Les Destinées
Sentimentales (Olivier Assayas) 2002
Starting in 1900 and spanning over thirty years afterward, Les
Destinées Sentimentales Oliver Assayas’ three hour period drama, is most
remarkable not because of its epic scope, but because of the startling intimacy
it achieves despite that breadth. Consider the stunning dance sequence early on
in which the hand-held camerawork tightly frames nearly every shot in a roaming
close-up that serves to remind the audience just how cramped the space is, while
simultaneously laying it out for us. The scene is no mere mood-setter, however,
as Assayas packs even the most incidental moments of the film with plenty of
narrative thrust. Chronicling the dealings of a French porcelain company over
the years, the film is often more intrigued by the long-term ramifications of
people’s actions than the heat of the moment, but it never allows those
moments to feel the least bit insignificant or false.
The main relationship in the film, between the Protestant
pastor Jean (Charles Berling) and Pauline (Emmanuelle Béart), a young woman in
his congregation, is beset on all sides by pressures that would drive them
apart. Assayas works up such a frenzy by chronicling their relationship that
it’s almost amazing that he still can make the arrival of the First World War
have as much impact as it does, basically rendering their concerns moot for its
duration. Szabo’s epic Sunshine attempted, and failed, to deliver the
same amalgamation of national and family history that Les Destinées so
gracefully recounts. Both films feature families of European artisans, but the
treatment here is far less quaint. Instead of following the heir to the factory
as he searches for a lost recipe as in Sunshine, Les Destinées
lets the artistic struggle lie within its protagonist. The scenes in which the
design and craftsmanship of the porcelain that powers the province’s economy
is described are genuinely interesting here, because the audience is made to
realize that the livelihoods of the characters as well as the traditions of the
family are at stake.
Despite the title, Les Destinées Sentimentales only feels sentimental
when we recall the idealism that existed at the film’s start, and lament that
it was pulverized by the realities of the world. Still, the film’s greatest
points require the dashing of idealistic notions. The faith so determinedly
clung to by the characters at the start of the film wavers throughout, but then
is revived when we see Jean tell his wife “I believe in resurrection” as
he’s on what may be his deathbed. Instead of being built upon unfounded
assumptions and the comfort of routine, however, the hard-earned spiritual
conviction that arises at the picture’s close is the result of true wisdom.
Like their marriage, which required the flexibility to sustain the heartaches
that life threw at them, Jean and Pauline’s faith is a malleable, and
constantly maturing, thing. The entrance of Aline, Jean’s daughter, into a
religious life shows the cycle as it begins to repeat.
Films that are observant enough to see a macro view of
character behavior, yet detailed enough to let us feel surprised by the
progressions in the lives of their characters are too rare. Assayas has crafted
in Les Destinées a film that tells us much without ever feeling preachy.
Berling and Béart’s performances are of the highest caliber. Unlike so many
films, their characters’ temperaments change greatly as they age, and the
superb makeup that they don never looks less than convincing. The supporting
cast is uniformly excellent, especially Isabelle Huppert, who endows Jean’s
first wife with such marvelously complicated calculation that even her obedience
feels like a ploy. Because of its rare immediacy and surprising reach, Les
Destinées allows us a rare and gratifying chance to spend time with
characters as they truly change. The sheer delicacy with which it presents those
transformations, however, makes it truly special.
* * * *
4/11/02
Jeremy
Heilman
