As I have mentioned before, to me,
Amour is by far the best film of 2012. So I wanted to outline some of what I got out of the film. The experience of a film can never be entirely expressed through words, but the interpretations it elicits can. Here is my own take on the film.
The Most Honest Film About Love Ever Made
[Show spoiler]
Amour is a 2012 film written and directed by Michael Haneke, a director known for unapologetic filmmaking. The film itself is almost a series of independent events spliced together. Similar to how the episodic nature of Zero Dark Thirty (another 2012 film) represents its taking place over several years, the editing in Amour also gives us a sense of passing time.
The music is very sparse (par for a Haneke film). The intention here is to amplify their seclusion from life outside the apartment, while also offering the audience an unbiased display of events on-screen. The sounds of strings would only induce more emotion than necessary. It also shifts more emotional weight on the few times music is played. Haneke insists on simplicity and objectivity. His films tend to be dry as a result, but no less rewarding. Equating his audience to observers is a gesture of respect and it widens the range of substance that can be taken from the film.
Despite his passive "take from it what you will" approach, what I find overt about Haneke's style is the lingering. But I appreciate this as the director’s way of communicating a sense of purpose to the audience, so as to tell us "HEY! This means something. Open your eyes!". Otherwise, shorter-edited scenes of the dishwashing or flower-cutting would be easily dismissed as trivial tasks. The lingering allows us to soak in the meaning.
A solid example of this is the serial on-screen exhibition of the paintings. After the sequence, I began to notice those as well as other paintings hanging around the house throughout the film. Consequently, I believe one intention is to get us to actually look at them during the remainder of the film. I am convinced of this because it got me to notice two additional elements: A large sketch of a pigeon in the living room that is centered on when Eva comes to visit, and the painting behind Georges in his last scene that I will touch on later. There are a few central impacts of the paintings, however. One is to offer a sort of tranquil refractory period following a dramatic and harrowing scene, allowing the film to breathe and the viewer to recover. Another point is the story that the paintings tell in sequence. The landscapes get increasingly more desolate until the final painting, which returns to a more lively setting. There is also the presence of a couple that are notably absent in the middle paintings, but then reappear at the final one. It goes back to the role of paintings as a mode of reflection—an idea that parallels Haneke's style of filmmaking which demands that the viewer extract the meaning from the frame.
The vacuuming scene immediately following the scene where Georges stops playing the piano is quite powerful. As a pianist myself, there are times I get so overwhelmed with reflection that I inadvertently stop playing. There is an emotional barrier that can arise between the piano and the player and I think it got too thick for Georges here. The maid vacuuming under the piano emphasizes his abandonment of the instrument from that point onward. The piano goes from being an expressive instrument to a piece of furniture that is dusted off every so often. It is also worth noting that the seat is left outside of our frame of view.
Another use of Haneke's lingering device is when we are left watching Alexandre, Anne's former student, wait for her in the living room. After glancing back at her piano, the pianist turns back around to reminisce on the past—to a time when she was his piano instructor teaching him the foundation of what he has become today. He dwells on these thoughts for a long moment before she arrives unexpectedly crippled. The jarring contrast between her former youthful appearance in his thoughts and her current physical state shocked and saddened him, which he could not refrain from communicating to her in the letter he sent with his CD. The piano is a symbol of Anne's perishing youth, which is why each of her loved ones sinks into meditation in front of the instrument at some point in the film.
Pigeons are widely known to be a symbol of peace. When the pigeon first appears in the apartment, it is met with animosity. This represents Georges's unrest. Its presence then persists through the sketch displayed in the living room, which was perhaps drawn afterwards by Georges to expel his guilt on canvas. This lingering presence is also an indirect tool to get us to think about the window that Georges repeatedly has to close due to the bird's entry, the significance of which I will touch on later. When the pigeon appeared for the second time and Georges went to close the window, we may initially be led to believe that he is going to kill or smother it with the blanket, because this takes place just after Georges smothered his own wife with a pillow. Yet just as we prepare for this possibility, he cradles the pigeon like a child. This represents Georges's acceptance of Anne's departure. The moment also serves to demonstrate that Georges is indeed a tender man, and his decision to personally put an end to Anne’s suffering was out of love. This is why it is after Anne's death when the pigeon appears—to reaffirm that Georges' character has evolved over the course of his wife's deterioration to be patient with life's fragility, and make peace with death.
