Tag Archives: French

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: L’INTRUS [THE INTRUDER] (2004)

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DIRECTED BY: Claire Denis

FEATURING: Michel Subor, , Katerina Golubeva, Bambou, Béatrice Dalle

PLOT: Having received a new heart via transplant, a man reassesses his priorities and goes in search of rapprochement with his estranged son.

Still from L'Intrus (2004)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: Claire Denis crafts a film that may be entirely metaphorical. Under the pretense of narrative, she links together a series of scenes that are best explained as analogues for the brain’s capacity to remember past events and to imagine future ones, often imperfectly. You can’t believe anything you see in L’intrus, and everything in L’intrus is true.

COMMENTS: Sometimes a film will have its script credited as “inspired by” some other work, often as a ploy to forestall the payment of rights and residuals. However, the term could not be better suited to describe the way this film is informed by the memoir/philosophical treatise of the same name that Jean-Luc Nancy penned about his own heart transplant and the subsequent dissociation he felt from his own body. Claire Denis crafts characters and situations that have no connection to the philosopher: Nancy never kept a string of lovers in the frozen tundra, or abandoned a son he had fathered in French Polynesia, or killed a man in cold blood. Yet our hero Louis seems to be living out the emotional experiences that Nancy encountered. Truly, she was inspired.

We know that Louis is facing a health crisis, one that necessitates the acquisition of a new heart. His circumstances are such that not only can he get it without difficulty, but he’s in a position to make demands. “I want a young heart,” he tells his organ broker. “Not an old man’s heart, or a woman’s heart.” It’s the arrogant proclamation of the rich, knowing he can get anything he wants and uninterested in who might suffer as a consequence. Up to this point, Louis lives a charmed life, residing in the mountains with a mistress, a pair of loyal dogs, and not a care in the world. His new heart will not only upend his existence, but shatter his confidence. Much of L’intrus is committed to watching his sense of control and certainty steadily unravel. Maybe you can have it all, but you rarely can keep it.

Denis teases us with genre expectations. When Louis visits a Swiss bank to obtain the money for his operation, we’re inclined to think that he’s some sort of retired secret agent or assassin putting his illicit earnings to work, but the film provides no evidence for that scenario, and the brush with “spy thriller” soon gives way to another mood. Louis’ quest to reconnect with his lost son feels like it will head to a meeting of tremendous importance, but Denis has no interest in such melodramatics. There’s reason to believe that Louis is confronted with a horrible twist at film’s end, but given all we’ve seen, this could easily just be a visual metaphor for the guilt he feels, or a flash-forward to an event that ties together two characters who have stayed far apart, or simply a dreaded outcome given form. We’ll never know for sure, and the feeling is the point, anyway.

What’s most unsettling, the thing that makes the ground so unsteady for the viewer, is that Denis uses the language of film in service of a presentation that intends to do none of the things that we expect a film narrative to do. We’re used to unreliable narrators and visualizations of things that never happened, but Denis provides no guide to help us sort one from another. We are familiar with nonlinear narratives, but we usually count on signifiers to help us work out the chronology in our own heads. We even understand the tricky nature of the Kuleshov effect—using edits to put two scenes together in a kind of shared meaning. Denis uses that technique as a cudgel to shame us out of our assumptions, following a lengthy scene of a grave being dug with a shot of the expected corpse recuperating in a hospital. We don’t have names (the dogsledder played by Dalle is identified in the credits as “The Queen of the Northern Hemisphere”), we don’t have places so much as climates, and we have so little dialogue that every word becomes laden with meaning. Denis is not here to play ball with us, and she makes sure we know it.

Even if you are familiar with Denis’ penchant for obscuring meaning, L’intrus is an impressively opaque work. It also happens to be a strikingly beautiful movie. Cinematographer Agnès Godard captures the exotic beauty of Tahiti, but she also finds character in a South Korean ship foundry or a remote border crossing. Faces look remarkable, too, especially that of Subor, whose handsome aged looks remain striking even when prone in bed running his fingers along the fresh transplant scar on his chest. The majestic professionalism of the production only enhances the sense of disassociation: how can you look at something so immaculately conceived and not be able to figure out what’s going on? You can, though, and Denis seems to think that you should. Maybe to recognize that fact, what you need is a whole new heart.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…a weird groundbreaking otherworldly film that breaks down borders in a post-colonial realpolitik (merging the northern and southern hemispheres) and cinematic way (similar to Jean-Luc Godard’s blend of non-linear narrative into a dreamlike tale to try and reinvent cinema).” – Dennis Schwartz, Dennis Schwartz Movie Reviews

(This movie was nominated for review by russa03. Then eight years later, Cliff Williams nominated it anew. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)    

I think this movie is weirder than average
I think this movie is better than average

2026 FANTASIA FILM FESTIVAL: NOM NOM NOM, PART NOM NOM

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Montréal 2026

Samuel de Champlain for my real friends and Samuel de Realplain for my sham friends.

7/23: Sekiro, No Defeat

Kenichi Kutsuna made an interesting choice here, though perhaps it’s explainable as being the less-expensive one. I have played the video game Sekiro, and managed to batter my way through a bit of the narrative; it’s a lush fantasy samurai epic, with supernatural doings throughout a long story featuring conspiracy, political machinations, betrayal, and so on. But the team behind the adaptation focused on something I did not expect. Sure, sure, there are some fights scenes of adequate quality, and the core NPCs are all there (special shout-out to the smirkingly tragic undying samurai mentor), but the film focuses on the father/son-esque relationship between Wolf and the Divine Heir, with sundry scenes of bonding between them—including making confectionaries for the townsfolk’s festival. (I do not remember this bit from the game, but again: I didn’t get far.) Curious soundtrack choices, too. Hm.

The Eyes

The rule of thumb for me at Fantasia is I should scale back my official reactions to films until I hear from my peers. I like to like movies, and this tendency can lead me to enjoy certain movies I possibly shouldn’t: like Yeom Ji-ho’s stalker/horror thingy, wherein the passing of one twin sister (both with a degenerative condition of the eyes) causes the other to suspect the circumstances and investigate the mystery—all while her own vision deteriorates. I got on board with the twists and tropes (“derivative” is a quick way to describe the film), but plenty here disagreed, and I have no arguments. Indeed, one famous film critic (and all-around horror afficionado) emerged from the screening with a look of abject bewilderment and an obvious need to get something off his chest. Being the nearest victim, I spent the next few minutes absorbing his incredulous disappointment.

7/24: We’re Nothing At All

The film opens with brief credits, then an overhead shot of a Hong Kong bus meandering the streets, and then an explosion. Cue closing credits. Herman Yau’s film begins again after this Continue reading 2026 FANTASIA FILM FESTIVAL: NOM NOM NOM, PART NOM NOM

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE MAN WHO LIES (1968)

L’homme qui ment

DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: , Sylvie Bréal, Zuzana Kocúriková, Sylvia Turbová, Ivan Mistrík,

PLOT: A mysterious stranger gradually infiltrates the home and family of a missing man.

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: The Man Who Lies suffers from doppelgänger syndrome, both the title character and the film as a whole. A second shadow protagonist haunts the main character, who defends his own existence and reality by repeatedly telling the same story over and over again. But with each telling the details change, until the final version becomes the exact opposite of the first. Where reality ends and the lies begin is impossible to untangle. Every scene of the film negates its own double and even the dual protagonists swap identities by the end.

COMMENTS: In the opening narration, Trintignant introduces himself as “Jean Robin” but then backpeddles and admits he’s actually called “Boris Varissa.” And people sometimes call him “The Ukrainian,” though he doesn’t know why. As the film progresses, it becomes obvious none of these names actually belong to him, and we never find out who he really is. In one meta-moment, he even describes himself as an actor rehearsing a role. Robbe-Grillet covers much the same territory as Last Year at Marienbad but in a more comedic tone, closer to the literal winking at the camera of Trans-Europ Express.

“Boris” enters a small rural town after escaping from a brigade of soldiers. He describes how he anonymously disappears into the crowd, though we see him walking alone down deserted streets. He enters a pub, which he describes as empty, though it’s so full of patrons he has difficulty finding a seat. Here the townspeople discuss the unknown fate of local hero Jean Robin, whose portrait adorns every building in town.

The details of Robin’s disappearance are sketchy and inconsistent. No one is quite sure where he is, how long he’s been away, or when he will return. Some believe he will definitely come back, others declare him dead. His poor lovely wife and sister remain in their crumbling ancestral chateau awaiting his return, though no one has actually seen them in years.

Boris immediately begins telling everyone he was great friends with Jean Robin during the war. In fact, he personally helped Jean escape their enemies. No one is particularly inclined to hear this tale, and many, like the pub’s proprietor, treat the interloper with outright contempt. Others act like he isn’t even there.

