L'immortelle

A Frenchman, who is a teacher, arrives in Istanbul, and has, or tries to have, a relationship with a mysterious woman in an uncooperative, seemingly threatening, environment.

The dream-like atmosphere of this film will be immediately familiar to those who have had the pleasure of enjoying Last Year at Marienbad (which was written, but not directed, by Robbe-Grillet); and l'Immortelle feels like a cross between that film and The Color of Pomegranates. The mostly stylized acting is perfectly realized by all concerned, young and old alike; and in short there are no rough seams in the fabric of this film. Maurice Barry is at the camera and provides us with beautiful evocative images of features of Istanbul, such as some of its mosques, the old walls of Constantinople, and the Bosporus waterfront.

What happens or doesn't happen? We find that facts never quite marshal into realities. Understanding is non-linear. Imagination profanes experience . . . Or is it the other way around? The film is a lyrical opium-dream, evading the rational as it speaks to the subconscious. Highly recommended.

In Alain Robbe-Grillet's screenplay for 'Last year at Marienbad' the Woman is 'A' and the Man is 'X'. Here she is 'L' and he is 'N'. They are played by Francoise Brion and Jacques Doniol-Valcroze. He helped to found 'Cahiers du Cinema' and was evidently a highly respected member of the New Wavelet brigade but judged solely as an actor he is lamentably lacking. In fact the phrase 'charisma bypass' springs to mind. There is at least a chemistry between him and the enigmatic, erotic Brion which is hardly surprising as they were husband and wife!

This is Robbe-Grillet's directorial debut and is a cinematic continuation of Le Nouveau Roman which avoids linear narrative. This results in a film that is by turns fascinating and frustrating. He and his cinematographer Maurice Barry have certainly made the most of the exotic locations and the glorious architecture but that isn't quite enough to hold our attention for its hundred minute length. The images of 'L' in lingerie and the incredibly sexy Turkish dancer are sure to 'arouse ones interest' for want of a better term.

This film serves to remind us if indeed we need reminding, that in the hands of the Eternal Feminine the male of the species is so much putty. I am pleased to have seen this stylish and in some respects mesmerising film but am in no hurry to see it again, unless perhaps to revisit the Turkish dance!

This was the first film to be directed by Alain Robbe-Grillet, who also wrote it. This was two years after his historic collaboration (as writer) with Alain Resnais (as director) in making the famous LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD (1961), which is certainly one of the highest achievements of world cinema. As a novelist, Robbe-Grillet was one of the founding members of the school known as the Nouveau Roman (New Novel). When I was a student I read a couple of those novels and found them very difficult and artificial. But his visions of things worked much better on film, so it is not surprising that he turned to the medium of cinema, which suited him so much more. And the worldwide success of MARIENBAD gave him the boost of fame necessary to raise the funding for this, his first film as director. Strangely enough, I have somewhere a letter which Robbe-Grillet wrote to me early in 1963, when I was still at university, so that I was in touch with him at the very time this film was emerging. Robbe-Grillet was so powerfully influenced by Surrealism that he may himself be safely described as Late Surrealist. This film, set in Istanbul, is strongly Surrealist in every respect. But he was doubtless deeply influenced also by a novel set in Istanbul by Claude Farrère (1876-1957), L'homme Qui Assassina (The Man Who Killed), which has been filmed six times: in 1913, 1920, twice in French in 1931 and once in German in 1931, and in Spanish in 1932. Farrère also emphasized the timeless and exotic dream-like quality of Istanbul in his weird mystery novel. He was intimately acquainted with Istanbul prior to the First World War, and he evoked its magic, secrecy, and intrigue from his own experiences there. I may be one of the few people left alive in the English-speaking world who has actually read that strange and haunting book, but I suspect that Robbe- Grillet knew it well and had seen at least one of the French films of the story. L'IMMORTELLE has such overwhelmingly spectacular cinematography of the ruins and mysteries of Istanbul that anyone interested in the city needs to see it for that reason alone. In one weird scene, two of the characters pass in a rowboat across the famous Byzantine underwater cistern, and one could never do such a thing today. But this film was made in an easier time, 1962, when many of the old Ottoman wooden houses still remained, and Istanbul was still not only a place of mystery but a location steeped in antiquity at every turn. The story, or what passes for a story (for it has no beginning middle or end), is a meditation upon the immortality of the mystery of Woman., in other words The Immortal Woman. Robbe-Grillet chose as this elusive muse the actress Francoise Brion. Unfortunately, she is but a pale imitation of the haunting and thoroughly magical Delphine Seyrig, who played such a similar role in MARIENBAD. Robbe-Grillet wanted another Seyrig but he got only a partial one, for she looks too knowing, and instead of exuding an atmosphere of impenetrable mystery and representing a total enigma, Brion does not fool us, for we know she is only acting. (Whether Seyrig was acting or instead becoming possessed by a spirit we do not know.) People expecting a coherent narrative will get neither coherence nor a narrative. But that is intentional and is part of what it means to be a Surrealist. A true Surrealist never explains, he suggests, mystifies, and leaves you wondering. Of course, there are many story elements in the film nevertheless, it is just that we never learn what they all mean. Why is there a man wearing sunglasses at dead of night holding two snarling hounds of hell? Why do the main characters keep walking around an ancient Turkish cemetery and intoning their thoughts about life and death to each other? Why is there a car crash which keeps repeating, and with different people inside? Why is there an intense romance which keeps dissolving and re-forming like a shifting mist? And meanwhile the camera glides along in endless travelling shots showing us the endless ancient walls, the palaces and fortresses along the Bosphorus, and the courtyards of old mosques. Brion attempts to show le Néant ('nothingness', a fashionable Existentialist notion at the time this film was made) on her face, but her eyes do not go dead enough, they do not glaze over properly. She dresses stylishly, always in new outfits. She is in the bedroom, then she is on a boat, sometimes laughing, sometimes staring emptily, then she is on her knees inside a mosque, then on a boat again smiling enigmatically, and then a dog barks savagely, and she keeps insisting 'Je suis libre' ('I am free'). All the mysteries of this film are unsolved, because they stand for Life and for Love, neither of which is ever solved and neither of which ever ends.

