|
Not the endless road of post-apocalyptic Australia, but a Gallic view of a crumbling office building with sand in place of carpet. (The introductory camera spiral finds the protagonist behind a desk humping a plastic simulacrum.) L'homme (Pierre Jolivet) peers over the dunes to ponder a typical scene, a mole-man let out of a car trunk only to be loaded with canteens and lowered down a water pipe. "A heap of broken images," as befits a proper wasteland, gutted concrete and tenebrous tunnels and clusters of rusted cars. Elsewhere, le docteur (Jean Bouise) and le brute (Jean Reno) pick up the shards of Kafka's "Before the Law," canned goods and other treasures brought by squeaky wheelbarrow to the deserted clinic's grilled portal. Monochromatic CinemaScope for a veneer of minimalism that's actually a multiplicity of clutter, in other words the perfect debut for Luc Besson. Glossy grunge in comic-book frames, cubist arrangements of goggles and wires and hubcaps, a humorous airiness throughout. Laconic scroungers in their leisurely downtime, playing ping-pong or recreating cave paintings to the electronic shivers and jazzy noodles of Eric Serra's score. ("Men's memories and the ruins of their beliefs," as Cocteau's Orphée would have it.) Raining fish, manhole irises, Reno bearded and bespectacled to suggest a Sly Stallone who's just had a thought. Adieu au language, its momentary return in between hits of oxygen is a guttural "bon... jouuur" as momentous as Marcel Marceau's "Non!" in Silent Movie. The mirage at the close is the old "das ewig Weibliche zieht uns hinan." A wry little fantasia of particular interest to Gilliam and Jeunet. Cinematography by Carlo Varini. With Fritz Wepper, Christiane Krüger, and Maurice Lamy. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |