Living principally on a diet of Hollywood cinema, it
would be easy to believe that there’s only one way to tell a story of physical
disability. American movies handle similar material in roughly the same formula
again and again. Even when it’s done competently, it’s not any more interesting
or groundbreaking than the last time it was done well. This year, French cinema
has offered up two examples (at least among films that found American
distribution) of the way the film medium can tell a story of a character with a
severe physical handicap and not make it maudlin, manipulative, and utterly
predictable. The first was The
Intouchables, which, had it opened later in the year, would almost
certainly be a serious awards contender. The second is Rust and Bone, which has recently generated some Oscar buzz. Both
films have been nominated for the Golden Globe for Foreign Language Film, but
Academy rules limit one film per country and France selected the former.
I have not written about The Intouchables on this blog, though I may yet if I take a second
look at the film. This review is more specifically concerned with the latter
film, which stars Marion Cotillard (still willing, despite enormous Hollywood
success, to return to her native country to make smaller, personal films) as
Stephanie, a woman who suffers the loss of both legs above the knee after a
devastating accident in her job as a trainer at a SeaWorld-like amusement park
in a town on the French Riviera. Her foil, after falling into debilitating
depression, is Ali (Matthias Schoenaerts), an underemployed working class
father who leaves his hometown with his five year old son under unexplained
circumstances.
Ali makes a meager living working odd jobs in security
and later, a questionable role in setting up surveillance cameras in retails
outlets for spying on employees. He makes side cash in illegal bare-knuckles
boxing matches. Schoenaerts is one of the greatest physical specimens of an
actor you’ll see in contemporary cinema. Think of Tom Hardy in Warrior for a sense of what he brings to
the role. Ali is not all that distant from the character Schoenaerts played in
last year’s Bullhead, where he was a
man who dosed himself with bovine steroids to make up for the loss of his
testicles as a child. In that movie, nominated for last year’s Foreign Language
Film Oscar, he was an almost uncontrollable mass of testosterone. Here he takes
that same unbridled aggression and buries it beneath the surface until his
prize fights, where he unleashes a fury of fists and elbows.
Stephanie meets Ali before her accident, but doesn’t
begin a friendship with him until several months after, at which time his
fights bring a certain animal pleasure to her. These are two broken
individuals, broken in both a physical and emotional sense. It would be easy to
craft a cloying story in which they learn to grow as people together. But
Jacques Audiard and Thomas Bidegain, who adapted the screenplay from Craig
Davidson’s short story collection, have no interest in cheap theatrics. Their
story is not about two people falling in love through adverse conditions, but
about two unlikely souls meeting and learning to be human through simple acts
like conversation and sex. Yes, Ali and Stephanie find a connection through an
act that is at once deeply emotional and instinctively animal. Stephanie uses
it as a way to confirm that she can still get pleasure like a human being. Ali
is more than willing to accommodate. Because of the innately human emotional
connection to sex, you know that eventually this arrangement will become
problematic. But the handling of it is a far cry from what we’ve been conditioned
to expect from the movies.
Audiard, who also directs, uses mostly handheld cameras,
a style that seems to have become increasingly popular in recent European cinema,
signaling a re-emergence of French Realism. The gritty setting in the working
class neighborhoods of Cannes, not far from the glamorous hotels and palm
tree-strewn beaches that is the playground of the rich and famous, only helps sell
the class division that is one of the film’s subtexts. This is a side of the
French Riviera we never have to see. The occasional glimpses of Mediterranean
beaches are a grim reminder that behind those lavish resorts lay real people
living quiet lives of desperation.
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