After this inauspicious debut, Boris heads to the Robin chateau. There, Jean’s wife, Laura, his sister, Sylvia, and their maid, Maria, amuse themselves playing Blind Man’s Bluff and other obscure games involving blindfolds and medieval weapons. Boris first insinuates himself into the affections of Maria. He regales her with long tales of Jean’s heroism in the Resistance. But cracks quickly develop in his facade. He doesn’t recognize his dear friend’s elderly father? And who is this Dr Mueller he speaks of? There is no doctor of that name in town.

In one scene, where he meets with Jean’s sister, Trintignant poses before a grave in a cemetery marked with the name “Boris Varissa,” which he quickly moves to hide from her. In another scene, he re-enacts his own near-death experience for Maria, telling her dramatically of how he suffered a near-fatal head wound. As he collapses, he pours a bottle of fake blood onto his chest. “But wasn’t it a head wound?” she asks him.

Even with the humor, the repetition of Jean/Boris story gets a little tiresome. The viewer may find themselves thinking, like the film’s characters, there he goes again—the war, the war—whenever Boris launches into yet another version of the narrative. Though he initially lauds Jean as a valiant hero, Boris eventually claims he was actually a treacherous traitor. But since Boris is a liar, the identities of both men remain questionable and unstable.

After a while, it’s the women who fascinate, though they hardly say a word. They play their strange games in an abandoned attic full of forgotten heirlooms and family portraits. Here Robbe-Grillet displays all his classic fetishes: the nape of the neck, the suspended gesture, bound wrists. Though Maria and Sylvia succumb to Boris’ advances, Laura remains spectral and aloof. She drifts through the house in a long white nightgown, appearing to give no credence whatsoever to anything Boris says. Indeed, she barely acknowledges his existence.

Unable to crack her, Boris starts to lose it. When Jean’s father dies in a sudden accident and a “Dr Mueller” shows up to write the death certificate, Boris looks genuinely spooked. Though he makes headway in removing his detractors, his success in taking Jean’s place at the chateau is far from secure, as the subject of his lies keeps coming back to haunt him.

In his quasi-autobiographical “romanesque,” Ghosts in the Mirror, Robbe-Grillet credits the mysterious figure of Count Henri de Corinthe with providing the inspiration for the screenplay. In Robbe-Grillet’s telling, Corinthe comes across as a Ripley-esque character, who may have disappeared one of his own friends in order to “borrow” his military exploits. Of course, we must take this explanation with a grain of salt for, as Robbe-Grillet admits, in writing the book he deliberately took on the role of the man who lies for himself. Any viewer looking to discern the “truth” here will inevitably be frustrated—by design.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

Shades of the filmmaker’s script for Last Year At Marienbad can be picked up on throughout the movie but here he blends that with the pseudo-surrealism he’d started toying with in Trans-Europ Express, a film that, like this one, is more concerned with the viewer’s interpretation of reality than reality itself.The Man Who Lies isn’t the best starting point for those new to Alain Robbe-Grillet’s work but it’s an interesting, stylish and at times intriguingly sexy mix of mystery and artsy surrealism, the kind that fans of his work will no doubt appreciate. – Ian Jane, DVD Talk

CAPSULE: THE LIVING DEAD GIRL (1982)

La morte vivante

DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: , Françoise Blanchard

PLOT: Summoned home by the familiar strains of a music box, Hélène finds her deceased best friend transformed into a blood-thirsty revenant.

Still from The Living Dead Girl (1982)

COMMENTS: Abandoning the laissez-faire surrealism of his 1970s films, Rollin entered the ’80s with a more traditional, blood-soaked horror effort. Living Dead Girl boasts a more straightforward and coherent plot than many Rollin movies, with one gory set-piece after another. The script minimizes his usual wordy exposition on the existential quandaries of the vampiric condition, allowing the drama between the two leads to unfold amidst plentiful killings. There’s nothing especially weird about this one, but it may appeal to fans of low budget ’80s horror.

Catherine Valmont (Blanchard), the scion of an aristocratic family, comes back to life when a minor earthquake spills the toxic waste that some unscrupulous corporation has been hiding in her family crypt. When the men disposing of the chemical barrels decide to rob her tomb, they get more than they bargained for as she rises from her coffin. At first, Catherine seems almost zombie-like, murdering indiscriminately without knowing why she’s compelled to do so. As she returns to her family’s ancestral chateau, she gradually recovers memories, including of her childhood friend, Hélène (Pierro).