Their daughter Eva's alienation is made evident through body language (her back is often turned to us) and where her mind is at. She talks business and real estate to her ailing mother and vents her personal matters to her father before even bringing up Anne's operation. Her periodic visits only serve to disturb her father because instead of reliable help, she only brings criticisms.
There is a connection someone drew between Georges's "Why should I imagine that?" response (to Anne's "Imagine if we were here, in our beds, and someone broke in") and his incapacity to cope with imagination throughout the film. Him at the piano, his dream, stopping the tape—they all seem to point toward an internal coping mechanism as Georges is being drowned in emotional distress. This suffocation is felt when Georges's smoke break at the window is interrupted by Anne's call for help. It is only then that we realize that it was not truly even a break at all, but his waiting for her to finish.
There are a few stories that Georges tells Anne in the film from his childhood. The first describes an experience where his grandmother gave him money to see a movie. In describing the movie to his neighbor, his feelings came back almost more powerfully than during the film itself. Haneke is describing his own movies and precisely what he tries to give his audience. I think he believes that Georges's reaction to the film is the greatest accomplishment a film can achieve. This story also demonstrates the emotional weight of recollection on Georges and the distress it causes him. It can be argued that it is this emotional weight and distress that led to his radical actions at the end. The other story is told to Anne before her death. In writing to his mother from camp, drawing flowers meant he liked his stay and drawing stars meant he didn't. This builds a subtle connection to the flowers (which are asters, or "stars") he trims for her death bed. Georges's aesthetic arrangement of the flowers around Anne is an expression of love and the privacy of this enshrinement is foreshadowed by Georges's unpleasant funeral experience earlier in the film. He goes on to finish his childhood story with his contracting diphtheria and being isolated from his mother behind a window, which is telling Anne that he knows what it feels like to be sick and helpless. This also embodies the helplessness of watching a loved one suffer (being in the shoes of his mother).
The resolution is expertly handled. It is not an abrupt cliff like in The White Ribbon, but instead addresses each character's resolution with a touch of ambiguity. Anne is (I would argue) visibly at peace just before her death. Her acceptance begins from the scene where she explicitly introduces to Georges the idea that she does not want to go on. This can also be implied with her counting on him to support her wish to avoid medical intervention. It is further demonstrated by her suicidal attempt to jump out of the window sill and by her refusal to drink water as a signal that her mind had not changed. These ideas coupled with Georges's promise to keep her at home, living and taking care of her for a long period of time, and increased isolation from the outside world (even groceries are brought by neighbors) are what ultimately drove Georges to end her life. As most of us would probably have our entire lives flash before our eyes in a downward-spiraling plane, Anne's nosedive was much slower than that. She embraced her life's end while reminiscing through their old photo album. She takes advantage of the fact that seeing the end does not have to be over "in a flash" in her case, but can be savored in a beautiful moment with the one she loves. Georges eventually finds his place right beside her. Eva is left with exactly what she asked for—alienated and alone in an empty piece of real estate. The final shot represents a stark contrast to the opening scene. We are again set at the vantage point of the piano, but instead of a large audience observing music, we see a single individual sitting in silence. It is also an extension of the vacuuming scene, in which the piano was partly cut from the frame. Now the entire object is off camera, leaving only the weight of its absence.
