Trouble Every Day
May 21st 2008 01:12
I’ve been casually following the films of French auteur Claire Denis ever since I saw her debut tale of sexual ennui, the deeply evocative and languidly sensual Chocolat (1988) at a film festival twenty years ago. She’s a true cinema poet, which means her work can be as frustrating as it is rewarding.
Trouble Every Day (2001) is no exception, but it also happens to be one of the most original and disturbing takes on cannibalism/vampirism ever made. A mutant-strain that floats like a butterfly and stings like a scorpion, a dark and confounding tale of sexual dysfunction and obsession.
Shane Brown (Vincent Gallo) and his wife June (Tricia Vessey) are newlyweds arriving in Paris on their honeymoon. During the plane journey Shane experiences a moment of intense anxiety whilst in bathroom his mind swimming with thoughts of himself and his wife amidst blood-soaked carnality; it’s a frightening image. Back in his seat he cuddles with June, but it’s obvious Shane is a deeply troubled man.
Meanwhile on the outskirts of Paris a woman, Coré (Beatrice Dalle) drifts along the pavement in a semi-daze. An opportunist trucker stops, gets out and approaches Coré , having been allured by her libidinous gaze.
Later, after dark, a man riding home on his motorcycle stops by the deserted truck. He senses something and searches in the nearby scrub only to find the ravaged corpse of the trucker, and Coré nearby her face and clothes smeared with the man’s blood. He comforts her.
Next day the man, Léo Semeneau (Alex Descas), whom we soon learn is a doctor, locks Coré up in a bedroom and leaves her to run errands. Meanwhile Shane and June, who’ve settled into their hotel suite, are having difficulty relaxing, as Shane is acutely anxious. He admits he needs to visit the biological science clinic he used to work for. It turns out his colleague was Dr. Semeneau who was conducting experimental research into the libido, and had been ostracised.
A third narrative strand of the movie follows a young and curious hotel chambermaid Christelle (Florence Loiret) as she goes about her routines and becomes fascinated by Shane’s presence at the hotel. There is a strange attraction at work, but it is ominous too.
And there is a fourth thread to this interweaving tale of hunger and desire, that follows two young opportunist burglars who wait until Dr. Semeneau has left his large house, then jump the wall and attempt to break into the home. They know Coré is inside, and she knows they are outside, and one of the young men (Nicolas Duvachelle) is driven to make physical contact with her if it’s the last thing he does.
All four of these narrative arcs eventually collide, one after another like a chain reaction, the tone becoming darker and darker. The final ten or so minutes of the movie are deeply disturbing indeed, as June reunites with Shane after he has succumbed to his base and diabolical hunger. Has tranquility been restored? June’s expression suggests not.
Performances are very good, especially Tricia Vessey and Florence Loiret. Vincent Gallo delivers yet another lugubrious performance, reciting his lines like he'd rather be somewhere else. He has screen charisma, yet his petulance only adds further malaise to this difficult movie.
Trouble Every Day (the title is taken from the lilting Tindersticks song which bookends the movie) is beautiful, erotic, morose and horrific in equal measures. Its carnality is first bold and arousing, then aggressive and grotesque. A sex scene has Coré devour a lover; literally, a love scene between Shane and June is interrupted when he storms off into the bathroom, furiously masturbates and ejaculates copiously. The carnal denouement features the “eating” act of cunnilingus taken to its most appalling and outrageous extreme.
There’s a precarious balance between its sensuality and its depravity. Director Denis has always been fascinated by troubled humanity and the darkness of the soul. She embraces subtlety, suggestion and diversion, frequently into indulgence; elements which, in the context of conventional horror movies, would frustrate most audiences. But it is these quieter, often lingering, more reflective moments, which give her films the raw, poetic edge.
But make no mistake, Trouble Every Day, is no wistful play on love’s sweet boundaries, it bites hard and tears chunks. Like a dream it undulates, but like a nightmare it whiplashes. It’s an existential, psycho-sexual thriller in the basest, most elusive, yet provocative sense.
Trouble Every Day (2001) is no exception, but it also happens to be one of the most original and disturbing takes on cannibalism/vampirism ever made. A mutant-strain that floats like a butterfly and stings like a scorpion, a dark and confounding tale of sexual dysfunction and obsession.
Shane Brown (Vincent Gallo) and his wife June (Tricia Vessey) are newlyweds arriving in Paris on their honeymoon. During the plane journey Shane experiences a moment of intense anxiety whilst in bathroom his mind swimming with thoughts of himself and his wife amidst blood-soaked carnality; it’s a frightening image. Back in his seat he cuddles with June, but it’s obvious Shane is a deeply troubled man.
Meanwhile on the outskirts of Paris a woman, Coré (Beatrice Dalle) drifts along the pavement in a semi-daze. An opportunist trucker stops, gets out and approaches Coré , having been allured by her libidinous gaze.
Later, after dark, a man riding home on his motorcycle stops by the deserted truck. He senses something and searches in the nearby scrub only to find the ravaged corpse of the trucker, and Coré nearby her face and clothes smeared with the man’s blood. He comforts her.
Next day the man, Léo Semeneau (Alex Descas), whom we soon learn is a doctor, locks Coré up in a bedroom and leaves her to run errands. Meanwhile Shane and June, who’ve settled into their hotel suite, are having difficulty relaxing, as Shane is acutely anxious. He admits he needs to visit the biological science clinic he used to work for. It turns out his colleague was Dr. Semeneau who was conducting experimental research into the libido, and had been ostracised.
A third narrative strand of the movie follows a young and curious hotel chambermaid Christelle (Florence Loiret) as she goes about her routines and becomes fascinated by Shane’s presence at the hotel. There is a strange attraction at work, but it is ominous too.
And there is a fourth thread to this interweaving tale of hunger and desire, that follows two young opportunist burglars who wait until Dr. Semeneau has left his large house, then jump the wall and attempt to break into the home. They know Coré is inside, and she knows they are outside, and one of the young men (Nicolas Duvachelle) is driven to make physical contact with her if it’s the last thing he does.
All four of these narrative arcs eventually collide, one after another like a chain reaction, the tone becoming darker and darker. The final ten or so minutes of the movie are deeply disturbing indeed, as June reunites with Shane after he has succumbed to his base and diabolical hunger. Has tranquility been restored? June’s expression suggests not.
Performances are very good, especially Tricia Vessey and Florence Loiret. Vincent Gallo delivers yet another lugubrious performance, reciting his lines like he'd rather be somewhere else. He has screen charisma, yet his petulance only adds further malaise to this difficult movie.
Trouble Every Day (the title is taken from the lilting Tindersticks song which bookends the movie) is beautiful, erotic, morose and horrific in equal measures. Its carnality is first bold and arousing, then aggressive and grotesque. A sex scene has Coré devour a lover; literally, a love scene between Shane and June is interrupted when he storms off into the bathroom, furiously masturbates and ejaculates copiously. The carnal denouement features the “eating” act of cunnilingus taken to its most appalling and outrageous extreme.
There’s a precarious balance between its sensuality and its depravity. Director Denis has always been fascinated by troubled humanity and the darkness of the soul. She embraces subtlety, suggestion and diversion, frequently into indulgence; elements which, in the context of conventional horror movies, would frustrate most audiences. But it is these quieter, often lingering, more reflective moments, which give her films the raw, poetic edge.
But make no mistake, Trouble Every Day, is no wistful play on love’s sweet boundaries, it bites hard and tears chunks. Like a dream it undulates, but like a nightmare it whiplashes. It’s an existential, psycho-sexual thriller in the basest, most elusive, yet provocative sense.
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