Early on in Mireille Dansereau’s pioneering La vie revee,
two young artistically-inclined women, Isabelle and Virginie, meet in a
workplace washroom, exchange a few remarks about make-up and jewelry, and within
moments of screen time become all but inseparable friends, summing up the
film’s still-striking confidence and lightness of touch. They start to talk
about bringing up a child together, and Isabelle has a father in mind, an older
married man with whom she says she’s in love; eventually she and he get
together and it’s a big letdown, but the friends rapidly realize that the
release from their mythic three-corner structure (evoked in some of the film’s
many brief fantasy sequences) opens up new possibilities, ending the film on a
celebratory note. Among much else, the movie energetically serves as a fascinating
Montreal time capsule, from recognizable landmarks to an economically quite
wide-ranging survey of residential streets and neighbourhoods (there’s only one
English-speaking character in the film, and pointedly he’s the man who fires
Isabelle); there are multiple references to and visual hints of past family
traumas, and almost every issue of the day (Quebec separation, abortion, woman’s
equality) gets a passing mention. One rather regrets the ending, both because it
doesn’t seem necessary for the film to be over yet (it’s actually too short!)
and because the closing sense of liberation manifests itself in tearing down
all the self-generated artwork decorating the apartment, as if it had been all
along a manifestation of entrapment and limitation rather than meaningful
expression (not an invalid idea, but one seeming to warrant more exploration,
if that’s the intention). But on the other hand, the film retains a beguiling degree
of mystery, contrasting an easygoing approach to female nudity with a refusal
to explicitly define the parameters and potential limits of Isabelle and
Virginie’s relationship.
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