Julia Ducorneau's bizarre yet hypnotic Titane begins with bodies subjected to different kinds of violence: the physical violence of a vehicular accident, and later, the violence that sometimes arises from objectification, given by leering men to gyrating models in some sort of car show.
Alexia (Agathe Rouselle) seems to identify with these cars as a result of a childhood accident, and she transforms herself thusly to become one with that image. This transformation, which spans the rest of the film, blurs the distinction between flesh and machine. As Alexia transforms even more, we see that this is a film where the lines between gender disappear as well - a film where gender distinctions exist not in clearly defined orbits, but in the nebulous uncertainty of a cloud of electrons.
The film vacillates from one thing to another as Alexia pursues pleasure after pleasure, but in the second half, the film shifts. Alexia disguises herself as the long lost son of a firefighter (Vincent Lindon) who then takes her in under his wing, believing her deception wholesale. Or does he? While earlier the film is populated with female bodies in the throes of pleasure, pain or death, it is contrasted here with the presence of the masculine bodies of firemen, a predominantly male role in France. Alexia, now Adrien, lies in between these two extremes.
Bodily violence and transformation still exist in this second half. As with Alexia, Vincent inflicts violence upon his own body, injecting what looks to be steroids in order to chase after some sort of ideal masculine image. Alexia and Vincent's actions mirror each other, but what leads to self realization for one may lead to folly in another. Embedded in that desire for a modified self-image is a neediness inherent in both characters: Vincent needs a son as much as Alexia needs a father-figure. In my view, perhaps it is an attempt to convey something about the means with which we view other people, in a way, a different kind of "objectification" - in that to pursue their own desires and meet deep seated needs, the person doing the objectifying makes the object fungible (i.e. replaceable with something else), denies their subjectivity and strips them of agency. Perhaps Vincent does not care that Alexia is not his son, and perhaps Alexia does not care that she is deceiving Vincent - at least not at first. Eventually though, the two come to a strange sort of understanding, continuing to use each other for their own needs because they know of nothing or no one else that can fill the hole in their lives.
Titane is violent, provocative, and definitely not for everyone, but it manages to plumb depths that few other films have managed today.
Styled in the image of a macho action flick straight out of the 1980s, Edwin's adaptation of Eka Kurniawan's Vengeance is Mine, All Others Pay Cash reflects the kind of culture it criticizes: a hypermasculine, patriarchal culture where men speak in tongues of violence.
Ajo (Marthino Lio) is a brawler who covers his own sexual impotence with macho acts. His life turns upside down when he meets bodyguard Iteung (frequent Edwin collaborator Ladya Cheryl). The two fall in love but nothing is ever so simple.
The image of masculinity the characters of this film want to convey contrasts with reality: while the men of the film wallow in their own impotence, the women get things done. His insecurities are balanced by her not giving a damn. That strength of character, at least for Iteung, seems to be a prerequisite of sorts - there is the implication that in a world like this, women have to be tough to survive.
The film flows like freeform jazz, which does make it uneven in some parts. Some sideplots feel like a random segue, a solo of sorts, before going back to the main performance. Ultimately it all leads back to the main character, the nature of his impotence (I won't spoil it), the culture that caused it, and how it ties to the nature of the society he lives in, once ruled by strongmen who fed on that culture.
Chung Mong-hong follows up his 2019 film A Sun with another melodrama about families and the ties that bind them, also with a similar mix of pain and hope. In this case, The Falls explores the myriad ways mental illness shapes and reshapes familial bonds.
The film begins with some clever misdirection, shown through the perspective of Pin-wen (Alyssa Chia), a divorcee raising her daughter alone. The relationship between mother and daughter is strained, exacerbated by the additional stresses of COVID and shared isolation. A blue tarp covers the windows, blocking the sunlight (a motif in Chung's previous film) and drawing shadows between the two. But as the film goes on, we switch to the perspective of Xiao Jing (Gingle Wang), we see cracks that were in plain sight, and we see how their relationship unravels from there. Both Pin-wen and Xiao Jing start from scratch, re-evaluating their relationship and thinking how to live their lives anew. People familiar to a genre may expect things to get dire real fast.
But, like A Sun (and unlike many films of the same genre) the proceedings are far from bleak; the film focuses on the many little ways mother and daughter adapt to their new situation, often for the better. As Xiao Jing and Pin-wen come to terms with their situation, they find a hidden strength that they probably didn't notice before. This character journey is circuitous, and Chung takes his time with these characters; perhaps the film can be faulted for that, but this viewer found the film engrossing all the way through.
And, Chung uses our own stereotypical expectations from melodramas to his advantage in the film's third act. Perhaps the more genre savvy among us would form doubts, expecting a sudden turn to bleakness. This creates a sense of uneasiness and tension as one expects the worst and hopes for the best. Will Pin-wen relapse? Is she now truly well? The answer is that there is no concrete answer; Pin-wen will have to ask herself that question every day for the rest of her life. And that said, one's relative optimism (or cynicism) will affect one's reading of the film's final moments. In times like this, I choose hope.
