Film Review
An appealing slice-of-life drama,
La
Petite chambre also offers a thoughtful reflection on one of the
most pressing social issues of our time, namely the provision that
society and individuals should make for the elderly. The issue is
particularly pertinent at the present time, as the current system of
support for the elderly is struggling to cope with the twin challenges
of an ageing population and diminishing resources. In their first
film, Swiss directors Stéphanie Chuat and Véronique
Reymond deliver a moving and provocative film that should hopefully
stimulate thought and debate on a subject that will ultimately affect
us all and which has yet to be given the focus and commitment it
deserves. Prior to this promising directorial debut, Chuat and
Reymond had worked as actresses, the latter having featured in Eric
Rohmer's final film
Les Amours d'Astrée et de
Céladon (2007).
La Petite chambre marks the
return of Michel Bouquet, one of the great actors of French cinema, to
the big screen after a gap of six years. Since he played the
elderly François Mitterand in Robert Guédiguian's
Le Promeneur du champ de Mars
(2005), Bouquet has devoted himself to his stage work, but was
persuaded to return to the cinema on the strength of Chuat and
Reymond's screenplay. In describing Bouquet's work, it is too
easy to lose oneself in a sea of superlatives, but his performance here
is particularly praiseworthy and is the main reason for seeing the
film. Whilst the character he plays is anything but sympathetic,
he compels us to identify with the solitary old man whose sole desire
is to stay as active and independent for as long as possible, putting
off that fearful day when he must submit to the care of others.
Bouquet's portrayal hasn't the slightest whiff of pathos or false
sentiment, and in his character's frustration and helplessness we can
so easily glimpse our own future, painted large on the screen in front
of us, a vision that forces us to reflect and empathise more with the
plight of those who are nearing the end of life's journey.
Where the film is somewhat less successful is its over-reliance on
soap-style contrivances, which weaken its impact and
authenticity. Some of the secondary characters are poorly
developed and come across as shallow caricatures (Edmond's
self-interested son being a case in point), a fault that is exacerbated
by the far-fetched plot, which revolves around the improbable
friendship that develops between a diabetic old man and the nurse who
cannot get over the loss of her unborn child. Chuat and Reymond
compound the inherent failings in the narrative by resorting to the
kind of self-serving dialogue which even today's television soap
writers tend to avoid. Fortunately, such is the quality of the
performance from the two leads - Florence Loiret Caille deserves as
much credit as Bouquet for her sensitive portrayal of the inwardly
tormented Rose - that the deficiencies in the screenwriting are readily
excused.
Chuat and Reymond's direction is also far from perfect, but this shows
much more promise than their writing and in a few scenes they deliver a
powerful emotional jolt with surprising economy and finesse. In
one key scene, Bouquet's character happens across an album containing
photographs of his nurse's pregnancy. The collection of
photographs ends not, as it should, with happy images of a newborn
baby, but with blank pages, an immense sea of white which poignantly
evokes the desolation and sterility of the life of a woman who loses
her firstborn in childbirth. The little room, a nursery turned
into a shrine, becomes a potent visual metaphor for Rose's arid life,
and it is only by surrendering it to Edmond that she can leave her
grief behind her and start to live again.
La Petite chambre may have its failings on the writing and
directing fronts, but, for all that, it is an easy film to engage
with, one that tackles the two tragedies of human experience,
death and ageing, with compassion, understanding and some honest
brutality. Its lyrical power and humanity are most keenly felt in
its climactic sequence which, amid a setting of extraordinary natural
splendour in the Swiss Alps, Chuat and Reymond project us into the soul of a man who is
consciously nearing the extremity of his existence and, in doing so,
give us a bitter foretaste of the end that awaits us all. The
film concludes not with tears, but with a smile, with the heroine no
longer mourning her losses but anticipating the new life that is to
come. It is too easy to become trapped in the little rooms we
create for ourselves...
© James Travers 2011
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