 A FilmExposed Film Review |
 Dir: PATRICE CHÉREAU, 2005, France/Germany/Italy, 90 mins, French with subtitles
Cast: Isabelle Huppert, Pascal Greggory, Claudia Coli, Thierry Hancisse
Set against France’s belle époque, Gabrielle explores, in unflinching detail, the unravelling of an apparently happy bourgeois marriage. Upper crust Parisians Gabrielle (Huppert) and Jean (Greggory) have been married for ten years. Jean is a self-satisfied man, pleased with his social standing and his fine possessions, among which he counts wife Gabrielle. He returns home from work one day expecting to see Gabrielle and finds in her place a letter, in which she tells him she has left to be with another man. The letter sends Jean into an emotional tailspin, but astonishingly, Gabrielle returns shortly afterwards, unable to go through with her decision.
What follows is a taut psychological battle as the couple try in vain to repair their marriage. Most of the action of the film takes place in the couple’s luxurious mansion which, despite its opulence, has a suffocating atmosphere, its furnishings reminiscent of a mausoleum. Director Patrice Chéreau has a background in theatre, and this is evident in the structure of Gabrielle, which at times resembles a two-hander play. However, the scenes where the couple entertain similarly privileged contemporaries and artistic types at their home – brought to life wonderfully by the lavish set design - serve to quickly establish the broader social context. Everyone wears a mask of some sort. Central to the narrative is the conflict between seemingly perfect lives and the overwhelming emotions that threaten to crack the veneer of respectability. Gabrielle’s interactions with fearful maidservant Yvonne (Coli) also highlight the class difference.
Gabrielle was adapted from Joseph Conrad’s short story The Return, and Chéreau remains faithful to the original story with its strong impressions of sound and sight. Ample use is made of the visual effects with innovative and striking camerawork. Scenes alternate between black and white and colour, indicating subtle shifts of mood. When Jean discovers Gabrielle’s letter, fragments of the letter flash across the screen at a dizzying pace, conveying his acute mental anguish. At moments of intense emotion, large text appears across the screen, revealing what Jean would like to say. An assault scene switches from colour to black and white and becomes soundless, making it truly harrowing. These visual techniques are used sparingly so never appear pretentious.
Huppert and Greggory superbly capture the nuances of a shifting relationship. Jean’s response is frenzied and unpredictable; in contrast, the deeply unhappy Gabrielle is stoical and more fatalistic. Interestingly, the wife in Conrad’s original story remained a nameless enigma. However, Chéreau gives her a more authentic voice in Gabrielle by naming her and titling the film after her. The viewer’s sympathy shifts between Jean and Gabrielle during their bitter exchanges, but Chéreau does not seek to exonerate either one of them.
Some viewers may find Chéreau’s raw treatment of the subject matter unsettling, as watching Gabrielle is indeed a tense experience. In addition, the ending is somewhat abrupt and unsatisfying. Gabrielle is nonetheless a masterful and extremely well crafted piece of cinema. With its combination of strong storyline, outstanding performances, breathtaking visuals and its evocation of turn of the century France, there is plenty in Gabrielle to please. |
