Stranger By The Like is as much about loneliness as it is about lust, which is a key to understanding it amidst the un-simulated and frankly shot sequences of gay lovemaking. It could not be a simpler film, taking place at the eponymous lake which doubles as a cruising spot for a number of gay men. We are introduced to a man called Franck (Pierre Deladonchamps), who is perhaps in his mid-to-late 20's, who frequents the spot. In the first scene, he walks up to a larger, older man called Henri (Patrick d'Assumcao) and starts chatting with him. We learn that Henri is recently divorced, with an ambiguous sexuality, but content to sit and watch the lake as the days go by.
The film has an eerie, voyeuristic tone to these opening scenes which simultaneously puts the viewer at ease, with its' gentle and luscious depiction of the tranquil lake and the surrounding woods, and also unnerves, as the various men lie undressed on the beach, go up into the woods to get it off with each other, and make idle chit-chat around this. It's an effective juxtaposition which underpins the entire film.
I was immediately reminded of Ulrich Seidl's "Paradise: Love", the first part of a trilogy, which saw an older woman travel to Africa to have sex with younger African men. They share a lot of stylistic choices; that film had a number of scenes set on a beach, and they both share a prevalent use of shallow focus photography, meaning that everything is on the screen in clear view. There's no lighting. It's as frank as can be, and shot primarily in long-shot and tableaux.
This idyll is somewhat shattered when the mysterious Michel (Christophe Paou) turns up. Franck is instantly attracted to him, but Michel has another lover. Franck silently stews, transfixed, and occupied with his conversations with Henri, until one evening after it has got dark, Michel drowns his lover in the lake. Instead of doing the sensible thing, Franck finds himself further drawn towards Michel, replacing his previous lover, and even being so bold as to name their love-making love, instead of simply cruising.
The events above are presented in such a placid, manner-of-fact way that as a viewer one has to constantly remind themselves of the true nature of the story being told. This is the stuff of pulp, elevated to what appears to be high-art. It's also, for me, a pitiful study of loneliness. As well as morbid curiosity and fatalistic lust, Franck's actions belie an intense loneliness. He's desperate to feel something with someone; look at how he says "kiss me" just as he is about to climax. This also explains his growing bond with Henri, who is also incredibly lonely but in touch with himself enough to admit it; he is a complicated character, but brutally honest, which Franck lacks.
The film does uncoil, slowly and then very quickly in a notably tense sequence, and comes off ultimately like a Hitchcock film directed by Bruce LaBruce (and shot by Haneke's regular cinematographer). This is not a bad thing; it's a b-movie with arthouse trappings, and this too does its' bit to unnerve the audience. Its' depiction of male sexuality is among the more overt examples of male (on male) gaze I've seen, and far from being exploitative we are forced to genuinely contemplate the male body in the same manner as looking at Michaelangelo's David forces us. Director Alain Guiraudie is fearlessly formal in framing his compositions around this remit, and he knows how to gain the most from shooting a sex-scene.
I do, however, have reservations. Whilst I cannot fault the manner of its telling, the story itself is dragged down by a couple of bits and pieces. The dialogue in the early scenes is a little heavy-handed, and one encounter with a man looking for women feels like it's establishing that this is a gay cruising spot; well, duh. There are a couple of clanging moments like that. And there's something to the disintegration of the sunny, peaceful tranquillity which is a little too complete for me; there's nothing in particular left to think about, or contemplate, and it doesn't go wider than the film itself. This seems like a bizarre criticism, but there's something to be said for the sadness I feel when I think I'm watching a great film which is going to endure and grow in the mind, and it turns out to be just a good one.
And yet, as I am wont to say, this is still a good film with a lot to recommend it. There's something marked about the restrained performances and lolling pace in service of the nasty plot which left a distinct impression on me, and a film willing to present male sexuality this bravely has to be commended. It's a shame it didn't do more, but then maybe I'm just asking a bit much.
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