Subway (1985, Dir. Luc Besson)
Synopsis:
Safecracker, Fred (Christopher Lambert) takes refuge amongst the assorted characters living a subterranean existence in the tunnels and passageways of the Paris Metro, after stealing some papers belonging to the husband of rich trophy wife, Helena (Isabelle Adjani). He befriends a group of musicians, an enigmatic florist (Richard Bohringer) and a roller-skating purse snatcher (Jean-Hughes Anglade); who is wanted by the Metro police, led by Commissaire Gesberg (Michel Galabru). However, with both the police and the security goons of Helena’s husband closing in, can Fred trust any of them or Helena?
Sometimes one image is all it takes to spark one’s interest in a film. When I began reading Empire magazine as a teenager at the beginning of the 90s, Palace Pictures placed full page adverts for a line of arthouse films they were releasing on home video. With their eye-catching, stylish, yet minimalist covers, this range of films would prove to be my initial introduction to Blood Simple, Down By Law, Paris, Texas, Drowning By Numbers, The Enigma Of Kaspar Hauser and Diva as well as this film, with it’s cover painting of a bleach-blonde Christopher Lambert, in a tux, holding a florescent light like a light saber.
I mention this because, on the surface, this film is all about visuals and it was the visuals that stuck in my mind after my first viewing, aged about 13 or 14, a few months after I saw the ad, when it was shown on Channel 4 late one night: The terrified “heavy” throwing up all over the steps to the Metro after the opening car chase; the deserted empty tunnels that Fred explores on his first night locked into the Subway; “Big Bill”, the bodybuilder, using old train stock as weights; the stunningly beautiful Isabelle Adjani lying awake on her bed, still in her party dress with her cool (though slightly ridiculous) spiky 80s hairstyle and Adjani and Lambert dancing to a ghetto blaster in the deserted ticket hall.
I remembered all this, though nothing about the plot — which is fair enough, as the plot as largely irrelevant: a frame on which to hang a set of interesting characters and a few stunning set pieces. The dialogue is almost ‘Pinteresque’ — the relationships between the characters, particularly their pasts, are rarely more than hinted at — and it’s tone is all over the place: is it a thriller? (yes, some of it is) Is it a comedy? (there are some genuinely funny moments — like the scenes with the station’s Columbo-like Police Inspector or the horrible dinner party Adjani attends with her boorish husband) Is it a sort of musical? (Many scenes are explicitly choreographed to Eric Serra’s funky score, plus the sub-plot of the musicians, including Serra himself as the bassist and a young Jean Reno as a drummer, who hang around the station and who Fred decides to produce the concert of).
Those of you who liked Fifth Element with its rather wayward veering between Sci-Fi spectacle, slapstick and music video, will feel right at home here. That’s part of what makes this film so special: nobody else but the French and particularly Luc Besson would be able to “pull off” putting such seemingly disparate elements in the same film.
Whilst the film is clearly one of those exercises in “mood”, best enjoyed late at night at that point where watching strange films seems like the coolest thing in the world; there are some great performances here: I could never really understand what the world saw in Christopher Lambert: his performances in films like Highlander and Greystoke were wooden and uncharismatic (the worst thing you can be as a leading man); but the role of Fred must be close to his best screen performance. He’s clearly deranged but there’s also a child-like sweetness to him and for once, you get some sense as to why he became a star. At least, acting in his native language here, means we don’t have to endure his torturous attempts at speaking English.
Adjani’s role gets more interesting as the film progresses. Her character oscillates between an aloof, rich beauty and a spoilt brat, mostly. It’s the scene in which she confronts her controlling husband and starts crying that is the really interesting one, however. It’s the sole moment in the film (apart from at the end) where her facade cracks and you see how unhappy her character truly is with her life and why she’s so drawn to the unstable Fred.
Besson regular, Jean-Hughes Anglade has some amusing scenes as “The Roller” as do Jean-Pierre Bacri and Jean-Claude Legas as the inept pair of Policemen, mockingly nicknamed “Batman” and “Robin”. However, my favorite character in the film is the Police Commissaire, played with Walter Matthau-Like grouchiness by Michel Galabru. His world-weary exasperation with all and sundry is just a joy to watch.
In many ways, it’s the performances that are the film’s saving grace. For despite the presence of two big stars (in France anyway) this still feels, ultimately, like an ensemble picture. The idea of an ensemble narrative dominated by one or two main characters is something the French have always done exceptionally well, whether in Literature, Theatre or Film and, somehow, their idea of an ensemble film often seems more natural and well-rounded than the often showy (and often downright gimmicky) American equivalent. This ultimately is the reason to revisit this film: because its “substance” (the characters and the performances) cannot be totally overridden by the “style”.
