How often do you get Barbet Schroeder, Gerard Depardieu and Nestor Almendros together to shoot a film about a burglar who ends up falling in love with the dominatrix whose dungeon he’s unwittingly tried to rob? In a scene at the very beginning of Schroeder’s exquisitely paced, beautifully executed Maitresse the tone is brilliantly set for the relationship – and thus the film itself – through Almendros’ meticulously composed images. His camera captures Depardieu’s fair Olivier and his dark-haired partner-in-crime (whose bad idea it was to burglarize the “downstairs apartment”) in a hornet’s nest of their own making, caught in the act by Bulle Ogier’s “Maitresse” Ariane, and subsequently handcuffed to her radiator and guarded by a vicious Doberman named Texas.
But wait––if this doesn’t sound like a setup straight from the twisted mind of David Lynch I don’t know what does. Indeed, what’s most striking about the erotically charged scene that follows is how closely the psychological power dynamics of Schroeder’s Maitresse parallel the infamous “Bobby Peru seduces Lula” scene from Wild at Heart. In both cases no actual sex takes place. Instead there’s a steamy sadist/predator (Bobby Peru, Ariane) sinking his/her teeth into a piece of lost prey (Lula, Olivier). Both Lula and Olivier are turned on against their will, psychologically “raped,” so stunned at losing control that they’re not even fully aware of the situation they’re in, let alone how to escape it. The difference lies in the relationship between the characters. Lula is rendered helpless until Bobby releases her when he’s “gotta get going.” She’s just a toy for Bobby to kill time with in the afternoon, whereas Ariane plays for keeps – a spider whose web encompasses. Ariane takes over her “victims” wholly, completely and unapologetically. And like Bobby knowing enough to drop in on Lula unannounced – ensuring her defenses will be down – Ariane takes advantage of the element of surprise (burglars dropping in unannounced – how convenient!), wielding it like a stun gun before the attack.
Marnie is the film in the Hitchcock canon most guaranteed to rankle feminists. Tippi Hedren plays the frigid, thieving titular character whose only hope for salvation is at the hands of strong, virile Mark Rutland, eagerly embodied by Sean Connery, who blackmails her into marrying him – and makes her enjoy his punishment. Most Marnie enthusiasts answer accusations of misogyny by ducking under the director’s craft, as in “Yeah, Connery plays a sadistic hero – but look at the way Hitch frames the back of Hedren’s head!” – as if the plot needs to be apologized for, swept under the rug.
What neither the feminists nor cinephiles seem to appreciate is that Marnie is one of the greatest bondage and discipline (B&D in sadomasochistic parlance) pics of all time. Artfully disguised as a psychosexual thriller, Hitchcock’s classic is actually kin to The Story of O with Hedren’s O-like Marnie at the sole mercy of Sir Connery’s sexy daddy (think Sir Stephen), reduced to being trapped like a wild animal to be broken and trained, owned and cared for, eventually becoming Rutland’s wife/slave. This ain’t misogyny – it’s erotic art!
If you’re in the habit of visiting websites, you’ve probably seen ads for Interview, Steve Buscemi’s remake of a Dutch film by the same name, which stars Sienna Miller and which opens in limited release this Friday. Buscemi’s Interview is the first in a series of three films (the others are to be directed by Stanley Tucci and John Turturro), in tribute to the director of the original Interview, Theo Van Gogh. In 2004, Van Gogh was murdered by a Muslim extremist, who was acting in response to Submission: Part One, a ten minute film about the oppression of women under Islam, made by Van Gogh in collaboration with Ayaan Hirsi Ali. That film is embedded above.
I haven’t seen Van Gogh’s Interview, but I’ve just returned from a press screening of Buscemi’s, and in terms of style, content, weight and intent, it’s about as far away from Submission as you can get. Van Gogh has become something of a martyr since his death; a famed free-speech advocate in life, his body was found with a 5-page “jihad manifesto” attached to his chest with a dagger. His murder has since been used by some members of the Dutch government, as supporting evidence in their quest to limit immigration.
Put simply: the idea that the best way to pay tribute to that guy is to have three American actors remake his films is somewhat baffling. And after having seen Interview … well … am I the only one struggling to see how the solipsistic fantasy that Buscemi has committed to celluloid could possibly be seen as a proper tribute to anything?
We’ve had a bit of trouble getting this episode to go through the iTunes feed, so we hope this re-post will fix the problem. The original post, with episode description and embedded player, is here.
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