Villa Amalia (2009) - film review

Ann Hidewitz is so shocked when she sees her husband kiss another woman that her whole world collapses in an instant.  Abandoning her career as a world class musician, she disposes of everything she possesses and embarks on a long journey across Europe.  She finally ends up at an isolated villa on the island of Ischia in Italy.  Here, Ann acquires a mania for swimming out as far from the shore as she can.  One day, she swims too far and loses consciousness.   She is pulled from the sea by Giulia, a local woman who brings meaning and sanity back into her life.

The fragility and resilience of the human spirit form a mystifying dichotomy that predominates in the oeuvre of Benoît Jacquot.  Whether it be adolescent angst, mid-life crisis or the turmoil that erupts through some other emotional turning point, the propensity that human beings have for self-destruction and self-renewal has exerted an enduring fascination over this auteur filmmaker and achieve its fullest expression in his latest film.  Villa Amalia is Jacquot’s most lyrical and enigmatic film to date, one that carves out, with delicacy and a subtle irony, the trajectory of a middle-aged woman who is impelled to reinvent herself after a moment of intense personal crisis.  With minimal dialogue, the film relies on the camera to tell the story, which it does with sublime charm and efficacy.

Whilst the film is masterfully orchestrated, its impact would not be nearly as great without the beguiling presence of Isabelle Huppert, France’s leading screen actress who just seems to get better with every film she makes.  This is Huppert’s fifth and most successful collaboration with Jacquot, a director with whom, judging by the results, she appears to have the perfect symbiotic relationship.   It is evident from the way the camera clings to Huppert, like an affectionate bear cub following its mother, that Jacquot worships Huppert; she, in return, can only offer the best of herself.  The understated genius of the former’s mise-en-scène is matched by the nuanced, irresistibly hypnotic performance of the latter.  Huppert belongs to a rare breed of actor who has an innate ability to convey inner emotional turbulence without ever appearing to act.  The feelings of the characters she portrays are picked up by the spectator, empathically received, with virtually no visual cues.  Here, in a role that appears to have been created especially for her, Huppert works her magic with consummate ease and leaves you in no doubt that she is still the best thing in French cinema today.

With a captivating central performance from Huppert (supplemented by impressive supporting contributions from Jean-Hugues Anglade and Maya Sansa), Villa Amalia is an exquisitely crafted study of a complex woman in search of a new identity and a new direction in her life.  The film is loosely adapted from the well-known novel of the same title by Pascal Quignard (who also penned Tous les matins du monde, which was brought to the screen within a year of its publication by Alain Corneau).   With the confidence, artistry and sensitivity of a fully fledged cinéaste of the first rank, Benoît Jacquot composes an alluring visual symphony of extraordinary power, a film that both enchants and elates with its humanity and raw poetry.

© James Travers 2010

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