Film Review
Between the popular myth of Carlos the Jackal and the scant and
contradictory facts about the man (Ilich Ramírez Sánchez)
there is a vast grey area which allows considerable scope for
speculation about the 20th century's most infamous
terrorist.
The Carlos that is presented in Olivier
Assayas's monumental film biography could hardly be further from the
demonic caricature that was broadcast by the world's media in the 1970s
and '80s. Far from being an insuperable criminal mastermind and
the principal architect of international terrorism, Assayas's Carlos
cuts a pathetic figure - a narcissistic, undisciplined and ineffectual
self-publicist who constantly compromises his revolutionary ideals
through a combination of vanity, ineptitude and desire for
self-preservation. No wonder the man who was once the world's
most wanted criminal tried to prevent this film from being made - the
characterisation is far from flattering.
Carlos's decline from terrorist superstar to humiliated prisoner of the
French state follows the trajectory of a Greek tragedy which at times
resembles the cruellest of black comedies. As the cock ups
accumulate and his former allies and paymasters desert him, Carlos is
reduced to a pot-bellied fugitive with crippling testicular ailments,
frantically trying to evade justice whilst satisfying his
over-developed libido and clinging to his old delusions. In the
scheme of things, Carlos is far less important than the legacy he
leaves behind - a world scarred by increasingly vile acts of terrorism
perpetrated by fanatical extremists who believe that terror is a
legitimate weapon against the world's injustices. But how
much of this is down to Carlos himself and how much can be attributed
to the sensation-seeking world press, who not only gave the terrorists
the publicity that is so essential to their cause but also created a
lasting myth out of a mere gun-toting thug with a power complex?
The film makes it clear at the outset that this is not a documentary
but a fictionalised account of Carlos's life based on known historical
fact. Yet the film (particularly its full five and half hour
version) is so meticulous in its detail and authoritative in its
presentation that it seems to resonate with truth and is certainly a
more convincing portrayal of Carlos than the myth that was concocted by the world
media. This is not a film that questions the morality of
terrorism. Its approach is non-didactic, non-judgemental, and it
makes no attempt to justify or condemn the actions of its main
protagonist. Rather, it offers an intelligent and probing exploration of
a completely warped personality. It gives a human face to someone
who has been consistently portrayed in the media as a soulless monster
and attempts to unpick the man from the myth. As despicable as
his acts may be, as grotesque as his character flaws are, this
interpretation of Carlos is one that engages our sympathies.
Denuded of the robes of invincibility and villainous face-mask which
the world's reporters once clothed him in, he is reduced to a pretty
lamentable specimen of humanity, swathed in lunatic delusions, manic
self-belief and a sickeningly bloated amour-propre.
In what is assuredly one of the most remarkable screen performances in
a decade, Édgar Ramírez brings extraordinary energy,
psychological depth and humanity to the film. Not only does he
humanise Carlos, he somehow manages to make some sense of the mass of
inconsistencies that made up his character. On the face if
it, there is little to connect the self-loving playboy, the pathetic
fugitive and the dedicated terrorist who could pick up plaudits from
Saddam Hussein, and yet Ramírez succeeds in bringing all of
these disparate facets of Carlos's character together and makes
him a plausible, and almost likeable, individual.
For the sake of verisimilitude, the actor put on 15 kilogrammes whilst making the
film, so that the middle-aged slob we see at the end of the film bears
scant resemblance to the athletic revolutionary that we saw at the
beginning. Spookily, Ramírez does not only share a name
with Carlos, but he also hails from the same country (Venezuela) and is
multilingual (fluent in five languages). He is also an extremely
charismatic and talented actor with an electrifying screen
presence. Ramírez's portrayal is as true to life as it is
fascinating to watch, and is the main reason why the film is so utterly
compelling.
Carlos is also a personal
triumph for its director, Olivier Assayas, his most ambitious, grandest
and most inspired film to date - a massive departure from
his previous low-key dramas
Clean (2004)
and
L'Heure d'été (2008).
Whilst epic in its scope, the
film has the same beguiling intimacy of Assayas's previous dramas and
is more a character study than an action film, although its action
sequences are exceptionally well handled. The film's dramatic
high point is the 1975 OPEC siege, which marked the zenith of of
Carlos's terrorist career and also the turning point in his
fortunes. The sequence is both mesmerising and chilling, bringing
home the terrifying reality of terrorism whilst exposing the flaws that
will subsequently propel Carlos to his ignominious doom. When the
beret-wearing revolutionary states, in a rare moment of introspection,
that he is a mere pawn in the game of history, he says more than he
knows. Far from serving the cause of the oppressed of the
Third World, he and his kind are merely the hired assassins of those
who have a vested interest in preserving the status quo and stoking the
fires of anti-Zionist sentiment. Although the bulk of the action
takes place in the 1970s, the film is surprisingly relevant to our own
troubled times and what is perhaps most striking is how little the
geopolitical situation in the Middle East has changed in the
intervening years.
Carlos was originally seen as
a three-part television series which ran to just under five and a half
hours and was first broadcast in France in the spring of 2010.
Subsequently, it was given a theatrical release in a cut down version,
two hours and 45 minutes in duration. The decision of the
organising committee of the Cannes Film Festival to exclude it from the
competition in 2010 has fuelled the debate over the relative merits of
films made for television and the cinema. This is of particular
concern in France, since presently around seventy per cent of so-called
cinema films are largely financed by the main television companies
(TFI, France Télévision, Canal+, Arte and TV5) and aired
on the small screen almost immediately after their national theatrical
run has completed. Meanwhile, many films that are made for
television prove to be of exceptional quality and some go on to enjoy
theatrical releases not only in France, but internationally.
Carlos throws into sharp
relief the absurdity and injustice of the TV/cinema demarcation, since
it is a perfect example of a film that functions equally well in both
formats, as well as being a superlative piece of cinema in its own
right. Its dual release gave it an audience that it was unlikely
to receive through a purely theatrical showing, and moreover the
complete 326 minute epic version would probably never have been made if it
had been intended purely for the cinema. The film's exclusion from the
2011 Césars Awards Ceremony is as bewildering as its omission
from Cannes, and shows that perhaps the time has come for awards
committees to revise their acceptance criteria.
Carlos is unquestionably one of the
film highlights of 2010 and it seems absurd and criminally unfair than
neither its director nor its lead actor should receive recognition for
his outstanding work. In either of its two versions,
Carlos is a major achievement, by
far the most compelling, the most authentic and most brilliantly
constructed French film of 2010.
© James Travers 2011
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Next Olivier Assayas film:
Clouds of Sils Maria (2014)