, either.
The rhythm and content of the story is controlled by the two protagonists who refuse to disclose the nature of their fantasy, allowing the director to impose upon the viewer the role of voyeur by limiting the viewer's space to that of the fantasy never revealed. Actually, the word "pornographique" in the original title, "Une Affaire Pornographique," is a joke, as there is nothing pornographic about this film. Unfortunately, the American title denies Fonteyne's intention to fully condition, right from the start, the viewer's state of mind. Each time the camera in the red hotel hallway bumps against the closed door of room 118, it renews and heightens the voyeur-viewer's interest. This contrasts sharply with the only time the camera penetrates in the lovers' blue room to witness a banal love scene, which in fact leaves the viewer even more bewildered as to the nature of the fantasy.
The success of this film rests entirely on the flawless acting of Nathalie Baye and Sergi Lopez. These two actors developed chemistry, which is the undeniable sign of mature artists. Their interaction is totally genuine in their exchanges, both verbal and unspoken. We can read on her face the birth of her love for "He": she wants to be happy next to this man, this one and none other. "He" drinks cognac and dips sugar cubes into it while undressing her with his eyes. We can tell that this man knows how to love women, mixing tenderness with desire. There are also their gestures: "Her" expressing herself with her hands, admitting her need to always talk, even during love-making. "He" is reserved, observant, always answering her many questions.
The camera movements often consist of static shots on the two characters, in medium-close shots and close shots, contributing further to the viewer's probing into the two characters psyches.
The original film score is some electronic music, unfortunately up to now unavailable on CD, by André Dziezuk, Marc Mergen, and Jeannot Sanavia. When the credits are rolling, one hears a downtempo/trip-hop, drum and bass music, which recalls Funki Porcini. It all fits perfectly with this unreal situation.
The main theme of this film is boundaries and their perilous crossings. At the beginning of the film, "She" is within her own world, inside her own boundary. This is symbolically represented during the opening as a crowd of pedestrians seen from her point of view, out of focus. "She" has a sexual fantasy, but in order to satisfy it, she will have to cross the first boundary, one set by society. Her fantasy cannot be fulfilled with members of her own entourage, husband, or intimate friends. For this, "She" must look beyond the boundaries of socially accepted behavior, to a stranger. As both meet, they will be beyond society's boundaries in their fantasy world. This accomplished, they breach another boundary when feelings develop: the boundary fixed by love. A whole new world appears to them, a totally unexpected world. Finally, there are the boundaries of understanding and commitment, which they are unable to cross, for previously mentioned reasons. At the very end of the film, we see again a crowd of pedestrians out of focus: she is back within the confines of her own boundary.
Fonteyne shows us a modern society where sex is no longer taboo, but love is becoming such. He never moralizes or resolves these apparent contradictions, but instead brings them into harmony as never done before him: the modern world denying love and the Judeo-Christian world negating sexuality. In the process, Fonteyne destroys the actuation of the fantasy and reinstates it in the secret, in the intimacy, both personal and private of the viewer.
Finally, the film tackles another great theme in the relationship between man and woman: the incommunicability. The fears that each feels: the fear of love, the fear of confessing the love one bears for the other to the other, the fear of appearing ridiculous, the fear that the feeling may not be reciprocated or has not progressed as rapidly in the other. The final scene at the café reveals and underscores a cruel, intense moment, the like of which I do not remember having ever witnessed in any film before. Very little is actually said, as most of the dialogue is in individual voice-overs. All the walls come crashing down on one woman and one man who, by all accounts, we judge were meant to be united for life. And this failure in a relationship which we were starting to take for granted is due to their incapacity to communicate.