Holy Motors
(France/Germany, 115 min.)
Written and directed by Léos Carax
Starring: Denis Lavant, Edith Scob, Kylie Minogue, Eva
Mendes, Michel Piccoli.
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| Denis Lavant and Kylie Minogue. Courtesy of Mongrel Media. |
If Holy Motors
were an American film, we would all be calling it shit. However, it’s a French
co-pro, so we call it art instead. Audacious, grotesque, and utterly
nonsensical, Holy Motors is the most
European art film you’ll see all year. It’s cracked-out madness, so just accept
the ridiculousness of it all and go along for the ride.
The ride of the film is a swanky white stretch limousine. A distant cousin of Cosmopolis, Léos Carax’s Holy Motors spends much of its running time within the closed quarters of its protagonist’s limousine. Mr. Oscar (Denis Lavant) doesn’t have the same cork-lined stretch that Eric Packer uses to block out the sounds of life. Oscar’s ride doesn’t have a toilet, either, so he must frequently go do his business in the noisy streets of Paris.
The film begins with
a refined Mr. Oscar leaving what seems to be his tightly guarded mansion for a ride
to work in his private car. Like Cosmopolis,
it shows one day in the life of this powerful man as he is driven around town.
His chauffer, Céline (Edith Scob, Summer
Hours), tells him that he has nine appointments that day, so he best get
ready. M. Oscar shrugs and starts to prepare; however, his appointment isn’t
conventional business. Instead of pulling out his Blackberry and studying some
notes, Oscar puts on a wig and hunches up like an old woman.
Oscar’s appointments continue to be a series of bizarre
episodes. He might be panhandling as an elderly lady, or be disguised as a
grungy dwarf while he licks the armpit of an Amy Winehouse lookalike (played by
Eva Mendes). He also kills people, one of whom is himself. See? Holy Motors is madness, firing six
cylinders of insanity at 100 kilometers per hour.
There isn’t a single pretense to realism in the chaos that
Carax throws at the viewer. Whether it’s a random musical sequence, a dramatic
skit, or a visually stunning sequence of motion capture pornography, Holy Motors consistently signals its
artifice to the viewer. In fact, it signals the construction of cinema in each
of Oscar’s appointments. Before each performance, Oscar transforms himself
under a thick layer of make-up. It’s clear that he’s playing a whole cast of
bizarre characters. (Lavant should be commended for playing eleven different
parts, or one part, depending on how one looks at it.) Likewise, the film opens
with a sedated audience watching a projection in a classic and dusty
movie-house. They’re so enthralled by the film that they fail to notice the
oversized dogs crawling down the aisles. The strange opening sequence, not to
mention to stranger vintage title cards and the even stranger accordion concert
during intermission, put Mr. Oscar in a peculiar role as he straddles art and
life. It’s never quite clear who the real Mr. Oscar really is, a fact that
Carax underscores—with his middle finger—when he presents Oscar’s children in
the final scene.
Less like the self-reflexive repartee of the Audrey Hepburn/William
Holden vehicle Paris When It Sizzles and
more like the labyrinthine mind-fuck of David Lynch’s Mulholland Dr., Holy Motors
confronts our love for the movies in some strange surrealist dance. It's as fun as Paris and as smart as Mulholland, so viewers are
likely to scratch their heads in wonder of what’s transpiring before their eyes; however, it’s all so
outlandish, so ridiculous, and so tangibly symbolic that it’s impossible to
dismiss. Anyone whose motor isn’t completely going will surely be revved up by
the end, which sees Oscar’s limo yawn and stretch its legs after its long day
of work. Holy Motors makes little
sense at first, but it’s sure to provide one of the most engaging film
discussions of the year.
Rating: ★★★★ (out of ★★★★★)
Holy Motors screened
in Ottawa as part of the Canadian Film Institute’s European Union Film
Festival.
