(originally published in the SCENE newspaper-June 2009)
Release comes on strong in the world of 'Martyrs'. It comes via a succession of moist, life-claiming shotgun blasts that reduce an upper crust family to pulp. It comes also care some merciless self mutilation administered by both sharp objects and handy head to wall application. Said release has been brewing steadily and proves tragically overdue for a poor, damaged soul named Lucie (Mylène Jampanoï) who has served out an inexplicable sentence as the subject of curious experimental abuse early on in her life. Escape and prolonged rehabilitation have done little more then fade the extremity of her external wounds. Deeper in, things have merely festered to a homicidal apex. This brings an adult Lucie to enact a methodical and graphically detrimental home invasion on the aforementioned family unit. She is convinced of their role in her past trials and seeks savage revenge to both even the score and ease the clinging burden of one particularly vivid personal demon.
Paired with this troubled creature on her hellish stab at some piece of mind is the more controlled Anna (Morjana Alaoui) who swiftly befriended Lucie while both were undergoing treatment for their separate abuses (Anna's past is only touched on during a brief telephone conversation with her mother). Anna questions Lucie's vengeful methodology yet does little to intervene and even sets about mopping up the bloody after-effects. Anna also dotes on Lucie to little avail, as the girl proves too far gone into some sort of nihilistic rapture at the conclusion of her killing spree and her actions only serve to pave the way for a whole new level of twisted revelation and, ultimately, a sinister passing of the torch that gives base to the film's title.
In lieu of divulging too many plot points and ideas that would rightly be tagged 'spoilers', I will instead pay focus on the significance of the film both as a technical achievement and, ever better, as a potent work or sheer (albeit painful) art. 'Martyrs' is the brainchild of upstart French auteur in waiting, Pascal Laugier, a man who toiled at behind the scenes DVD fodder for fellow countryman Christophe Gans. Gans, in turn, served as producer on Laugier's maiden feature, 'House of Voices', giving the man a shot at visual distinction. 'House of Voices' plays on the Gothic mood and tone of the whole haunted locale/ghost story routine. It is brooding and stylish with atmosphere to spare and it details its specter scenario in an abandoned orphanage setting that prefigures Juan Antonio Bayona's much praised 'El Orfanato' by several years. What one does not gather from this debut, however, is the sharp contrast the director's sights would take in his second work.
I shall come back to this point in a moment.
Origins (in brief)
For the past several years, the horror genre has seen a gradual rekindling in the country of France. A place best known for its 'new wave' phenomenon back in the day that catapulted the careers of Jean-Luc Godard, Francois Truffaut and Claude Chabrol among others, France has held its film industry largely vacant on a substantial horror movement until recently. With the notable exception of entries like Georges Franju's 'Eyes Without a Face' in 1960 and some assorted low brow product from the far more exploitative Jean Rollin (i.e. 'Rape of the Vampire') horror films have remained a sad minority in the realm of French cinema.
From the tender early age of cinema, French film makers have been dabbling in horrific themes and imagery. Iconic directorial forefather Georges Méliès is said to have crafted the first ever horror film with the three minute short 'The House of the Devil' which he unveiled on Christmas Eve, 1896. The film's parade of bats, ghosts and wretched deities is often credited as one of the key seeds of influence that would go on to nurture the modern horror film. It is with such an example that one begins to recognize the groundbreaking tendencies that would inevitably reemerge on and on through the years. Such tendencies have never been more preeminent then they are here, in the 21st Century.
Beginning with a few modest art house fillers like 'With a Friend Like Harry...' the French slowly gained momentum genre wise completing an initial crescendo with the wacky international mini-blockbuster 'Brotherhood of the Wolf' in early 2001. The real uber-horror antics kicked in fully after the arrival of Alexandre Aja's 'High Tension' (aka-'Switchblade Romance') which ushered in the 'can you top this shit?' attitude toward depicting explicit acts of violent behavior geared specifically toward upstaging the lagging, sanitized direction frequently being taken by American horror films. Since its release (and mostly home video generated success), many other noteworthy pictures have followed suit. Tantalizing morsels like 'Them', 'Frontier(s)' and the deliciously excessive pregnant lady under siege shocker 'Inside' give their envelope pushing best in terms of form, content and the tossing about of splashy, all-out gore (with the substantial exception of 'Them' which feeds more off the creepy nature of its primary threat element in order to work at a viewer's psyche). Even the art house crowd proved subject to such ante-upping in the form of more class act meditations like 'Irreversible' and 'Calvaire', both driven by unsparing set pieces. Most of these films have built up audiences from across the globe and many of their creators have graduated to the sinful artistic vacuum known as Hollywood. But behind them back in Frenchy Land, they keep crawling out of the woodwork.
Which brings me right back around to this nasty thing called 'Martyrs'. What Pascal Laugier and co. have done here is create one of those rarefied works in which the element of horror is not based around stand alone, gore for gore's sake set pieces and a cast of simpleton caricatures just begging for hyper-stylized mutilation. By contrast, this film generates a genuine level of dread and uneasiness in regards to its protagonists and their plight. In part this is due to the performances delivered by the two leads. I find myself returning time and again to that pivotal home invasion sequence and the sheer velocity of the crippled emotional state actress Mylène Jampanoï is able to convey though out the course of her malicious agenda. The wealth of her internal torment helps to thicken the tone of the sequence and levels away any potential for a knee-jerk response to what transpires on screen.
