Camille Claudel 1915

Camille Claudel was a successful artist who had an affair with Rodin. She had mental health problems and was placed in an asylum by her family. Whether this was intended to resolve Camille's problem or remove Camille as a problem is left for debate.

The film tells the story of her life in the asylum, her desire to leave and her unhappiness. We gain an insight into the artist's mind and the world of the asylum. Juliet Binoche's acting is excellent and the use of patients and staff from an asylum works well although is potentially controversial.

However, the film is slow and is too long for the little is actually revealed in 95 minutes of screen time. More back story and context is needed to provide reasons for sympathising with the main character and sticking with the film.

Nominated for the Golden Bear at Berlin, Camille Claudel, 1915, the latest film by French auteur Bruno Dumont, is arguably his best realized and most accessible work since La Vie de Jesus and L'humanité in the late 1990s. Juliet Binoche delivers a masterful performance as sculptor and graphic artist Camille Claudel, mistress of Auguste Rodin, who was confined to an asylum at Montdevergues near Avignon in 1914 after an emotional collapse. Derived from Camille's medical records and private letters to her brother, poet and staunch Catholic Paul Claudel (Jean-Luc Vincent), the film takes place over a period of three days in the asylum where we experience the oppressive nature of Camille's routines, lightened only by the inmates attempt at performing the play Don Juan.

Although Dumont uses mentally-disabled patients and their nurses as actors, there is no hint of exploitation and they are only used to draw a sharp contrast between Camille and the seriously ill. Considered to be a great but unrecognized feminist artist (usually only discussed in relation to Rodin), Camille is filled with despair and depression at her confinement but looks forward with anticipation to the impending visit from Paul. Though much of the film has a strong impact, the sequences in which Camille pleads with her doctor (Robert Leroy) and with Paul for her release reach the heights of Dumont's consummate artistry.

In spite of the fact, however, that the head doctor feels she could be re-integrated into society, her mother and self-absorbed brother ignore her pleas and refuse to relinquish their tight control. Though Camille's paranoia is evident in these scenes (she insists on preparing her own food for fear of being poisoned), the power of Ms. Binoche's performance allows Camille's intelligence and true stature as an artist to shine through. Austere and unforgiving in the mold of Alain Cavalier's Therese, Camille Claudel, 1915 can be compared to the films of Robert Bresson in its long silences, spiritual depth, and uncompromising integrity. Viewing can be a harrowing and uncomfortable experience, but the same can also be said about many great works of art.

Juliette Binoche and a cast of mental patients. What could possibly go wrong? And the answer is: nothing. This film is practically flawless from start to finish. I'll forewarn you by saying you mustn't expect a biographical story relating the turbulent life of sculptor Camille Claudel. For that, you might want to check out the 1988 film "Camille Claudel" starring Isabelle Adjani.

"Camille Claudel 1915" is, as director Bruno Dumont says, "a film about someone who spends her time doing not much". In other words, this won't give you the saucy, dramatic story of Camille's affair with her mentor Rodin, nor will it attempt to explain what her "mental illness" was, and very few clues are given as to why she ends up at a mental asylum to begin with. Perhaps even more noticeable is the fact that none of Camille's art is shown or alluded to. This movie, quiet but moving, is simply about 3 days in the life of Camille as she copes with an artist's worst torture: boredom.

Camille is excellently played by Juliette Binoche who describes this film as "mostly silent with only two or three moments with a lot of speaking, as if all the words she hadn't been able to say come out in a rush, all at once." Indeed, she doesn't say a word for almost the first 10 minutes. But through the use of extreme, unsettling closeups, and some painfully telling facial expressions, the film conveys almost everything we need to know without words. When Juliette does open her mouth to deliver her monologues, they are absolutely riveting, emotional and affecting. It should be noted that many of her lines were improvised, having only 4 pages of script to work with. Dumont simply asked her to fill in the blanks.

Similarly improvised were all the roles of the mental patients around her. These were actual mental patients (attended by actual nurses dressed as nuns). The patients were never told what to do or how to "act". Instead Dumont wanted to capture the true environment of a mental institution which he felt is the same story 100 years ago as it is today. If Dumont needed a certain reaction or expression from a patient, for example an intense look of pensiveness, he would give the patient a piece of scotch tape to play with and film the patient's reaction. This all makes for very genuine cinema, the kind you could never get from SAG card-carrying actors.

Thus, don't expect a lot of dramatic scenes of patients being tortured by their sadistic keepers à la "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". Here instead is a very realistic image of a mental institution where people are cared for, and it's simply their condition of idleness and lassitude which is the torture. That itself conveys more hopelessness than if we were to see Nurse Ratched administering shock therapy.

Excellent cinematography and stunningly gorgeous locations round out this film. I don't recall hearing any music, and there are certainly no car chases and shootouts. No fancy camera tricks; in fact most of the takes are very long and still, allowing the images and actors to tell the story. I would compare this movie to other laconic, beautifully-shot films like "The Spirit of the Beehive" (1973) or some of Herzog's early work.

Bruno Dumont's film is best appreciated if the viewer has viewed Bruno Nuytten's 1988 film "Camille Claudel" which ends with Camille being institutionalized by her brother Paul and her mother. That act can be initially condoned as Camille needed treatment at that time. Dumont's film is based surprisingly on the letters of Paul Claudel.

In Dumont's film too, Paul does not heed the doctor's view that Camille is a docile and almost normal and could be discharged. For those who have seen Nuytten's film, there is sufficient evidence that brother and sister had been very close to each other and Paul had tried to make his sister's work famous. All these critical facts are never stated in Dumont's film. The religious fervour of Camille in Dumont's film is totally absent in Nuytten's film. The long religious soliloquys of Paul, fits in with Dumont's interest in religion. For me, Dumont's attempts at describing Camille in the asylum is merely projecting Paul's attempt at absolving his decision not to help release his sister from the asylum.

Binoche is always good in any film but this performance is not her best--which I am convinced was the one in "Certified Copy."

My high respect for Juliette Binoche's technique and talent has been bolstered by watching her performance as Camille Claudel in this film. The film itself presents a stunning vision of mental illness and its treatment in the age prior to advanced psychotropic drugs. I am a registered nurse and worked for ten years with very symptomatic psychiatric patients in hospital. Ms. Binoche's subtle performance captures the painful boredom of confinement, both physical and mental. Confined mentally by her anxiety and paranoia, Camille is sealed off from satisfying human contact with the sane, while being tortured by the attentions and needs of those more disabled than herself. The well-meant attempts of nuns to engage her with those whom she fears come across as nearly sadistic. This subtlety marks the film as exceptional in my opinion. The appearance of the religiously fanatic and equally disturbed brother, Paul Claudel, who functions as her jailer, adds a feminist sensitivity to the film. Camille's powerlessness is largely feminine in her sexist world. The interplay between religion and confinement, physical and mental, is also brought to light through Paul Claudel's obsessive grandiosity as he converses with his god. Who are sane or insane? The depressed nuns? The grinning abbot? The pompously righteous brother? Camille hoping for release? No answers are given, in typically French fashion. But this film is well worth the time and reflection.