Elle | Little White Lies

Elle

07 Mar 2017 / Released: 10 Mar 2017

Black cat and woman looking thoughtfully into each other's eyes in dim lighting.
Black cat and woman looking thoughtfully into each other's eyes in dim lighting.
4

Anticipation.

Paul Verhoeven, provocateur extraordinaire, makes his big return.

4

Enjoyment.

It’s a Verhoeven movie, Jim, but not as we know it.

5

In Retrospect.

Teases the viewer with its every double-edged frame.

Isabelle Hup­pert and Paul Ver­ho­even reunite to potent effect in this sly, caus­tic social critique.

That a new Paul Ver­ho­even film is accom­pa­nied by an almost ambi­ent lev­el of scan­dal should be no sur­prise: if ever a direc­tor has sought to pro­voke and mock that go-to crit­i­cal chest­nut prob­lem­at­ic’, it is he. From the out­set Elle does not hold back. The film’s pro­tag­o­nist, Michèle Leblanc (Isabelle Hup­pert), is vicious­ly sex­u­al­ly assault­ed dur­ing a home invasion.

It then fol­lows the com­pli­ca­tions that devel­op in her rela­tion­ship with her attack­er upon dis­cov­er­ing his iden­ti­ty. As the suc­cess­ful co-own­er of a video game com­pa­ny, sex­u­al harass­ment is a part of every­day life for Michèle. Both per­son­al­ly and pro­fes­sion­al­ly, she is a woman used to liv­ing in a state of per­pet­u­al gen­der war­fare. Posi­tion the assault along­side her trau­mat­ic child­hood as the daugh­ter of a noto­ri­ous ser­i­al killer who preyed on small chil­dren, and mat­ters become even more complex.

The film is based on the 2012 nov­el Oh…’ by Philippe Djian, an author who long ago demon­strat­ed his air for page-to-screen trans­la­tion with his 1985 nov­el 37° 2 le Matin’ adapt­ed by Jean-Jacques Beineix one year lat­er into the cult sex odyssey, Bet­ty Blue. With Oh…’ win­ning the high­ly regard­ed Prix Inter­al­lié award in 2012, its rep­u­ta­tion com­bined with the unit­ed force of Eurocin­e­ma pow­er­hous­es Ver­ho­even and Hup­pert meant that Elle was a force to be reck­oned with long before its her­ald­ed Cannes première.

For starters, Ver­ho­even is a con­sum­mate shit-stir­rer. Through its unam­bigu­ous­ly dif­fi­cult gen­der pol­i­tics, Elle is a loose com­pan­ion piece to the director’s 1992 film Basic Instinct. While both films are marked by ambiva­lent female pro­tag­o­nists who dare us to be o end­ed by their social trans­gres­sions, they are also marked just as plain­ly by their nos­tal­gic reimag­in­ing of cin­e­ma his­to­ry. Basic Instinct, for instance, is a love let­ter to Dario Argento’s queer-edged neo-gial­lo, Tene­bre, from 1982, a film that con­scious­ly blurs fact and fic­tion with­in the work of its cen­tral crime writer protagonist.

Black cat and woman looking thoughtfully into each other's eyes in dim lighting.

Like­wise, Elle is not shy about the influ­ence of Verhoeven’s oft-cit­ed debt to Jean Renoir’s 1939 clas­sic, The Rules of the Game, and both movies fall under the com­e­dy of man­ners’ umbrel­la. In the case of Elle, scathing social cri­tique takes the shape of a fre­quent­ly bleak and often vicious satire. But even the cos­tume of the assailant in Elle flags cin­e­ma tra­di­tions long past: as much recall­ing Mario Bava’s Dan­ger: Dia­bo­lik as it does Louis Feuillade’s 1913 silent crime ser­i­al Fantômas, it tells us that it is simul­ta­ne­ous­ly a pan­tomime, a car­toon and a melodrama.

While Huppert’s pres­ence has led some crit­ics to label the film as lit­tle more than a pis­s­weak Michael Haneke repli­ca, this for­gets too quick­ly that while she has made three films with Ver­hoven, Elle much more close­ly aligns with anoth­er Hup­pert col­lab­o­ra­tor: Claude Chabrol, with whom she made a total of sev­en films. While the unset­tling vio­lence and cold ambiva­lence of Huppert’s per­for­mance here cer­tain­ly recalls her work with Haneke (one scene in par­tic­u­lar is an obvi­ous homage), it is arguably just as much indebt­ed to Chabrol’s love of seedy melo­dra­ma and his sig­na­ture affec­tion for the moral spec­ta­cle of social transgression.

Leav­ing all this aside, this col­lab­o­ra­tion between Hup­pert and Ver­ho­even echoes on some lev­el sim­i­lar the­mat­ic fea­tures that direc­tors Vir­ginie Despentes and Coralie Trinh Thi explored in their noto­ri­ous 2000 film Baise-Moi, itself an adap­ta­tion of Despentes 1999 nov­el of the same name. It is flat­ly erro­neous to con­sid­er Elle a rape-revenge film by any stretch of the def­i­n­i­tion. To claim that a desire for vengeance fun­da­men­tal­ly pro­pels the nar­ra­tive is at best disin­gen­u­ous, at worst wrongheaded.

Yet the Baise-Moi com­par­i­son is still cru­cial. What is often over­looked about that film is that the killing spree under­tak­en by Manu (Raf­faela Ander­son) and Nadine (Karen Bach) is trig­gered not by the desire to avenge the graph­ic rape we see at the begin­ning of the film, but rather by Manu’s nasty encounter with her broth­er after­wards, when he vicious­ly accus­es her of not respond­ing to sex­u­al assault cor­rect­ly”.

For the women of Baise-Moi, as for Michèle, it is not just a ques­tion of respond­ing to vio­lence in ways deemed social­ly appro­pri­ate’, but rather about find­ing a way to live with ongo­ing trau­ma any way they can, regard­less of whether it makes sense to oth­er char­ac­ters (and the audi­ence). These are women who want to sur­vive, and these are films about mak­ing do, keep­ing it togeth­er when you have been emo­tion­al­ly rewired on a fun­da­men­tal lev­el by a vio­lent phys­i­cal trauma.

Ver­ho­even is unde­ni­ably a provo­ca­teur. But Elle is no hol­low mis­sile: to dis­miss it as such active­ly shuts down the sub­ver­sive poten­tial for rad­i­cal trans­gres­sion that keeps Michèle alive, sur­viv­ing, and con­nect­ing with those she loves.

You might like