If you're a fan of French provocateur Gaspar Noé, the man who made a 3-D porno and the most infamous sexual assault scene in cinematic history, you will probably enjoy Climax.
If you're a fan of relentlessly energetic dance sequences, scenes that essentially take up whole chunks of the movie, you will probably enjoy Climax.
If you enjoy unlikable French people talking about having sex with each other in various ways, often in incredibly graphic detail for inordinate amounts of time, you will probably enjoy Climax.
If you like films that are designed for the sole purpose of putting you through hell, with stylistic flourishes so obvious even a toddler could understand their function, you will probably enjoy Climax.
If none of those things sound like your jam, stay the hell away from this movie.
Never in my life have I been more desperate for a movie to end, and I doubt I'll have a similar experience for a very long time. Perhaps the most shocking part of it all is that, based on everything I had seen and heard, I actually expected to enjoy this without a hint of irony. The teaser trailer that was released at Cannes last year was phenomenal, and the idea of A24 executives being so enamored with the film that they decided to purchase their first international title was massively thrilling. Hell, I even listed Climax as an honorable mention on my most anticipated list for 2019, despite having zero experience with Noé's previous films.
To be fair, in past years I've placed notorious titles such as Tomas Alfredson's The Snowman and Rupert Sanders's Ghost in the Shell on that annual list, but Noé's dance nightmare might be the most severe instance of a discrepancy between what I believed a film would be and the final product. If I see another film in 2019 that is as needlessly cruel, positively pretentious (a term that I have been taught not to use lightly), or downright empty as Climax, I will be shocked to my core. This is not hyperbole, nor is it a matter of me not "getting" what Noé is going for- you can trust that I get it just fine. As many have already noted, Climax is an attempt by a deliberately provocative filmmaker to produce a vision of hell on the big screen, and it is successful in that regard.
But when your vision is so intensely focused on the production of a single effect that all concerns of aesthetic, narrative, and spectator experience are thrown out the window in favor of mind-numbing mania and increasingly nonsensical horror (so many damn canted angles), you have failed as a filmmaker to communicate anything substantial beyond your own capacity for wearing audiences down to nothing. Climax is abhorrent, and I have yet to come across any argument that would change my mind.
Summarizing the plot is basically futile, since Noé essentially stages the film as a series of stylistically singular vignettes before letting all-out insanity reign in the final third. The principal consistency is the cast of characters, a fresh troupe of young dancers who are preparing their latest showcase in an abandoned warehouse. But before any dance can take place, the stage is set with a series of interviews, as the motivations of these characters are slowly teased out. This goes on for about 10 minutes, and before the rest of the film can blow any of this goodwill, the dozens of interviews actually seem like an interesting deferral technique. Noé is testing the audience's engagement right away; plus, the interviews are set up as VHS recordings, surrounded by cassette copies of films like Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salo and Dario Argento's Suspiria. You know, just in case you weren't sure what kind of film you're in for.
From this inconspicuous start, the film moves to a stunning dance number and another series of introductions to the characters. Noé's camera glides through the scene with a rather impressive degree of fluidity and grace, drifting from conversation to conversation without interrupting the flow and the rhythm. So far, Climax is an exercise in outlandish style and nothing else. But it's not bad. It's watchable; hell, maybe even enjoyable.
After watching Noé's moderately amusing technical bravura for about 25 minutes, something pretty serious becomes clear: these characters are all varying degrees of awful. Before I go further, I should establish that everyone at this giant party drank out of a big bowl of sangria, which happens to have been laced with LSD. So, it's a ticking time bomb of sorts- only a matter of time before it all goes terribly wrong. But in the interim, Noé treats us to an extraordinarily lengthy segment where these dancers, all of whom are very stupid and very horny, talk about sex ad nauseum. It's a relentless setpiece where characters in medium close-ups talk about who they want to screw, how they want to do it, who they've already done, and what they plan on doing in the future. Now, I promise I'm not trying to be an uppity prude about this stuff, but there are very few characters here who demonstrate any personality or intellectual capability beyond their next sexual escapade. And one of the more level-headed characters, who happens to be pregnant, is mercilessly assaulted in one of the film's vilest scenes. So, yeah.
See, it's abundantly clear that Noé detests his characters. He knows they're shallow and boring. He knows not a single person in the audience will care about any of them. But for some godforsaken reason, he believes that this, in addition to the pounding, headache-inducing stylistic atmosphere of the film, is somehow an asset. The tedious nature of these characters is exposed over and over and over again, always in some ham-fisted attempt to show how the cruelty of humanity knows no bounds. Everyone is awful and does awful things; euphoria gives way to depravity. The accumulation of these bizarre choices culminates in a fatal miscalculation, although I'm under the impression that Noé knows exactly what he's doing and just doesn't care.
But then again, maybe he's totally clueless? Part of the appeal- or the horror- of a film like this comes from a certain type of immersion, a way of incorporating the viewer into the subjective consciousness of people who are, by all accounts, tripping out of their minds. Despite the cacophonous, dance music-backed chaos of the second half, there is a purposeful disconnect between what the characters are clearly experiencing and what the audience is given access to in the world of the film. For the dancers (I haven't mentioned any cast members or characters, simply because none of them are memorable), this is hell, but for the viewer, it's like being at a party where everyone's drunk and you're sitting in the corner watching it all go downhill.
For all of Noé's philosophical and heady leanings, Climax is the kind of movie that's manufactured to make you audibly groan. By the time the bodies hit the floor, I'm pretty sure I yelled a few obscenities at the screen in my completely empty theater.
This is an excruciating film in every way. Maybe that's the point, but that doesn't mean I have to admire its undeniably preposterous, unsuccessful excesses.
