I’ve never
quite been able to buy Gérard Depardieu as a sex symbol. He’s a fine actor, no doubt, but his
goofiness (just
look at his IMDb headshot) always strikes me as something that would
detract from his appeal to female audiences and characters. Then again, I’m not French. In Maurice Pialat’s Loulou (1980) he lays that foolish quality against the more
underplayed, even cool sexuality of Isabelle Huppert (a more legitimate sex
symbol) and it somehow works. He’s
playing to type as the ex-con and social loafer, Loulou, who somehow is able to
win the interest of Huppert’s Nelly, a bourgeoisie woman whose in the process
of leaving her husband, André (Guy Marchand).
Those are
the basics of the plot, and for the most part they’re all that we get from the
movie as far as motivation goes for each character. Loulou should get a job if he wants to keep
Nelly, but because he initially believes that she is only interested in him for
sex, he doesn’t really see the point in putting effort into their
relationship. Nelly meanwhile can’t
quite decide if she is done with André, and upon an agreement with Loulou, she
returns to work for him to allow him time to come to terms with their
breakup. Films rarely, if ever, come
with a disclaimer that their relationship patterns are not meant to be taken as
sound romantic advice, and Loulou is
no exception.
This is not
a film about great love or about the choices we make in relationships and where
they lead, but more an effective declaration that perhaps we have no real reasons
for making those choices at all. This is
a film in which characters feel emotions and desires and then act on them,
rarely considering what the consequences will be. Consider this conversation between Nelly and André
after they’ve made love during one of their work sessions.
Nelly: I’m pregnant with Loulou. I’m going to keep the child.
André: How
far along are you?
Nelly:
About two months.
André: What
does Loulou think?
Nelly: He’s
very excited
André: And
you?
Nelly: I’m
very happy.
André: Are
you in bed with me to tell me that?
Nelly: No,
I just wanted you. I don’t know why.
Nelly speaks her words with calm detachment,
as if she’d had no inclination to sleep with André again prior to that moment,
and expecting that it will change nothing about her situation with Loulou. Perhaps this is because very little does
change.
The couple move into a nicer
apartment – with the rent always paid by Nelly – and they go about their life
together. Loulou talks about getting
work once the child comes, but he has no sense of urgency. He warns his friends about being tied down by
marriage, but refers to Nelly as his fiancée.
He meets her family and is as charming as he can be, but Pialat’s subtle
direction always makes it clear that these two characters don’t belong in each others’
worlds. She denies it, but Nelly still
needs André for intellectual stimulation, and though she says almost nothing,
she’s appalled when she joins Loulou and a fellow hood as they steal stereo
equipment from a loading dock.
Where this story goes is
interesting, but it ultimately isn’t the point of the film. The third act contains a point of ambiguity
that depending on perception might alter an audience’s view of these
characters, but by that time we’ve been with them for over an hour and a half,
and we’ve seen them at their worst and their best. Depardieu and Huppert turn in performances
here that make these characters worth our investment simply in that these
actors are brave enough to show us this gamut of their experiences. Guy Marchand’s performance is impressive as
well, as he’s able to be despicable, pathetic, sympathetic, and then forgettable
all at the right moments.
From a technical standpoint Loulou is lacking in the lighting
category, as night exteriors are often imperceptible. But when the actors’ faces and bodies are
visible they hold the screen magnificently.
Consider that so many scenes feel both dangerous and improvised. Pialat challenges his actors here with
difficult situations and emotions and is brave enough himself to let their
craft speak for itself. He doesn’t
employ directorial flourish because he knows that his screenplay (written with
Arlette Langmann) gives his characters all the motion (and emotion) they need. He isn’t interested in their innermost
desires. He wants the blood, the sweat,
and the tears that pour out of them.
Language: Franch
Runtime: 101 Minutes
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