I’ve experienced a rare thing with regards to ’s latest film, , particularly during festival time. As it’s a Canadian film, one of several that premiered this year in Cannes, I got to screen it a few days before flying to France. I’ve thus had a couple weeks to let its bones settle, to be able to look at it not with the instantaneity usually required to evaluate, as per our métier, but with the ability to allow its images and ideas to linger before fully reacting.
It’s no small irony that this notion of allowing what has passed to both settle and to be the subject of reflection is central to the conceit of . For those expecting a to the radical messiness of , the pulp perfection of , the raunchy seduction of , or even the sordid yet sublime character studies like and , they may be disappointed. His last film, , was a return to his “red” period, reemphasizing the themes and palette that characterized many of his earlier movies.
The likes of and are part of his “blue” period—colder, even more intellectual, even more emotionally distant and formalist, more reflective than reactive. is definitely blue. The Shrouds The Shrouds Since was a dusted-off earlier script, it’s easy to see how it more fitfully conforms to an earlier aesthetic, regardless of whether its conceit worked for you.
, meanwhile, is not only a newly written work, it has two unique aspects that help explain both its impact and some of its stylistic quirks: It is highly autobiographical, dea.
