As meticulously
controlled as any film he has ever made, Michael Haneke’s Amour introduces an element of heart that has never been so
prominent in any of the austere Austrian’s work. A director known for films
that deal with dark and unpleasant facets of humanity, Haneke has turned his
keen eye on something new with his examination of old age and death. In doing
so, he has crafted an emotionally wrenching, deeply human film that never feels
exploitative. Instead, it is honest, unflinching, devastating, and an immensely
deserving candidate for this year’s Palme D’Or.
Opening with a brief
look at the end of the story, Haneke then takes us back to the beginning. In a
long shot looking out from a stage into an audience, a couple (who we don’t see
distinctly until the next shot) of music professors watch a performance. We
next see the pair – Georges (Jean Louis Trintignant) and Anne (Emmanuelle Riva)
– returning home, where they discover that someone may have tried to break into
their apartment. This is but our introduction to the long-married couple. Where
things start moving is the following afternoon, when, over a meal, Anne has a
small stroke.
And it’s this small
incident, rendered with beautiful simplicity and respect by Haneke, that sets
off Anne’s general decline in health. From there Haneke merely observes said
decline. Yet the director’s typically cold tone manages to find painfully
heartfelt emotion in the performances, which are the true core of the film. As
Georges, Trintignant brings the toughened quality of someone who believes he
always knows what’s best for his wife, and feels offended when people question
his judgment. Among his questioners is his daughter Eva (the wonderful Isabelle
Huppert), who appears only a few times, caring yet too caught up in her own
life to be there full time.
This leaves the film
down to Georges and Anne, and both performers deliver top tier work. Riva in
particular deserves credit for never letting her character’s decline in health
become a performance gimmick. This isn’t a case of a character’s disability
hindering the performance. Because we get to see Anne before her health
severely declines, we have a sense of the woman we’re watching fade away. She
and Trintignant play off of each other with the natural chemistry one would
expect of a couple who have been married for decades. Isabelle Huppert’s
contributions are welcome as well. The actress previously turned in a stunning
performance in Haneke’s The Piano Teacher
(2002), and this second collaboration shows them two be a strong match, even
though she’s nowhere near the lead this time around.
Outside of the
performances, Amour remains a richly
realized, elegant film. Haneke could have used certain elements – the need, at
one stage, for Georges to change Anne’s diaper – for cheap exploitation, with
gross-out moments to drive home the degrading nature of Anne’s position. He
doesn’t. A nurse establishes the diaper, and in one brief scene George helps
Anne pull up her pants after using the toilet, but Haneke refrains from showing
us anything. The emotions running through Amour’s
veins are painful enough, and as such Haneke keeps the treatment of the subject
matter restrained. In previous films, Haneke’s cool control of the frame has
often been utilized to provide unexpected jolts for the audience (a certain
scene in Cache comes to mind). Here,
he still gives us a jolt, but adds to his arsenal the ability to pull out
painfully moving moments without shamelessly tugging on heartstrings. One that
stands out involves Georges watching Anne playing the piano, only for the film
to reveal that he’s merely listening to a recording while looking at the
instrument, remembering his wife as she was before her stroke. The scene is
simple in execution, and stands as a testament to Haneke’s powers as a writer
and director when it comes to such difficult subject matter.
Some may find the film
to be dull or bland, but even among those who haven’t experienced what the film
presents, I suspect there will be many who somehow connect to the material.
This is the sort of film that you won’t want to rush to see again, if only
because its piercing honesty is so powerful on the first go-round. Amour is both Haneke doing what he does
best, and Haneke branching off and doing something new. It is a quietly
devastating film, filled with restrained, exemplary filmmaking, one that
tackles a part of life that is too often ignored on the big screen. And even
though its subject matter keeps it from being traditionally enjoyable, it does
provide its own pleasure. That pleasure comes from watching a master director
tackle a difficult topic with such elegance and restraint, while still
injecting an appropriate sense of heart into it all. Will I rush to see Amour
again upon its American release (which will likely be late 2012 or early 2013)?
No. What I’ll do is remember what a powerful experience it was to behold. That
will be enough to sustain me until I can finally set eyes on it again.
Grade: A/A-
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