Unlike most Rollin films, this pair of female protagonists have a backstory, which adds a surprising degree of emotional depth as the narrative builds towards an agonizing climax. Catherine and Hélène swore an oath to be blood sisters as children, including a promise to follow each other even in death. A music box symbolizes this promise. Catherine’s ability to play it for Hélène, even in her undead condition, reinforces the bond between them.

Quickly realizing that Catherine needs human blood to remain in a living state, Hélène progresses from unwilling accomplice to determined murderer in her desperation to keep Catherine “alive.” As their relationship pivots, a side plot emerges involving an obnoxious American tourist who’s convinced something strange is going on in the old chateau. A typical nosy photographer stock character, as seen in many American horror films from the 1930s-40s, but at least in this case she gets what’s coming to her.

Philipe D’Aram, the composer for Rollin’s Fascination, returns with an uninspired synth-inflected score that does nothing but accentuate the sparseness of the story. Though the kills keep coming, with plenty of gratuitous blood and nudity, the overall pacing is slow, dragged out by unnecessary scenes of local color. Living Dead Girl lacks Rollin’s typical dreaminess but still has moments of startling beauty. Its strength lies in the performances of Pierro and Blanchard. Thanks to their intensity, this is one of Rollin’s most strangely moving films, with a searingly unforgettable final scene.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…one of [Rollin’s] most lyrical and haunting achievements… the film never releases its grasp on the viewer’s imagination and conjures up a strange fairy tale ambiance…”–Nathaniel Thompson, Mondo Digital (UHD release)

 

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CAPSULE: CAR CEMETERY (1983)

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DIRECTED BY: Fernando Arrabal

FEATURING: Alain Bashung, , Micha Bayard

PLOT: A modern-day Messiah emerges as a prophet and musician amongst a crew of outcasts and weirdos in the post-apocalyptic car cemetery of Babylon.

Still from car cemetery (1983)

COMMENTS: Everything feels a bit familiar in the beginning. Voice-over verses from John’s Revelation and shots of a desolate hellscape hint at a typical post-apocalyptic genre affair.  Don’t be fooled, however. The director is legendary post-surrealist , who, along with Alejandro Jodorowsky and , established theater and cinema’s infamous “Panic Movement.” This work, a loose adaptation of a former play of the same name, is admittedly not one of Arrabal’s wildest visions; but it is an accessible introductory point to his personal panic aesthetic in cinema, expressed through the incorporation of violent and often blasphemous imagery, deviant sexuality, and elements of social critique.

The plot takes place in an automobile graveyard where a variety of outcasts take refuge after a major disaster. Milos, a former pimp, is the boss here, using the facilities as a sort of love hotel. Dila, a prostitute with a pure heart, is in his stable. And then there is Emanou, a prophet and subversive musician with a strong following—as well as many enemies. His miracles and his downfall closely follow the passion of Christ, offering a subversive take on biblical motifs and archetypes.

Every character here is nothing more than a reinterpretation of the the Divine Drama. Emanou, of course, is Christ: that’s clear from the beginning. Milos the opportunist is Pontius Pilate, and Dila recalls Mary Magdalene. The characters Topé and Fodère represent Judas and Peter. Judas’ portrayal is noteworthy; he is a poet and idealist ready to play a despicable, albeit necessary role, even if than means he will dwell in the latrines of history for all eternity. In other words, he is portrayed as the true savior—food for thought for everyone open to revisionist takes on religion.

Each of Emanou’s miracles have a New Testament counterpart, but extra symbolic elements are also thrown into the mix. Everyone  longs for a bit of rain and for Emanou’s upcoming punk rock concert, seen a path to salvation. Dramatic staging, lighting, and makeup give the production a theatrical feel, while the decor combines elements of classical painting, still lifes, and even pop-art. Jazz, and the aforementioned punk, plus a hint of Latin music, make up the rich soundtrack. And two narrators that appear at key points in voice-over—one male, one female—remind us of the artificiality and the parablistic nature of everything portrayed here.

All in all, however, this is not one of Arrabal’s boldest works. There isn’t graphic content like in I Will Walk Like a Crazy Horse (1973). There is a deviant sexuality, but nothing too extreme. Only the most narrow-minded people could consider this movie sacrilegious. But Car Cemetery will appeal to those interested in alternative takes on biblical narratives—Andrej Wajda’s Pilate and Others (1972) comes to mind for a similarly nonconformist take on the Divine Drama.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY

“…a showcase for Arrabal’s penchant for the bizarre… it feels like a strange piece of art for art’s sake, but for some that’ll be reason enough.”–Ian Jane, Rock! Shock! Pop! (“The Fernando Arrabal Collection 2 DVD box set)

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