Film Review
A recurring feature of Alain Resnais' cinema is the way in which memory distorts reality
and creates an alternative view of the world which, in the mind of the central protagonist,
becomes every bit as real as the ‘true' reality seen by an external observer.
We see this in
Hiroshima,
mon amour (1959),
L'Année dernière a Marienbad
(1961),
Muriel
(1963), and even his powerful documentary of the Holocaust,
Nuit et brouillard (1955). In
Providence
, Resnais takes this idea and carries it to its most extreme point, fashioning
a bizarrely surreal and complex melange of melodrama, thriller and fantasy in which nothing
can be taken at face value and where everything we see admits multiple interpretations.
Here, the avant-garde director tackles subjects which have preoccupied philosophers for
centuries: the existence or otherwise of an objective reality, and the relationship between
an intelligent creation (i.e. man) and his - presumably - more intelligent
Creator. And that's just for starters…
Significantly,
Providence is Resnais' first
English language film, and was scripted by a British writer David Mercer. The contrast
between the highly artistic directorial technique of Resnais and the clumsily pretentious
writing of Mercer could not be greater, but sometimes it is the biggest contrasts which
make a great piece of art, and this seems to be the case with
Providence
. In the hands of a contemporary British director, Mercer's tortuous dialogue
would sound simply ridiculous, but with Resnais' unique ability to distort meaning and
apply layer upon layer of intrigue and mystery, the script serves the film well (although
the excess of cheap toilet vulgarity is to be regretted).
To use a wine metaphor
(appropriate, given how much of the stuff gets quaffed in the course of the film), it
is Resnais' direction that gives the film its impeccable provenance and fine vintage,
but its body and character derives from its excellent cast. Most notably, there
are some truly remarkable contributions from Dirk Bogarde and John Gielgud, two of Britain's
finest actors. Gielgud brings authority, humanity and a touch of sardonic humour to the
film, reminding us of the great Shakespearean roles that earned him his reputation as
a master of the dramatic art. Bogarde is likewise on fine form, giving a solid performance
that reeks of bourgeois cynicism, sexual ambivalence and emotional frigidity. His
is a character who is most definitely to be loathed and feared, not liked, in fact the
total opposite of the Dr Sparrow character of the
Doctor
films that brought the actor fame in the 1950s.
However well it stands
up in other areas, it is Alain Resnais' direction above all else that makes
Providence
such a great film, and quite unlike anything that has gone before. It is
clearly not a film for those who like their cinematic entertainment neatly packaged with
simple narrative coherence and a straightforward linear plot. (It was Jean-Luc
Godard who said that a film should have a start, a middle and an end - but not necessarily
in that order. It not at all clear that
Providence
even satisfies this criterion.) For those who can appreciate complex,
elliptically structured works with no clear interpretation,
Providence
provides a cinematic experience that is both rewarding and haunting.
The
film's two main themes - an exploration of the creative process and the fear of
encroaching death - are interwoven with numerous secondary ideas - memories
of the Holocaust, the Oedipus complex, the merits of euthanasia, the morality of the bourgeoisie,
the importance of family, to name just a few. This is not so much a film as an exercise
in fractal geometry - the closer one examines the film, the more detail one sees.
It is also one of those films which appears to change its meaning on repeated viewings,
fitting in with the typically Resnais notion that memory and the passing of time not only
colour our experiences but can totally alter reality as we perceive it.
Providence has the artistic weight and psychological
impact of Resnais' previous great films, but it has something else, something much
darker and much more sinister. The key to this, and indeed much of the film, lies
in its final act, where the dying writer played by Gielgud emerges from his embittered
night world and shares a pleasant sunny afternoon with his grown-up children. In
the blink of an eye we are catapulted from a nightmare world of the imagination, which
ends up being consumed by anarchy and human vice, into an apparently stable world of middle
class calm and moral security - the exact reverse of the Paradise to Hell journey
that we see in many of the films of Claude Chabrol (a New Wave contemporary of Resnais).
Yet there is something about this Resnais-esque view of Paradise that is even
more unsettling than the Hell we have just experienced. Which of these two interpretations
paints the more accurate picture of the world in which we live? Can we take
seriously the saccharine-doused scene of marital fidelity, brotherly friendship and sweet
father-son love? Isn't it more believable that the two sons would be rivals, that
the elder son would have a mistress and would bitterly resent his father's slow and demeaning
death? Surely the world shown to us in the first part of the film, the world apparently
belonging in the mind of a solitary writer, is the world that is nearer to our own, a
far more accurate portrayal of human nature? The second world, of calm, family harmony
and stability, is surely an illusion, a distorted memory of a past that never was, could
never have been. Which reality do we believe?
For such a complex and unconvential
film,
Providence was a surprising success for
Alain Resnais. It was something of a sensation at the 1978 César's ceremony,
where it earned a total of seven awards. Notably, it won the César for the
best film and best director, but is also picked up the awards for best script, best music,
best sound, best set design and best editing - a remarkable tally for an English
language film.
With its stunning visual composition and skilfully ambiguous narrative,
Providence is unquestionably one of Alain Resnais'
most significant works, and one of those rare films which you can watch again and again
with enjoyment and without a moment of boredom. Not only does it provide one of
cinema's most powerful and unsettling portrayals of the way in which the artist
uses his mind to create a fantasy world, but it is also a film which repeatedly challenges
our own notion of reality.
© James Travers 2004
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Next Alain Resnais film:
Mon oncle d'Amérique (1980)