4 August 2016
Chevalier
A film by Athina Rachel Tsangari
Reviewed by J.R.Thomas
If you are hoping to make a big rating soap opera for TV, what you firstly need is a central and defining setting – a Coronation Street or a Downton Abbey. And if what you are about is more ambitious, say a tightly plotted mystery thriller, than you also need your setting carefully bounded – Sherlock Holmes on Exmoor searching for Silver Blaze, James Stewart wheelchair-bound looking through Rear Window, Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express trapped in a massive snowdrift. So if you are a Greek film maker with an urge for a satirical examination of male rituals melded with a soupcon of class struggle, then it is essential to catch your prey and examine them in a close, uncomfortably close, trap, from which there is no escape.
Athina Rachel Tsangari has found the perfect trap in which to deploy her camera and microphones for her new film, Chevalier. Nine men are sailing amongst the Greek islands on a largish and luxurious yacht. It is clear from the outset that Ms Tsangari was not sponsored in her film making by the Greek Tourist Board. Her skies are nearly all grey and grim, the sun only emerging in the evening to set brief fiery light to the decks of the yacht; the sea is, as the skipper says “disturbed to partially disturbed back to disturbed”; the yacht endlessly creaks and groans. It is never entirely clear what the men are doing there – three of them are crew, the other six are the lessee, a distinguished doctor, and his guests, and the doctor is definitely in charge. They all know each other, though in a couple of cases not very well. As the film meanders bumpily across the waves, the relationships start to fray; the omnipotent doctor begins to stumble, the simpleton who lives with his mother turns out to have hidden depths, the ageing business partners compare genital….ah… functionality and lie about their age. Their age, not that of the aforesaid genitals, though they are presumably of the same vintage.
Your correspondent has been fortunate enough to spend a little time on a large yacht. This film captures that strange atmosphere well; not least the feeling that one ought to be enjoying oneself but perhaps, deep down, hidden even from oneself and never to be revealed to generous yacht chartering hosts, that it is just a trifle boring to drift around in a plastic boarding house, however luxurious. Certainly, early in Chevalier it is obvious that the men are bored – though in which case why do they not simply go home? Because there would be no film, no tension, no opportunity for the film maker to riff on male vanity and weakness, is the answer.
Our heroes, having exhausted the possibilities of scuba diving and spear fishing, and rejected playing cards, devise a series of informal tests to see who is “the best, in general”. This develops another well used story telling device, the rich forgetting that the servants are listening, and watching. As the crew are, and do.
“The best, in general” can mean anything and becomes increasingly personal – hence the appearance of genitals, assessment of sleeping styles, and the doctor, gaining perhaps an unfair advantage by performing detailed medical assessments of each contestant – a scene strangely reminiscent of Laurence Olivier as the ex-Nazi dentist probing Dustin Hoffman’s teeth in Marathon Man. The male urge to win, and to win anything and everything at all times, is explored without mercy, as is male exaggeration, weakness, and narcissism. Except, except, and of course special pleading here (your correspondent being male) are men really so vain and fragile? Your correspondent cannot ever recall discussing with another man whether his hair looks nice; and indeed one is generally happy, oneself, for it to be a mess. But maybe Greek men are different, or is it that yacht riding men are, or is it rich men who have such foibles?
Quiet but effective is the delineation of class and position which the film points up. The crew are correct and mildly subservient, but also observant and professional. They capture that modern idiom of good service which says “I am your equal – but I know you pay my salary”. Among the six friends the layering is much more subtle; each has an ordained place in some mysterious hierarchy, with the doctor unquestionably at the top. Yet, like all dictatorships, however benign or monstrous, holding onto power is not that easy; changes of wind can undermine the illusion all too readily. And it is the crew that realise that first; closely watching, yet distant enough to detect the eroding foundations
This film is beautifully photographed – no special effects but wonderful use of the viewfinder. The opening scene, as the men crawl from the sea after diving, assessing the size of each other’s fish, shedding their wetsuits, is startling, beautiful, and funny. The claustrophobia and lack of privacy afloat are subtly captured. The acting is excellent; indeed one forgets at times that this is fiction and not some gritty reality documentary. That surely must be the mark of good acting – that you don’t notice there is any acting going on. What is not so good is the sub-titling – not unreasonably this Greek directed and produced movie filmed in Greek waters with Greek actors has Greek dialogue. Fine indeed, but for a film of merit – which it is – the subtitles really should be better, more subtle, clarifying rather than distracting. Subtitling is difficult to get right, but the film is not going to work for foreign language audiences unless it is right, so it is surely worth putting some effort in.
This is not a “must-see” film, though it is a very good film. It is a carefully and compellingly made movie (inadequate subtitles apart), with a slowly developing sense of humour, and it is rightly winning prizes and is nominated for more. To male viewers it may produce startling insights; women will no doubt say it confirms what they already knew. It is certainly not a must-see film if you are soon off to the Med to a chartered yacht, with a bunch of hairy mates. Perhaps in those circumstances arrange to see it after your return.
What is a “must see” film though, is about to open. This is the very welcome return of Barry Lyndon, remastered by modern technology, story by William Makepeace Thackeray, movie by Stanley Kubrick, based on the real and appalling life of Mary Bowes, Countess of Strathmore. First released in 1975 after a painful gestation via Kubrick’s perfectionism, which included filming the entire (more than three hours long) movie by natural light for exteriors and by candlelight for the stunning interior scenes, it is without doubt one of the best films ever made, the finest of cinematography blending with Kubrick’s love of classical music and performed for you by a wonderful cast, led by Marisa Berenson and Ryan O’Neal, at the very top of their form.
Yes, you can see it on your TV via video, but Kubrick was making this magnum opus for the latest in big screen and sound technology and you are letting him down, the world of cinema down, and most of all yourself down, if you do not go and see it there. Truly not to be missed, and you will not want to return to the twenty first century when it ends.
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Chevalier and Barry Lyndon are showing at the National Film Theatre, Waterloo Bridge; and other UK locations for a limited period. Many thanks to Chris Allsop who suggested Chevalier to me.
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