This whole section of the film is what cemented its place in my mind along side such limited company as 'Henry-Portrait of a Serial Killer' and DIY maven Jim Van Bebber's trippy-bleak magnum opus 'The Manson Family'. It is films such as these that treat dark, horrific ideas with a level of reverence in regards to the fact that, yes themes and concepts such as those addressed in these films are often very tough going for an audience, but that in no way discounts the fact that they deserve to be explored for all their merit (whatever that merit may be) with out the handicapping of main-steam constraints. I was most impacted by this film's stern refusal to cop-out at any point along the way and when it progressed into an even more difficult second half it revealed itself to be alternately frustrating, pulverizing and achingly poetic. It may sound a touch odd to think like this but, I often found numerous elements of 'Martyrs' to be strangely beautiful (especially on repeat viewings, after any initial surprise is depleted). The technical aspects employed here are largely impeccable, particularly as it is a fairly low budget project. Laugier's direction is steadfast and complete, he rarely misses the mark (this is not to give the notion that the film is without flaws, yet what few there are tend to fall under the distinction of 'spoilers' and, as mentioned earlier, it behooves me not to touch on such things) and often times he manages to populate the screen with images that are destined to linger long and potently in the mind. The harsh violence thrives on the screen in great measure due to the superior effects work shepherded by a gifted technician named Benoit Lestang, a gentleman whose real life demons got the best of him as he took his own life shortly after the film wrapped. Pity.
Another thing that impressed me about this picture (and there are many things) is the method in which it utilizes its leads, not as the atypical 'hot chicks in peril', but as strong, organic presences who feed the drama with an energy that is realistic and immensely engrossing. To their credit, in the real world, both actresses are physically stunning works of human art (especially Jampanoï) but the film cares not how fine they are and that works wonders in the story's favor. This is no feather weight masturbatory parable involving nice pairs of breasts on the run from some malevolent machete. This is raw shit people, prone to divide and conquer and audience. This movie isn't here to help you pass the time nor get you laid on the first date.
This movie doesn't like you very much.
Either you can accept this, or retreat back to the comfort zone of whatever numbing mid-eighties dreck they've remade and poured neatly into your local cineplex. I'm sure it will be easier to swallow.
Release comes on strong in the world of 'Martyrs'. It comes via a succession of moist, life-claiming shotgun blasts that reduce an upper crust family to pulp. It comes also care some merciless self mutilation administered by both sharp objects and handy head to wall application. Said release has been brewing steadily and proves tragically overdue for a poor, damaged soul named Lucie (Mylène Jampanoï) who has served out an inexplicable sentence as the subject of curious experimental abuse early on in her life. Escape and prolonged rehabilitation have done little more then fade the extremity of her external wounds. Deeper in, things have merely festered to a homicidal apex. This brings an adult Lucie to enact a methodical and graphically detrimental home invasion on the aforementioned family unit. She is convinced of their role in her past trials and seeks savage revenge to both even the score and ease the clinging burden of one particularly vivid personal demon.
Paired with this troubled creature on her hellish stab at some piece of mind is the more controlled Anna (Morjana Alaoui) who swiftly befriended Lucie while both were undergoing treatment for their separate abuses (Anna's past is only touched on during a brief telephone conversation with her mother). Anna questions Lucie's vengeful methodology yet does little to intervene and even sets about mopping up the bloody after-effects. Anna also dotes on Lucie to little avail, as the girl proves too far gone into some sort of nihilistic rapture at the conclusion of her killing spree and her actions only serve to pave the way for a whole new level of twisted revelation and, ultimately, a sinister passing of the torch that gives base to the film's title.
In lieu of divulging too many plot points and ideas that would rightly be tagged 'spoilers', I will instead pay focus on the significance of the film both as a technical achievement and, ever better, as a potent work or sheer (albeit painful) art. 'Martyrs' is the brainchild of upstart French auteur in waiting, Pascal Laugier, a man who toiled at behind the scenes DVD fodder for fellow countryman Christophe Gans. Gans, in turn, served as producer on Laugier's maiden feature, 'House of Voices', giving the man a shot at visual distinction. 'House of Voices' plays on the Gothic mood and tone of the whole haunted locale/ghost story routine. It is brooding and stylish with atmosphere to spare and it details its specter scenario in an abandoned orphanage setting that prefigures Juan Antonio Bayona's much praised 'El Orfanato' by several years. What one does not gather from this debut, however, is the sharp contrast the director's sights would take in his second work.
I shall come back to this point in a moment.
