Ostensibly a character study, regarding an unemployed, middle-aged,
overweight, sulking and very violent man known only as “The Butcher”, on
account of his former profession and also his derogatory attitude towards
foreigners, women, gays. Played by Phillipe Nahon, his performance is an act of
bravery. Few people would ever want themselves to be associated with this
character, and even fewer could muster up the loneliness that The Butcher
frequently does. He is a man who blames everyone around him for his woes, and
frequently labels himself to be a hypocrite. Take the moment where he muses that
sex isn’t for him, yet shortly after decides that anyone who can’t have sex is “past
it”. The hell this man is living in is self-created.
There are also moments in the film where Noé simply lets the
camera run as The Butcher is walking along the street, and his thoughts fill the screen.
The Butcher does not think happy thoughts. “You can live with a guy, or a girl,
or have kids, but you’re still alone. You live alone, you’re born alone, you
die alone. Even when you fuck, you’re alone.” See also; “Love, friendship, it’s
all bullshit.” Noé is careful to frame The Butcher nearly always in complete
isolation, and this contributes to a near-palpable sense of fear.
The constant talk of being alone lends itself to a
claustrophobic atmosphere which Noé conjures up effortlessly, spurning a
traditional approach to the material and flirting with faux-documentary,
Kubrickian shot composition, Godardian invention and witty intertitles. It’s a
film that’s giddy with the ways in which films can be made, and this probably
saves it from being unwatchable. It’s also, crucially, blackly funny in places,
although that may be because if I wasn’t laughing, I’d be crying.
It’s an unflinching experience. One early scene, for
example, sees The Butcher beating his pregnant lover in the stomach, over and
over. It’s right there, in front of us, and I had to look away. What is the
purpose of this scene? Noé is portraying such overt misanthropy that one could
be tempted to say that the film is misanthropic. Not quite, in my opinion. Noé
is careful to make The Butcher the very worst thing in his film, and portray
his reactions to the things around him as entirely disproportionate to the
things which have spurred on his anger. He keeps getting turned down on jobs,
for example, and with each reaction his anger grows. Yet the people he gets
rejected by are polite, sympathetic. As I have said, a lot of this anguish is
internal. The Butcher is his own worst enemy. The film understands this, and
him.
The Butcher also has a daughter, played by a predominantly
mute Blandine Lenoir, who is the only thing that The Butcher feels any
semblance of a feeling towards that isn’t hate. The final scene is a
reconciliation of sorts between the two, as The Butcher weighs up the possibilities
of rape and murder, but instead bawls his eyes out and yells “don’t leave me
alone”. With Pachelbel’s Canon playing in the background, I found myself moved
against myself. Why should I feel sympathy for such a pitiful, evil man? And yet
I did, to an extent, because who doesn’t want to be alone? The film represents
a depiction of the extremes of our innate fear of loneliness, an even more
hellish “Taxi Driver”, if you will.
This is a difficult, problematic film that is ultimately
successful because, I think, Noé understands exactly what he is doing and the
results he is striving for. Some people may not be able to handle it (although
it’s notably less harrowing than the director’s later, more renowned “Irreversible”),
but a ready and open mind will pay you back in dividends.
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