L’IMMORTELLE (1963) Blu-Ray Review: the Surrealist Sensuality of Alain Robbe-Grillet
Much like David Cronenberg, Alain Robbe-Grillet came from a background that did not necessarily lend itself to filmmaking. Only where his Canadian successor would develop his own interest in science and celluloid, the French director was born into a family of engineers and thinkers (as opposed to Cronenberg’s parents, a pairing of a musician and writer). Casting away his pragmatic DNA, Robbe-Grillet began his writing career as a novelist before entering the film world with the screenplay to Alain Resnais’ 1961 masterwork, Last Year in Marienbad. However, one sitting with any of Robbe-Grillet’s films will reveal a visual artist not meant to be tethered to a keyboard. Even Resnais himself (when talking about Marienbad) would later say that Robbe-Grillet “delivered a screenplay so detailed, down to indications of soundtrack and camera movement, that [he] confessed to feeling like a mere ‘robot’ in the first weeks of shooting.” While L’Immortelle [1963] is hardly Robbe-Grillet’s best work (that honor arguably goes to Eden and After [1970]), it may be the most accessible entry point into the sensual filmography of one of France’s most under-lauded auteurs; an evocative, hypnotic feast of flowing bodies of water and naked flesh.
Unfolding in a fragmented, almost elliptical fashion, Robbe-Grillet places us squarely in the shoes of a possibly noble watcher (Jacques Doniol-Valcroze), new to Istanbul and looking to find a connection with anyone who will let him. The setup is downright Hitchcockian, as he meets a beautiful woman (Françoise Brion) after viewing her from afar, hoping that she can relieve his aching loneliness. It’s a somewhat inexplicable, whirlwind romance (much like De Palma, who I’d venture to guess is a fan, narrative was never of primary importance to Robbe-Grillet), cut short after the woman vanishes into thin air, the surrounding townsfolk all claiming to have never heard of such a beautiful creature. Feeling like a pawn in some unwritten, paranoid Kafka tale, the watcher begins to come apart at the seams until the woman suddenly reappears, only to die in a car accident before she’s able to explain her absence. Guilt begins to hook its claws into the man’s soul, as he attempts to reconcile the fact that inserting himself into the woman’s life may have very well contributed to her ultimate demise.
Robbe-Grillet works overtime to disorient the audience. Scenes repeat, but with different players. A child is reflected in two places at once (and the man witnessing this vision is completely unfazed). A ghastly gangster’s two barking dogs are randomly dropped into the soundtrack’s mix. An antiques dealer from whom the watcher purchases a rare figurine assures him that the exact piece that has reappeared in the shop’s window absolutely cannot be the same one. Like Marienbad, background extras will suddenly stop and remain eerily still, like flesh-suited pieces on a massive chess board. Capturing it all is Maurice Barry, whose photography is so sumptuous and starkly contrasted, that it all feels like some hazy daydream you had a year ago, yet can’t exactly remember if it ever amounted to anything at all. To be honest, the sum may be far less than the parts, but the way in which Robbe-Grillet assembles the picture (along with Bob Wade, whose early “shutter” edits are just incredible) is far more enjoyable than caring whether or not the narrative mathematics add up. It’s a rejection of the linear or easily explained that defines the journey of L’Immortelle, and ultimately makes it so utterly fascinating.
This disc may strike some as an anomaly in the Redemption Films catalogue. While the obvious point of reference for most genre fans familiar with the Euro-sleaze centered label will be the vampiric eroticism of Jean Rollin (whose work has found itself the subject of some of the company’s marquee releases), L’Immortelle has the trappings of a mystery steeped in arty softcore and missing the splashes of crimson. For most American viewers, Robbe-Grillet’s picture will feel very much like a foreign episode of The Twilight Zone, building in suspense as our unnamed observer is sucked deeper into the stark, surrealistic world. It’s a gorgeous reminder that horror can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with even the headiest art-house fare, its umbrella big enough to encompass such a phantasmagorical work of eroticism. Hopefully, with this higher profile release, the cult of Alain Robbe-Grillet will continue to grow, as adventurous cinephiles and Kino Lorber loyals alike finally have the chance to be beguiled by the director’s uniquely unclassifiable vision.
- 32 minute Interview with Alain Robbe-Grillet
- Three Trailers for Other Films by Alain Robbe-Grillet (Eden & After, The Man Who Lies, Trans-Europ-Express)
- Redemption 2014 Promo Short
L’Immortelle is available on blu-ray and DVD April 1 from Redemption/Kino Lorber.