The cause of Georges death is definitely up in the air. However, it does appear to be a suicide because of the letter he writes preceding his departure. The portrait over his bed (where he wakes up to leave with Anne) is of a dried-up lake. This, along with the empty water bottle and cup at his bedside, can symbolize dehydration, a possible cause of death. It is more probable, however, that his implied dehydration (along with the cigarette-filled ashtray) served to demonstrate his distress and affected mental state, before he jumps to his death through the same window where Anne attempted to take her own life. Haneke directs our attention to a window in the opening scene (as the investigator asks "Did anyone open this window?" to which they answer "no") but it is the window in Anne's room, which Georges could not have reached with the doors taped shut. Instead, Haneke uses this dialogue to get us to think about the window as a possible route of suicide for Georges. In effect, it is a clue that leads us to realize that the window that the pigeon entered is also already open when the firemen break through the door, just as it is open during the final sequence when Georges leaves with Anne. The window, just like the one in his story, represents the barrier/gateway keeping Georges from his loved one. After Anne's death, Georges remained inextricably linked to her. His refusal to leave the house, his apparent dehydration, and the window where he chooses to take his life all relate back to Anne's inner struggle.
The scenes of feeding, bathing, carrying, speech therapy, etc. are meant to display before us a life that we refuse to acknowledge. For example, I happen to drive by a hospice every single day and have never once stopped to think that there are older folks living out the rest of their lives in there. Similarly, the entirety of Amour takes place within one couple's living quarters. It adds significance behind those closed doors that we like to remain outside of. And it is easy for this important perspective to be lost on us. Everything shown in the film are things that happen—so those that complain that it is there simply to shock us are sorely mistaken. Couples and families are tested in unforgiving ways. Yes, Anne's case is extreme, but the film outwardly acknowledges this (she is the 5%). These unpleasant things are very real, yet sadly most of us are so displaced from this reality which is right among us. Nobody wants to think about getting old. Haneke knows this and forces us to face this inevitability head on. The five seconds it takes to consider such a reality is far too inconvenient to think about while I am young. This is surely one of the main points of the film.
It reminds me of a French documentary short I viewed as an extra on Criterion's DVD release of Eyes Without a Face. The film basically walks us through the meat-preparation process, from the livestock to the dinner plate. To be honest, it was hard to endure but I found it to be an important watch, particularly for those who eat meat. Just as that film sheds light on where our food comes from, Amour sheds light on where we are all headed (although we do not choose to get old).
I think each viewer will relate to this on their own personal level. As for me, my grandfather was half-paralyzed and confined to a bed for the last twenty years of his life due to a series of strokes. He progressively worsened almost identically to how Anne did in the film. And while I am not sure how I would align with Georges's ultimate course of action, the film does not attempt to argue the ethics, but rather that it fits his character in his circumstance. He presumably stayed with her in that apartment all day and night, helplessly watching the woman he loved all his life gradually wither away. Although it had its beautiful moments, like the table-side charm or getting her new wheelchair, it was equally as dark for him when she would repeatedly yell "mal... mal... mal..." (pain) and often stayed up at night. It drove him to do a terrible thing out of love and gave a poetic turn to the couple's story. The act shifted the focus immediately to him, and in removing her from the picture, actually demonstrated how much she was a part of him.
"...Until death do us part."
In a more thematic sense, the film is an exploration of love. The dynamic between Georges and Anne is not an affectionate one, but their love and respect for one another transcends any kind of physical intimacy. A universal aspect of love is the wish to grow old together, and it is easy to overlook what this truly entails. This film provides the weight of such a promise and in effect, no other film may be more suitable to carry the title "Amour".
For these reasons, I believe
Amour is the most honest film about love ever made. It is as much a love story as any other, only it is about
the end of the story. A testament to what love truly encompasses—the sharing of not just happiness, but despair as well. The film can be difficult to watch, but it also has both wit and endearing moments captured in the range of its emotionally riveting performances. As for Haneke's poetic intricacy, I rarely witness such meticulous depth applied to a film. Even ordinary acts such as washing dishes, vacuuming, and cutting flowers take on tremendous meaning. It is debatable to determine which the film has more of: the love it was made with or the love it exudes. It is a masterpiece and a must-see, even if only for its wisdom.
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(for other reasons though)
I found it much less satisfying the second time around.
The Devil's Rejects (dir. Rob Zombie, 2005)
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