Origins (in brief)
For the past several years, the horror genre has seen a gradual rekindling in the country of France. A place best known for its 'new wave' phenomenon back in the day that catapulted the careers of Jean-Luc Godard, Francois Truffaut and Claude Chabrol among others, France has held its film industry largely vacant on a substantial horror movement until recently. With the notable exception of entries like Georges Franju's 'Eyes Without a Face' in 1960 and some assorted low brow product from the far more exploitative Jean Rollin (i.e. 'Rape of the Vampire') horror films have remained a sad minority in the realm of French cinema.
From the tender early age of cinema, French film makers have been dabbling in horrific themes and imagery. Iconic directorial forefather Georges Méliès is said to have crafted the first ever horror film with the three minute short 'The House of the Devil' which he unveiled on Christmas Eve, 1896. The film's parade of bats, ghosts and wretched deities is often credited as one of the key seeds of influence that would go on to nurture the modern horror film. It is with such an example that one begins to recognize the groundbreaking tendencies that would inevitably reemerge on and on through the years. Such tendencies have never been more preeminent then they are here, in the 21st Century.
Beginning with a few modest art house fillers like 'With a Friend Like Harry...' the French slowly gained momentum genre wise completing an initial crescendo with the wacky international mini-blockbuster 'Brotherhood of the Wolf' in early 2001. The real uber-horror antics kicked in fully after the arrival of Alexandre Aja's 'High Tension' (aka-'Switchblade Romance') which ushered in the 'can you top this shit?' attitude toward depicting explicit acts of violent behavior geared specifically toward upstaging the lagging, sanitized direction frequently being taken by American horror films. Since its release (and mostly home video generated success), many other noteworthy pictures have followed suit. Tantalizing morsels like 'Them', 'Frontier(s)' and the deliciously excessive pregnant lady under siege shocker 'Inside' give their envelope pushing best in terms of form, content and the tossing about of splashy, all-out gore (with the substantial exception of 'Them' which feeds more off the creepy nature of its primary threat element in order to work at a viewer's psyche). Even the art house crowd proved subject to such ante-upping in the form of more class act meditations like 'Irreversible' and 'Calvaire', both driven by unsparing set pieces. Most of these films have built up audiences from across the globe and many of their creators have graduated to the sinful artistic vacuum known as Hollywood. But behind them back in Frenchy Land, they keep crawling out of the woodwork.
Which brings me right back around to this nasty thing called 'Martyrs'. What Pascal Laugier and co. have done here is create one of those rarefied works in which the element of horror is not based around stand alone, gore for gore's sake set pieces and a cast of simpleton caricatures just begging for hyper-stylized mutilation. By contrast, this film generates a genuine level of dread and uneasiness in regards to its protagonists and their plight. In part this is due to the performances delivered by the two leads. I find myself returning time and again to that pivotal home invasion sequence and the sheer velocity of the crippled emotional state actress Mylène Jampanoï is able to convey though out the course of her malicious agenda. The wealth of her internal torment helps to thicken the tone of the sequence and levels away any potential for a knee-jerk response to what transpires on screen.
This whole section of the film is what cemented its place in my mind along side such limited company as 'Henry-Portrait of a Serial Killer' and DIY maven Jim Van Bebber's trippy-bleak magnum opus 'The Manson Family'. It is films such as these that treat dark, horrific ideas with a level of reverence in regards to the fact that, yes themes and concepts such as those addressed in these films are often very tough going for an audience, but that in no way discounts the fact that they deserve to be explored for all their merit (whatever that merit may be) with out the handicapping of main-steam constraints. I was most impacted by this film's stern refusal to cop-out at any point along the way and when it progressed into an even more difficult second half it revealed itself to be alternately frustrating, pulverizing and achingly poetic. It may sound a touch odd to think like this but, I often found numerous elements of 'Martyrs' to be strangely beautiful (especially on repeat viewings, after any initial surprise is depleted). The technical aspects employed here are largely impeccable, particularly as it is a fairly low budget project. Laugier's direction is steadfast and complete, he rarely misses the mark (this is not to give the notion that the film is without flaws, yet what few there are tend to fall under the distinction of 'spoilers' and, as mentioned earlier, it behooves me not to touch on such things) and often times he manages to populate the screen with images that are destined to linger long and potently in the mind. The harsh violence thrives on the screen in great measure due to the superior effects work shepherded by a gifted technician named Benoit Lestang, a gentleman whose real life demons got the best of him as he took his own life shortly after the film wrapped. Pity.
Another thing that impressed me about this picture (and there are many things) is the method in which it utilizes its leads, not as the atypical 'hot chicks in peril', but as strong, organic presences who feed the drama with an energy that is realistic and immensely engrossing. To their credit, in the real world, both actresses are physically stunning works of human art (especially Jampanoï) but the film cares not how fine they are and that works wonders in the story's favor. This is no feather weight masturbatory parable involving nice pairs of breasts on the run from some malevolent machete. This is raw shit people, prone to divide and conquer and audience. This movie isn't here to help you pass the time nor get you laid on the first date.
This movie doesn't like you very much.
Either you can accept this, or retreat back to the comfort zone of whatever numbing mid-eighties dreck they've remade and poured neatly into your local cineplex. I'm sure it will be easier to swallow.
No comments:
Post a Comment