Claire Denis’ Friday
Night, an intensely, yet sensitively, realized account of a one-night stand,
masterfully builds tension as it shows us its protagonist’s very subjective
point of view. The movie begins with dark falling on Paris as the score by
Tindersticks member Dickon Hinchcliffe buzzes on the soundtrack, and the effect
creates an otherworldly feel from something so ordinary as night falling. By the
time the film’s title appears on the screen, there’s something palpable in
the air that tells us that this night will be different. There’s something
magical and hypnotic about the way that the movie draws the viewer in with so
little, but it’s undeniable that it does, and continues to hold us there,
spellbound, for much of the remaining running time. Denis is a master of visual
storytelling. Her most recent films completely eschew narration where most any
other filmmaker would include it, and as a result, they gain a sense of mystery
and depth that more literal films lack. From start to end, with only a few
significant exceptions, the viewer is thrust alongside Laure (Valérie Lemercier),
the female heroine who’s spending her last night of freedom before moving in
with a boyfriend, and though she never explicitly articulates her thoughts, the
combination of performance, shot composition, film stock, and music that Denis
orchestrates gives the viewer a window into her mind.
On this particular Friday
Night, Paris is in the midst of a massive public transportation strike which
has left the roads clogged with unending traffic and the sidewalks empty. The
contrast between the overcrowded highways and the desolate walkways only further
enhances the mood of the film, however. Each car is its own cocoon of emotions,
and the people inside seem to each have their own concerns. As Laure sits idly
in the street, she looks at the faces of other passengers, and the viewer
can’t help but wonder if they have a story as intense as hers. Out on the
streets, people are too busy rushing off to take heed of one another, except
when tensions flare. Since in this insular context, where no one seems to be
watching what others are doing, transgressions seem wildly possible. The tension
that arises when she picks up a hitchhiker is inescapable, because Agnes Godard
photographs the film with such stunning and consistent proximity to the
characters. We can’t possibly get away from the mood that exists in the car,
even when the characters nod off into a catnap. For all of its attempts to
reinvent cinema as we know it, Abbas Kiarostami’s car-bound Ten
doesn’t have nearly as much emotion packed into it as this movie does. As the
movie carries on, it reveals Laure’s whims and desires with a surprisingly wry
and droll approach, but much of its humor is deadpanned. It only flits past the
audience the way that a passing thought does. It’s precisely in its rapt
attention to those momentary impulses, however, that Friday
Night builds its power.
Claire Denis’ Friday
Night, an intensely, yet sensitively, realized account of a one-night stand,
masterfully builds tension as it shows us its protagonist’s very subjective
point of view. The movie begins with dark falling on Paris as the score by
Tindersticks member Dickon Hinchcliffe buzzes on the soundtrack, and the effect
creates an otherworldly feel from something so ordinary as night falling. By the
time the film’s title appears on the screen, there’s something palpable in
the air that tells us that this night will be different. There’s something
magical and hypnotic about the way that the movie draws the viewer in with so
little, but it’s undeniable that it does, and continues to hold us there,
spellbound, for much of the remaining running time. Denis is a master of visual
storytelling. Her most recent films completely eschew narration where most any
other filmmaker would include it, and as a result, they gain a sense of mystery
and depth that more literal films lack. From start to end, with only a few
significant exceptions, the viewer is thrust alongside Laure (Valérie Lemercier),
the female heroine who’s spending her last night of freedom before moving in
with a boyfriend, and though she never explicitly articulates her thoughts, the
combination of performance, shot composition, film stock, and music that Denis
orchestrates gives the viewer a window into her mind.
On this particular Friday
Night, Paris is in the midst of a massive public transportation strike which
has left the roads clogged with unending traffic and the sidewalks empty. The
contrast between the overcrowded highways and the desolate walkways only further
enhances the mood of the film, however. Each car is its own cocoon of emotions,
and the people inside seem to each have their own concerns. As Laure sits idly
in the street, she looks at the faces of other passengers, and the viewer
can’t help but wonder if they have a story as intense as hers. Out on the
streets, people are too busy rushing off to take heed of one another, except
when tensions flare. Since in this insular context, where no one seems to be
watching what others are doing, transgressions seem wildly possible. The tension
that arises when she picks up a hitchhiker is inescapable, because Agnes Godard
photographs the film with such stunning and consistent proximity to the
characters. We can’t possibly get away from the mood that exists in the car,
even when the characters nod off into a catnap. For all of its attempts to
reinvent cinema as we know it, Abbas Kiarostami’s car-bound Ten
doesn’t have nearly as much emotion packed into it as this movie does. As the
movie carries on, it reveals Laure’s whims and desires with a surprisingly wry
and droll approach, but much of its humor is deadpanned. It only flits past the
audience the way that a passing thought does. It’s precisely in its rapt
attention to those momentary impulses, however, that Friday
Night builds its power.