THE FINAL GRADE: D- (1.8/10)
If you're a fan of relentlessly energetic dance sequences, scenes that essentially take up whole chunks of the movie, you will probably enjoy Climax.
If you enjoy unlikable French people talking about having sex with each other in various ways, often in incredibly graphic detail for inordinate amounts of time, you will probably enjoy Climax.
If you like films that are designed for the sole purpose of putting you through hell, with stylistic flourishes so obvious even a toddler could understand their function, you will probably enjoy Climax.
If none of those things sound like your jam, stay the hell away from this movie.
Never in my life have I been more desperate for a movie to end, and I doubt I'll have a similar experience for a very long time. Perhaps the most shocking part of it all is that, based on everything I had seen and heard, I actually expected to enjoy this without a hint of irony. The teaser trailer that was released at Cannes last year was phenomenal, and the idea of A24 executives being so enamored with the film that they decided to purchase their first international title was massively thrilling. Hell, I even listed Climax as an honorable mention on my most anticipated list for 2019, despite having zero experience with Noé's previous films.
To be fair, in past years I've placed notorious titles such as Tomas Alfredson's The Snowman and Rupert Sanders's Ghost in the Shell on that annual list, but Noé's dance nightmare might be the most severe instance of a discrepancy between what I believed a film would be and the final product. If I see another film in 2019 that is as needlessly cruel, positively pretentious (a term that I have been taught not to use lightly), or downright empty as Climax, I will be shocked to my core. This is not hyperbole, nor is it a matter of me not "getting" what Noé is going for- you can trust that I get it just fine. As many have already noted, Climax is an attempt by a deliberately provocative filmmaker to produce a vision of hell on the big screen, and it is successful in that regard.
But when your vision is so intensely focused on the production of a single effect that all concerns of aesthetic, narrative, and spectator experience are thrown out the window in favor of mind-numbing mania and increasingly nonsensical horror (so many damn canted angles), you have failed as a filmmaker to communicate anything substantial beyond your own capacity for wearing audiences down to nothing. Climax is abhorrent, and I have yet to come across any argument that would change my mind.
Summarizing the plot is basically futile, since Noé essentially stages the film as a series of stylistically singular vignettes before letting all-out insanity reign in the final third. The principal consistency is the cast of characters, a fresh troupe of young dancers who are preparing their latest showcase in an abandoned warehouse. But before any dance can take place, the stage is set with a series of interviews, as the motivations of these characters are slowly teased out. This goes on for about 10 minutes, and before the rest of the film can blow any of this goodwill, the dozens of interviews actually seem like an interesting deferral technique. Noé is testing the audience's engagement right away; plus, the interviews are set up as VHS recordings, surrounded by cassette copies of films like Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salo and Dario Argento's Suspiria. You know, just in case you weren't sure what kind of film you're in for.
From this inconspicuous start, the film moves to a stunning dance number and another series of introductions to the characters. Noé's camera glides through the scene with a rather impressive degree of fluidity and grace, drifting from conversation to conversation without interrupting the flow and the rhythm. So far, Climax is an exercise in outlandish style and nothing else. But it's not bad. It's watchable; hell, maybe even enjoyable.
After watching Noé's moderately amusing technical bravura for about 25 minutes, something pretty serious becomes clear: these characters are all varying degrees of awful. Before I go further, I should establish that everyone at this giant party drank out of a big bowl of sangria, which happens to have been laced with LSD. So, it's a ticking time bomb of sorts- only a matter of time before it all goes terribly wrong. But in the interim, Noé treats us to an extraordinarily lengthy segment where these dancers, all of whom are very stupid and very horny, talk about sex ad nauseum. It's a relentless setpiece where characters in medium close-ups talk about who they want to screw, how they want to do it, who they've already done, and what they plan on doing in the future. Now, I promise I'm not trying to be an uppity prude about this stuff, but there are very few characters here who demonstrate any personality or intellectual capability beyond their next sexual escapade. And one of the more level-headed characters, who happens to be pregnant, is mercilessly assaulted in one of the film's vilest scenes. So, yeah.
See, it's abundantly clear that Noé detests his characters. He knows they're shallow and boring. He knows not a single person in the audience will care about any of them. But for some godforsaken reason, he believes that this, in addition to the pounding, headache-inducing stylistic atmosphere of the film, is somehow an asset. The tedious nature of these characters is exposed over and over and over again, always in some ham-fisted attempt to show how the cruelty of humanity knows no bounds. Everyone is awful and does awful things; euphoria gives way to depravity. The accumulation of these bizarre choices culminates in a fatal miscalculation, although I'm under the impression that Noé knows exactly what he's doing and just doesn't care.
But then again, maybe he's totally clueless? Part of the appeal- or the horror- of a film like this comes from a certain type of immersion, a way of incorporating the viewer into the subjective consciousness of people who are, by all accounts, tripping out of their minds. Despite the cacophonous, dance music-backed chaos of the second half, there is a purposeful disconnect between what the characters are clearly experiencing and what the audience is given access to in the world of the film. For the dancers (I haven't mentioned any cast members or characters, simply because none of them are memorable), this is hell, but for the viewer, it's like being at a party where everyone's drunk and you're sitting in the corner watching it all go downhill.
For all of Noé's philosophical and heady leanings, Climax is the kind of movie that's manufactured to make you audibly groan. By the time the bodies hit the floor, I'm pretty sure I yelled a few obscenities at the screen in my completely empty theater.
This is an excruciating film in every way. Maybe that's the point, but that doesn't mean I have to admire its undeniably preposterous, unsuccessful excesses.
THE FINAL GRADE: D- (1.8/10)
Comments
Post a Comment