Alain Resnais’ L’amour
a mort is a uniquely unsettling film, stark and stripped down and unerringly
focused, seeming by its nature to demand a deeply personal response but forging
a rigorous cinematic space that precludes any easy identification or
sentimentality. The film starts in the midst of trauma as Simon (Pierre Arditi)
suffers an attack and is pronounced dead by the doctor; he comes back
to life though, the whole event initially seeming like an amusing embarrassment, and
one sparking a sense of liberation as Simon feels free to cut ties with people
he doesn’t like and to plan trips around the world. But he becomes increasingly
preoccupied with the idea that he did actually die, studying the Bible and talking
about how he glimpsed the afterlife, and then he’s gone, with his partner
Elisabeth (Sabine Azema) immediately becoming obsessed by thoughts of joining
him. The couple’s best friends are married clerics, allowing a certain amount
of theological debate, and the film’s closing words assert a belief in
resurrection, but the prevailing sense is of a love and accompanying rationalization
that lacks any ready explanation or reference points. Resnais closes off all
easy points of explication: Simon and Elisabeth have been together for only a
few weeks, undercutting any sense of a long-established love; one of the
married friends reveals to Elisabeth that she and Simon had an affair years
earlier and even entered into an unsuccessful suicide pact (the film daringly
suggests that suicide might not be antithetical to religious belief, but rather
central to it); despite the film’s preoccupation with endings, Elisabeth works
as a biologist developing new plant species and Simon is an archaeologist, both
in their different way focusing on origins (which, however, are also inherently
forms of closure). Resnais punctuates the film’s mysteries with shots of
swirling snow against a black background, or similar evocations of an unknown
elsewhere, as if the film itself were aspiring to transcend conventional form
and existence, to merge with the unknown.
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