Director: Mia Hansen-Love
Runtime: 101 minutes
A deceptive mundanity permeates Things to Come, the latest feature from France's Mia Hansen-Love. The central character, philosophy teacher Nathalie (Isabelle Huppert), undergoes a series of disruptions to her everyday life, yet Hansen-Love refuses to portray any of them as end-of-world scenarios. Though it takes place over considerably less time, Things to Come in some ways recalls Boyhood. It's not entirely a shock; like Richard Linklater, Hansen-Love is fixated on people's various relationships with time, ranging from major life events to the connective tissue that fills up everything else. Yet from the mundanity of Things to Come emerges a whisper of transcendence. The ordinary is not inflated to become something greater than it is. Instead, it's handled with a mix of sensitivity and level-headedness that leads to something warm and wise.
Like Elle, another striking vehicle for Huppert (an actress continually finding new ways to be excellent), Things to Come technically hinges on a life-altering incident. But then it pulls back and forces its protagonist to cope not by putting all of their energy towards it, but by tending to it while still moving along with all else that adult life entails. Elle, with its violent rape and hints of sadomasochism, takes the darker, naughtier route. Things to Come, meanwhile, moves gently, thought not without purpose. Nathalie's life, turned upside down by her husband's affair, proceeds without too many major detours. She still has lunch with her kids, teaches class, counsels former protege Fabien (Roman Kolinka), and deals with her increasingly senile mother (Edith Scob).
Plenty of films have been made involving middle-aged men and women reinventing themselves, but few do so with the wisdom and lack of sentimentality on display here. Following the sprawling dance music saga Eden, Hansen-Love has scaled back her narrative ambitions, and emerged as a more precise storyteller. For a film composed of scene after scene of what amounts to daily life (with a few diversions), it moves with remarkable assurance and focus. It's not exactly hypnotic, but it's gently compelling in its honesty in a way that makes you want to get lost in it all. You may not share Nathalie's age, socio-economic status, or family set up, but her experiences touch on the universal without coming across as a series of bland boxes to be ticked off.
Then again, it's hard to be too bland when you've centered your movie on Isabelle Huppert. The actress is at her softest and gentlest here (compared with her ice-queen work in films like Elle, The Piano Teacher, White Material, La Ceremonie, etc etc), but she remains as galvanizing a screen presence as ever. The ups and downs of Nathalie's life are charted with the precision of an X-Acto knife, yet there's never a moment of the performance that comes off as overly calculated. Huppert has made a career out of playing characters with whom one can empathize, but not always sympathize. In the case of Nathalie, she has both, and the scenes in which her face, a mask of severity and poise, cracks, are breathtakingly moving.
So, as Nathalie moves from one moment to the next, Hansen-Love (who also wrote the beautiful script) follows her with an easy-going refinement that's all too rare in slice-of-life dramas. Even in the film's darkest moments, Hansen-Love keeps it all thrillingly alive. People bicker, people chat, people discuss philosophy, take care of their ailing parents, and sometimes they chase after their obese house cats...such is life (incidentally, between this and Elle, 2016 has been a fantastic year for those who enjoy Isabelle Huppert sharing the screen with felines). Things to Come manages to have it both ways: it celebrates the chance for reinvention, while still placing it in the context of the vast ocean of experiences and routines that define our every day existence. You don't need to be a philosophy expert to find something worth cherishing.
Grade: A-
I'd wager that it's rare that we can use the phrase "like nothing you've ever seen before" and genuinely mean it. Film, in particular, is a medium that constantly references and recreates elements of the past, and I'm not just talking about Hollywood remakes of foreign films. Yet after seeing Holy Motors, the first film from director Leos Carax (The Lovers on the Bridge) in over 10 years, I was floored. There are certainly more narratively abstract films out there, but as far as content goes, you really haven't seen anything like this before. Whether you find it maddening, brilliant, or maddeningly brilliant, it at least deserves that one distinction.
Opening with an odd prologue in which Carax appears as himself (more on this later), the film then follows Monsieur Oscar (Denis Lavant), a wealthy businessman, as his driver (Edith Scob) shuttles him around Paris for various appointments in a white limo. Yet from the first 'appointment,' it becomes clear that there will be nothing ordinary about Oscar's day. First he dresses himself as an old lady and begs for change on a bridge. Then he goes to a motion capture facility where he winds up having sex (...sort of) with a woman, their CGI avatars mimicking their movements. And that's just the beginning. I could spoil the entire thing, actually, and yet I still think most would be unprepared for the actual experience of the whole thing. That's what makes it so maddening/brilliant.
The episodes range from grotesque, to bizarre, to oddly joyous (a stunning number that begins with a lone accordion), and though some are better than others, I found myself enthralled by the whole thing. Just when I finally thought Carax had finished the craziness, he pulled out not one, but two out-of-left-field moments that left me shaking my head in disbelief. I don't have answers for what all of it means (hell, some of it is likely meaningless), but I can hazard a general aim at the film's central idea. Carax is trying to tackle the nature of performance. In the prologue, Carax caresses the walls of his hotel room, only to have a key protrude from his finger. He opens a door in the wall, and emerges in a movie theater, where an audience sits in silence (bored? enraptured?). The framing device seems to set up a deconstruction of what we think we know about film. Or maybe the audience is us, waiting to see Holy Motors, unprepared to witness what the man hiding in the balcony has in store for us. A blackly comedic little joke, yet one that wouldn't surprise me.
The challenges to ideas about performance are somewhat clearer, as evidenced by Oscar's myriad personas. At one point a mysterious man, played by Michel Piccoli, asks Oscar about his career. Oscar's response suggests that he feels like he is always being watched, as though his entire life has become a Truman Show-esque spectacle that someone, somewhere is always watching, hence his need to be so many people nonstop. This is further emphasized by the small vanity mirror in Oscar's limo, where we repeatedly see him transform himself.
And as the man undergoing these transformations, Lavant, a longtime Carax collaborator, is magnificent in the role. Each persona feels distinct, whether it's the sullen father, the creepy sewer-dwelling monster, or the assassin who must kill himself (not suicide...literally another him). It's a sign of a truly talented actor that Lavant can be so many people (technically extensions of one) without rendering any of them as caricatures. Even in the least fleshed out persons, there is a gritty, lived-in presence that seems to radiate from him. Other performances are solid, though generally unremarkable. Eva Mendes is really just there to be eye candy, while the likes of Piccoli and Scob don't have enough to do to make a strong impression, though that's not to the film's detriment.
The supporting MVP is, of all people, Australian pop star Kylie Minogue, who appears as another traveler in a white limousine. The performance, bolstered by a short song written for the film, is affecting in its vulnerability and tenderness. There are hints that she, too, inhabits many (or at least multiple) personas, though unlike Oscar, she is unable to cope. The film follows a man who is completely dedicated and unwavering when it comes to his 'appointments,' but Carax also shows us the danger of such constant performance. It's a weirdly touching moment in a film that is otherwise built to awe you with its strangeness. Said strangeness continues after the Minogue episode - the final scene is as 'what the hell?' as they come - yet the film achieves some deeper sense of resonance, as much as it is to process. Not for everyone, yet still a must see, if only because of what it has to offer on the natures of film and performance in the new millennium.
Grade: A-