First off, let me qualify my comment by saying that the print of this film I saw was of low quality and that makes it a bit hard to judge the visuals-I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt as they seem good from what I can tell.

L'Immortelle is about a French professor who takes a teaching post in Istanbul and finds himself in an alien society. As there are many tourists who travel to this area because of a fascination with the Byzantine era, the natives play up that aspect of their culture for everyone. Through the comments of the mysterious woman to that effect, the film calls the authenticity of the architecture and artwork into question again and again. While this may sound like it leads to a portrayal of the city that makes it seem fake, the opposite is actually true. The fake city that is shown off to tourists hides mysteries that are near impenetrable. The willingness of the natives to share the false culture is a perfect excuse for keeping the truth hidden.

The plot of the film focuses on the professor's encounters (and attempts at romance) with a mysterious woman. She constantly deceives him in a way that is similar to the deceptions of the city itself to outsiders. Paradoxically, she actually points out the faux culture that surrounds them while maintaining her own deceptions. Viewers who are looking for meaning here may see her mystery as a symbol for that of the city the film explores.

Eventually the woman disappears from our protagonist's life and despite all of his efforts to find out more about her he ultimately fails to learn anything definite. Like the viewer, he is left to ponder what (if anything) his experiences mean.

As a frame of reference, one might say that L'Immortelle is like a combination of L'Avventura and Last Year at Marienbad. Like the former film it includes an unsolvable mystery and like the latter it uses the language of cinema to call memory itself into question (late in L'Immortelle there are remembered versions of scenes from earlier in the film that are different from the originals). Still, L'Immortelle lacks the clarity and coherence of either of those films, making it a minor albeit unjustly ignored classic.

Robbe-Grillet's brilliant first film, just a year after writing the screenplay for Last year in Marienbad (so detailed that it's impossible not to assign autorship of the film as much to him as to Alain Resnais).

It is interesting to compare the two works, and to note that the narrative and structural innovations of the film directed by Resnais are a constant in Robbe-Grillet's work, both literary and cinematographic. Unfortunately, the stupid author theory has always privileged the director over the screenwriter.

Resnais certainly endowed Last year in Marienbad with an incredible visual sophistication, an elegance and beauty in the images and an affectation in the interpretations, and it is true that his previous and subsequent work shows an absolute harmony with the material. Also, more importantly, he developed unprecedented abilities in editing. But underneath this cosmetics and this fascinating packaging, the constants of Robbe-Grillet's work underlie.

L'immortelle is more abrupt, more visually direct, obsessed with space-time raccord discontinuities, but also based on disorientation, on falsehoods, on the reworkings of the mind, on the repetition of the same images with different meanings, on the transforming capacity of the memory. It is, yes, much warmer and more sensual, renouncing the icy formal perfection that results so much in distance in Resnais's work.

That sensuality, will lead in later works of Robbe-Grillet more and more in an annoying sadomasochistic aberration, and in an undoubted misogyny that reaches the delusional.

In L'Immortelle, a suspicious and unexpressive protagonist finds himself trapped in a fantasy that involves a woman and a city, both equally mysterious, deceitful and beautiful, in the threatening presence of a controlling corporation made up of neighbors, street vendors, bar customers, fishermen, led by a sinister character with sunglasses and accompanied at all times by a couple of imposing dogs.

The scenes, as in all of the auteur's films, matter for themselves, for the narrative paths they seem to open, for where they point, rather than as links in a linear story that does not exist. Robbe-Grillet centers them on clichés of the most commercial and serial cinema, flattering the viewer's imagination, as if it were a noir or mistery film, using exotic and fascinating sets ( in this case Istanbul shows all its mystery, its fascination, its decadent charm, its supposedly threatening background, and its most picturesque corners). But time and again Robbe-Grillet ends up disenchanting the viewer, or leaving him in suspense, when everything is shown as a simple decoy, as a false trail that leads nowhere.

The film could suffer from a story that is too basic and is assumed to be unimportant, a simple starting point for Robbe-Grillet juggling, which can be a bit tiresome in the middle of the film. But Robbe-Grillet knows when to take the puzzle apart to assemble the pieces differently, and thereby regain the attention of the possibly distracted viewer in time.

Robbe-Grillet would continue down this same path, breaking down soap opera stories into increasingly clever and cerebral games, but also stripping female leads more and more naked, and subjecting them to increasingly unacceptable mistreatment and torture.