Holy Motors (2012)

The touch of inventive madness, self-depreciation, visual stupefaction, not to mention the excessive libidinal forces; all, are held together with magnificent poise and charm in the bizarre French film Holy Motors. What possible meaning(s) should we assign to this film, one that throws curve balls and contradictions at every turn, not to mention some surprise performances from Eva Mendes, and Kylie Minogue no less. And the most fanstastic musical interlude in a very long time. If we were to simply see it as a film about films, then appropriately enough, it begins and ends at night (the departure point for our subconscious) after a 24 hour odyssey spent with mysterious Monsieur Oscar (Denis Lavant) riding in a white stretch limo with his dutiful chauffeuse Celine (Edith Scob). For reasons unclear, Oscar is set a series of tasks during the day, that involve comprehensive make-up and costume changes each designed for their realism, that he must perform at designated times and locations in what is modern day Paris. The film itself is the set of performances by the enigmatic chameleon, Lavant, which range in complexity from an old woman beggar to a demonic horny sewer dweller, and in each of the 7 performances shown allude to the idea that all our responses and expectations have become commodified, watched as it were, by an insatiable unseen omnipresence.

French Auteur Leos Carax, himself re-awakened from his long absence from the screen, appears arising from an airport hotel bed in the opening sequence. He walks towards a wallpapered wall resembling a forest unlocking with his magic finger a portal, which finds us in a darkenened cinema something akin to the Lynchian world of Mulholland Drive. We hear the ocean, the audience in the stalls returns the gaze. The eyes are on us, now more than ever, according to Carax. The film itself, rather than it be seen as some lamentation of the cinema, is science fiction, to which a more darker pessimistic mood feels suited, one that is highlighted by a mysterious figure who speaks with some authority to our perfomer. It’s Oscar’s confessions which betray the dreams and beckon the ongoing nighmare. This is just another day in the life of Oscar’s performances. Is there no end? Whatever the case, the film is carefully balanced and more importantly infinitely enjoyable, despite all the surrealism on hand. In one of the more melodramatic moments, Oscar plays opposite a fellow female performer, when, upon completing their roles, they break characters, as it were, for a moment to compose themselves, revealing to us their ‘real’ selves. The fiction within the fiction was never more sublime. Then, with all their professionalism it’s back to their roles and the next performance..

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