- Isabelle Huppert as Maria Vial in Claire Denis’ “White Material”
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Director Claire Denis’ White Material is the stuff of enigmatic, puzzling and beautiful cinema. Using the kind of story prevalent in today’s global headlines as its narrative framework, the film meanders down a circuitous path of nightmarish nihilism, self-destruction and unchecked madness. Maria Vial—played brilliantly with reserved fierceness and physicality by Isabelle Huppert—is this unnamed African land’s Queen of the Nihilists. She equally embodies her character and the film, making it the most unique examination of French colonialism to date. Helmed by the most creative director working in contemporary French cinema today, White Material is auteur Claire Denis’ striking, uncompromising visual poem about a woman consumed by the madness of the land that surrounds her. This land, an unnamed country that could represent any number of current war-torn, violence-ridden African territories, is on the brink of revolution. The country is a French satellite, but the looming threat of a violent uprising has forced them to relinquish their stronghold. Maria and her family run a coffee plantation amidst the chaos, and she remains irrationally steadfast in her determination to maintain its productivity. What she fails to see, or, for that matter, acknowledge, is the immediate danger that surrounds her decision. This decision becomes Maria’s plight, but we’re never quite sure if she’s even aware of it. She’s consumed with her work, blinded by ambition, driven by fear, cares for nothing and disregards the emotional and physical dangers associated with her carelessness—the fragile, fierce, immovable nihilistic queen of Café Vial.
As the story elliptically unravels, Maria’s world is given to us. It’s parceled out in small doses during flashbacks on a loaded bus on the road to nowhere—a method of storytelling that Denis adapted after a rigorously short shooting schedule began to create roadblocks in the original script. Not long into the film, we’re introduced to every character. Maria works and lives on the plantation with her ex-husband, her son, a housemaid, and her father-in-law. The family exists together, but never in the same frame, a stylistic choice that conveys familial ties but a degree of love lost. Encased in the protection of the plantation’s acreage, the family has created a buffer zone, albeit temporary, to the impending violence. On her trips into town, Maria fearlessly (and somewhat carelessly) encounters and coalesces to the erratic behavior of rebel soldiers. Having a gun pointed in her face becomes a common occurrence, and her internal, minutely discernable ferocity becomes her lifeline. One has to be mad to deal so effortlessly with chaos. Some of Huppert’s best work comes from these scenes. You’re never quite sure how she does it or where it comes from, but it’s there. She harnesses the resolve of a boxer, revealing it in such a minimal way that you would miss it if you blinked.
Maria’s son Manuel (Nicolas Duvauchelle) remains holed up in his room, under the covers until late in the day. Her lack of maternal presence has in certain ways hampered his upbringing, not to mention the drastic change in lifestyle that appeared when moving from France to a remote African outpost. His unfortunate encounter with curious natives sets a series of events in motion that are the end result of years of pent up anger, frustration and ambivalence towards his mother, as well as various other things.
Claire Denis
Seeking refuge in the plantation is the rebellions’ wounded figurehead, The Boxer. The opening sequence of the film shows government troops identifying his dead body, and we immediately become aware of the fate that looms for Café Vial. What Denis does after establishing this is intelligently, creatively guide us to the grim, nightmarish, but expected conclusion of a tale that could only end one way. Maria’s ex-husband is rarely seen, except for in his dealings with the town mayor. Fearing for his life, he signs the plantation over to the mayor and plans for his escape. As one might guess, this does not stop Maria from selfishly pursuing her work at the expense of her and her son’s safety.
Isabelle Huppert’s performance in the film is fantastic. She’s embodies the very essence of Maria Vial, and channels her through subdued but carefully calibrated physicality. There are numerous extended takes of her merely standing in the frame, allowing Denis’ camera to capture the nuances of movement, body carriage and facial expressions. These non-verbal occurrences can convey just as much as words, and in the case of White Material, they most certainly do. Many reviews of the film have assessed it as being charged with political overtones. In my opinion, this could not be further from the truth. This film is no more of a political statement than Goodfellas is an endorsement of organized crime. What both films do is simply observe their characters and the absurdities of the worlds they inhabit. White Material is simply a nightmarish, evocative study of one woman’s madness. White Material marks Denis’ second return to the subject matter of French colonial Africa, a time and a place that the director is all too familiar with. Her 1988 semi-autobiographical debut feature, Chocolat, recounts her experiences as a child growing up in Cameroon. Chocolat remains far less sinister than White Material, but both deal directly with the subject of French colonialism on the African continent.
The brilliance of White Material lies in Denis’ ability to guide us through the films’ occurrences. She harnesses an uncanny visual creativity that is astounding to watch. Throughout the duration of the movie, Denis allows her images to explain everything by simply speaking for themselves. In all of her films, a unique visual language is at the center of her stories. This is especially true of her 1999 feature Beau Travail. A lyrical and meditative minimalist piece of very little dialogue is taken to a remarkable level by a distinct use of imagery and creativity behind the camera. Although White Material deals with a busier narrative, the film works very much the same way. An effective mixture of close-ups, static shots, and shifting from hand-held cameras to those mounted on a fixed base create a distinct visual energy that defines the excellence of the film. White Material was made in tandem with another great film by Denis, 35 Shots of Rum. This picture exists in stark contrast to White Material, but is equally brilliant in its observance of nuance and implementation of a trademark visual language. Another great attribute this film possesses is its bone-chilling musical score. The Tindersticks, who are used on the majority of Denis’ films, have created one of the most sinister, affecting musical themes that I’ve heard in a movie in quite some time. White Material was released in France in 2009, but did not open in the United States until early 2010. Along with David Michod’s Animal Kingdom, this is one of the two best films of the past year.
