Quand on a que l’amour — Richard Ayoade’s Submarine
From the mind of debutant filmmaker Richard Ayoade comes Submarine, the tale of Oliver Tate, a neurotic 15 year old boy with a penchant for the Nouvelle Vague. Set on the less than idyllic shores of Barry Island Submarine sees Oliver “coming of age”, as he falls in love for the first time, watches his parents marriage fall apart and attempts to figure out exactly what his place in the universe is.
The standard by-line for many coming-of-age dramas usually revolves around familial ties. Richard Ayoade’s Submarine is no different, with the surprisingly intricate (from a content and emotional point of view) plot built around Oliver’s relationship with his parents, Oliver’s relationship with Jordana, and Jordana’s relationship with her parents (further extended to include Oliver’s relationship with Jordana AND her parents). The anti-romance attitude sported by Jordana, which sees the pair take a date in an industrial park, is informed by the precedent set within their own lives, or at least from an aspired towards precedent that may or may not be true. It’s within these instances that we are reminded of the youthful nature of the pair, the joys of youth as it were. For all its mawkishness and bitterness Submarine is a celebration of youth, of naivety and of what it means to not be fully developed.
Ayoade exhibits a great understanding of the mechanics of film. His use of stylistic technique, while hugely referential is never smug. The film is a celestial experience for the most part, with Oliver a hyper-priveleged figure within the narrative structure of the work, and stylistically the film follows that line of thought. Super 8 footage pops up when Oliver reminisces, and iris shots punctuate especially significant moments for the narrator, seemingly being summoned and willed on by him. Oliver controls the film, in turn allowing Ayoade to dissect the very form of cinema, without once, miraculously, feeling contrived. Ayoade’s script, adapted from the novel by Joe Dunthorne is note-perfect. In one particularly memorable exchange, Oliver’s dad compares his depressed state as akin to being trapped underwater, only for Oliver to respond with pitch perfect timing “Is that why you became a marine biologist?”.
Craig Roberts leads a solid line up of performances. Recalling the wide-eyed Bud Cort, Roberts narrates and features in almost every sequence of the film. Fellow newcomer Yasmin Page reminds of a young Gemma Arterton, although with a quirk thus far unseen from the older actress. Noah Taylor is a second tier highlight, as the manic depressive father, and warning vision of Oliver Tate, with Sally Hawkins impressive as Oliver’s mother. Rounding out the core cast is Paddy Considine, as Graham, the childhood sweetheart of Oliver’s mother turned hokey community hall psychic. It’s often forgotten just how great a comedian Considine is.
The film is packed with references to the Nouvelle Vague and the French cinema of the 1960’s. From the opening titles, a mixture of colours and specific spacing ala Jean-Luc Godard, to Jordana’s bob cut, recalling Anna Karina, as well as an even earlier icon of French cinema, and perhaps the ultimate femme fetale, Irma Vep (from Louis Feuillade’s Les Vampires (1915). Posters of Melville’s La Samourai and Le Cercle Rouge adorn the walls of Oliver’s bedroom, as does a painting of a scene from Rohmer’s My Night At Mauds, and a score heavily reminiscent of Georges Delerue fills the air. Elsewhere on the soundtrack, and breaking from the Gallic strand somewhat, we have original music from Alex Turner, recalling Cat Stevens work on Ashby’s Harold And Maude, and Simon & Garfunkel’s score to that most notable of coming of age flicks, The Graduate. Both films inform the visual tone of the film too, not just the audio tracks (both films were produced in the wake of the Nouvelle Vague too though). Narratively the film recalls Bandé Apart, with the bond-through-mischief plotline running clear through both pictures. Many films and filmmakers have previously fallen at the first hurdle when it comes to mimicing the very particular style of the Nouvelle Vague (the legions of Wes Anderson imitators out there are proof of this), but Submarine does genuinely pull it off.
Ultimately, the film does play out like the most sincere and legitimate English language tribute to the work of François Truffaut seen in recent memory. Not only does Truffaut’s Baisers Voles provide the clearest stylistic influence behind the film, but Submarine’s key location of Barry Island beach makes the perfect stand-in for the iconic location of the final moments of The 400 Blows, with that location in itself providing enough subtext to fill a small island. Of course the Antoine Doinel Cycle is one of the definitive cinematic coming-of-age sagas, with the sprawling, decade long story of Truffaut’s best known character one of the great feats of the cinema.
A Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World for that very particular subgenre of society that grew up taking girls to see Dreyer flicks for dates (this reviewer once did; it worked out fine, I married the girl), and with Eric Rohmer paintings above their beds, Submarine is an utter joy, and comes highly recommended.
