The title of Jean-Claude Brisseau’s Un jeu brutal might
refer both to the specific contrivance that’s ultimately revealed to drive the
plot, and to the all-embracing, terrible wonder of creation – it’s a measure of
Brisseau’s conviction, his odd brand of depraved poetry, that the duality
doesn’t seem merely pretentious. Christian Tessier (Bruno Cremer) is a
brilliant scientist who quits his role in cancer research (sacrificing potential
saviour-status when his former colleagues shortly afterwards announce a
breakthrough) and returns to live with his teenaged daughter Isabelle (a
memorable Emmanuelle Debever), in whom he’s shown no interest for years; she’s
paralyzed in both legs, her behaviour almost feral, and he imposes a new regime
of order and education on her life, the faltering progress of which accelerates
after she becomes more sexually aware (by virtue of secretly observing her
young female teacher lounging naked in her room, and later through her
partially reciprocated attraction to the teacher’s visiting brother).
Meanwhile, on his frequent trips away, Tessier is carrying out a parallel
project of slaughtering children, in what he ultimately reveals as a plan
ordained (in improbable coded message form) by God. The film frequently pushes
us to reflect on the cruelty of the natural order, and while Tessier clamps
down on Isabelle’s nastiness to animals and lack of empathy, the object appears
to be to harness and direct the darkness of one’s nature rather than to suppress
it, for the purpose of more fully emerging into the light – Brisseau frequently
bathes in the varied beauty of the landscapes around the house, from field to
river to mountain, with individual scenes evoking concepts of baptism, or
pilgrimage, or rebirth. It would be a stretch to call the film entirely admirable
or credible, but it may linger in the mind longer than many more
straightforwardly consideration-worthy works.
No comments:
Post a Comment