Daily Archives: Saturday, April 2, 2016

  • Let Me In

    Matt Reeves (2010)

    As soon I’d booked the ticket, I wondered why.  Richard Jenkins is in it but I knew from having seen Let the Right One In, the admired Swedish film of which Let Me In is a swift remake, that Jenkins’s role wasn’t either major or capable of doing much with.   I don’t care for vampire movies generally and, although Let the Right One In has some interesting themes, I didn’t like it.  According to Wikipedia, there are differences of opinion about whether Let Me In really is a remake of Tomas Alfredson’s picture – there’s a school of thought that it’s rather a re-adaptation of the source novel!   The point is surely that Matt Reeves, who also did the screenplay, saw the potential for revising Let the Right One In in a commercially attractive way.  In this respect, Reeves has succeeded[1].  (If his motives were as artistic as he claims, does this mean he didn’t think Alfredson had done justice to the book?  Seems unlikely.)  The setting has been changed from suburban Stockholm to Los Alamos, New Mexico and the opening shots of a train, with lights like a line of fire in the bleak dark landscape around it, are striking.  But it was clear pretty soon that the other things I liked about the Alfredson version were not going to be replicated.

    The emphatically ominous noises on the soundtrack at the very start – a cross between a repeated doom-laden chord and the noise of a snoring beast – are the first clue.  As Anthony Lane noted in the New Yorker, the abbreviation of the title makes for a loss of subtlety as well as words.  Let the Right One In intriguingly removes any doubt that someone or something is going to be let in – it implies a matter of choice.  Reeves’s three-worder is a less sophisticated, imploring imperative.  The faces of the schoolkids who bully the hero Oskar in the Alfredson movie don’t suggest nasty pieces of work.  The tormentors of Owen in Let Me In are evidently, boringly brutish.  Maybe I was just slow on the uptake with the Swedish film but was it so clear so soon there that the forever-pre-pubertal Eli was a vampire?   Here, when the equivalent Abby’s ‘father’ (this is Jenkins) dispatches some unfortunate young man and slits his throat, the apparatus  used for drawing off the blood makes it obvious why it’s being collected.  (In a startling moment, Jenkins then falls through the ice and spills the precious liquid.)   As could be guessed from his acting in The Road, Kodi Smit-McPhee has too much technique and self-awareness to be interesting as Owen.  In the first half hour he’s expressive only in the odd moment when he doesn’t seem aware of the camera.  As the vampiric Abby, Chloë Grace Moretz looks to have more potential but because Smit-McPhee doesn’t seem at all feminine (he just seems wimpy) there’s no sense of an androgynous kinship that came over through the pairing of the kids (Kåre Hedebrant and Lina Leandersson) in Let the Right One In.   Richard Jenkins is affectingly human in the rare moments when he isn’t out blood-collecting but even his presence and that of Elias Koteas (as a police detective) weren’t enough to detain me.  Once Abby had attacked her first victim in a thuddingly violent encounter and shown us Exorcist-type glowing green eyes after slaking her thirst, I’d had enough and walked out.

    6 November 2010

    [1] According to Wikipedia, ‘As of November 2nd, after five weeks in theaters, Let Me In grossed an estimated 11.9million domestically. … The film has grossed over 13.7million worldwide’.

  • Les diaboliques

    Henri-Georges Clouzot (1955)

    Based on the novel Celle qui n’était plus by Pierre Boileau and Thomas Narcejac (who also did the screenplay), Les diaboliques is the story of how the wife and mistress of the headmaster of a private school in Paris join forces to murder him and dispose of his body.  He disappears more than expected – he fails to turn up as a corpse where and when he should – and the women, especially the valetudinarian widow, become more and more edgy and guilty.  The denouement reminds us why their partnership seemed such an inherently improbable one at the start of the picture, before Clouzot took us in.  This is a famously suspenseful and frightening film but its macabre highlights didn’t do much for me.  Both as a headmaster and a husband, Michel Delasalle is a mean-spirited tyrant.  It’s hard to feel that the women, in bumping him off, have done anything wrong.  But neither of them is likeable either, so we’re hardly anxious for them not to be found out.  Delasalle’s unpleasantness doesn’t seem to be modified when he makes his surprise comeback in the film’s closing stages.

    Simone Signoret gives a fine performance as the mistress, impatient, poker-faced Nicole.  When she seems shut off from Christina, the wife, we accept this as part of Nicole’s skilled dissimulation to throw the others in the school off the scent.  It makes perfect sense when we eventually discover that the mistress’s cool deadpan has a dual purpose.  When Christina has pegged out (she has a weak heart and has been gruellingly scared to death), the restored-to-life Delasalle and Nicole embrace.  You might think this unlovable pair were made for each other but Paul Meurisse’s Delasalle is too charmless for their big moment to register as strongly as it should.  Signoret suggests a passionate nature in reserve; Meurisse is such a cold fish that you struggle to believe that Delasalle would engage Nicole’s feelings.  As Christina, Vera Clouzot, the director’s wife, is striking but her acting is relatively conventional – there’s no hint of ambiguity, or potential for Christina to be different from what she seems.

    The introduction of the police detective in Les diaboliques is not unlike the first appearance of the private eye in Psycho, which I’d seen the previous evening.   Martin Balsam’s Arbogast appears to be just hanging around Sam Loomis’s hardware store in Mayvale, Arizona; Charles Vanel’s Fichet is sitting about at the morgue where Christina Delasalle comes hoping to identify the body of her husband.   Vanel gives the policeman an unassertively shrewd charm – Fichet’s rumpled quality and casually determined affability make it impossible not to experience him as an ancestor of Columbo.   In the smaller roles, the casting and acting is a good example of what I think of as typical in quality French cinema of the 1940s and (most of) the 1950s:  both as physical specimens and as performers, the actors – Jean Brochard as the school caretaker, Pierre Larquey as an elderly teacher, Michel Serrault (in a very early role) as a younger one – are believable but their playing is heightened in a way that seems to make them physically archetypal as well as theatrical presences.

    Clouzot’s other films include Le corbeau (1943):  he evidently had a gift for describing malign, sequestered communities.  The arrogance of the schoolboys in Les diaboliques is muted by the fusty atmosphere of the place; the rituals of the dormitory and the washroom and dining room are well observed.  The details of the revolting food on offer  are hard to get out of your mind:  the scene in which Delasalle forces the fragile Christina to swallow a piece of putrescent fish – he tells her with freezing scorn, as she nearly chokes on her food, that the whole school is watching her – is especially nasty.   The algae on the swimming pool in which the women have dropped Delasalle’s body are also a powerfully viscous, almost sickening image of the spiritual rottenness at the heart of the film.    Without guessing what would happen, I was sure there must be a twist in the tale in order for Les diaboliques not to be far too clinical for its own melodramatic good.  That twist is clever and the whole piece is very accomplished but I didn’t like it.   In spite of claims to the contrary in the BFI programme note, I thought the tone was flippant – or at least that there was a gloating edge to the director’s misanthropy (which brought to mind the Coen brothers).  Because of the way he works the audience in Les diaboliques, it’s understandable for Clouzot to be compared with Hitchcock but you can feel the latter’s pleasure in being in charge.  His amused authority is a lot more engaging than Clouzot’s pessimistic sense of superiority.

    14 April 2010

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