L'important c'est d'aimer

Any average viewer who comes across 'Limportant c'est d'aimer' will be stymied by it, and will hate it for its abstruseness, and I couldn't possibly begrudge them for doing so. Watching the films of Andrzej Zulawski is the cinematic equivalent of selecting Expert Mode to play a videogame for the first time, and even for cinephiles with substantial breadth and depth of experience in the medium Zulawski is unquestionably challenging. As if to emphasize the point, I didn't actually realize in the moment before pressing "play" that this was one of the man's works, and I really thought I knew what I was getting into based on the premise. I could scarcely have been more wrong; one might reasonably append labels of "drama" and "romance" to this picture, but it's only because those are the nearest approximations of any descriptors that might be applicable. The writing and execution bear a jolting ferociousness and unconventional, somewhat avant-garde tenor that recalls the filmmaker's twisted 1981 horror masterpiece 'Possession' more than anything else. This is forceful, emphatic, and even exaggerated in ways that recall a wide range of cinema far removed from those titles which usually share labels with this one. Strange as it is, though, I'd be plainly lying if I said it didn't raptly keep one's attention and stand out for its distinct stylistic approach. In fact, not only is it fascinating, but despite its difficulty it's also obliquely enjoyable. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I understand everything Zulawski was trying to do with this picture, but it's a curious and fantastic experience, if also absolutely suited to only a niche audience.

From start to finish and in pretty much every way the visual, auditory, and emotional aesthetic of 'L'important c'est d'aimer' isn't just dark, or bleak. Rather, while the narrative doesn't carry itself as even a "thriller," the tone in every aspect brings to mind terms like "horror," "dystopian," post-apocalyptic," or in the very least "(urban) decay." Georges Delerue's score, equally beautiful and haunting in its momentousness, alternates between themes that on the surface would be more appropriate for a sci-fi tale of world-shattering cataclysm, and themes that on the surface would fit right in with a nerve-racking horror-thriller. Ricardo Aronovich's photography is likewise stunning in its crisp, vivid, and dynamic thrust that accentuates the dire mood at every turn, and at the same time I can't help but wonder if Zulawski suggested Aronovich shoot the feature as he would a flick about demonic possession. The production design, art direction, and costume design are all marked by splendid care for detail and completeness, yet invariably project airs of a broken society and broken characters. Even the hair and makeup, excellent as they are in and of themselves, paint the cast in dour hues that make their appearances here pointedly unglamorous and downright haunted. The fundamental look and feel of this movie is one of major disquiet.

Of course the actors very much follow this ethos under Zulawski's grim guiding vision as director. I'm of the mind that everyone involved gives a strong performance, very much doing their part to bring the harsh tableau to stark, throbbing life. From one to the next the ensemble inhabit their roles with a constant dispirited presence, an unsettled state of tense, hollowed-out apprehension - not an absence of emotion, but an overwhelming panoply of the worst ones. Among the supporting cast or even primary movers some portrayals are more firm than others, though I disagree with the seemingly common opinion that the likes of Fabio Testi, Jacques Dutronc, Claude Dauphin, or Michel Robin are altogether weak. Rather, they simply pale in comparison to others on hand. Volatile, legendary, infamous Klaus Kinski may only have a rather minor role, but I don't think there's much arguing that he well outshines many of those with more prominent characters. Yet even he is merely an ant under the heel of Romy Schneider. There can be no doubt that Schneider earned her César award for her performance as Nadine, and surely deserved many more accolades, for this may have been the best turn she ever did. She sparks with astonishing, anguished, tormented vitality here, such that it's hard to drum up especial comparisons except perhaps Isabelle Adjani. Frankly, even if there were nothing else worthwhile about 'L'important c'est d'aimer' (there is), it would be worth watching just for Schneider alone. What a powerhouse!

With all this having been said, the writing is certainly where the feature gets tricky. I don't know how much of what we see is attributable to Christopher Frank's novel, how much to the screen adaptation he penned with Zulawski, or how much to Zulawski's realization of the material. One way or another, it's indisputable that aside from Schneider the chief defining characteristic of the experience here is its lofty, backhanded approach to storytelling. That some seem to think this an easier point of entry to the man's oeuvre says much about his body of work at large, for 'L'important c'est d'aimer' weaves in facets and themes that I readily admit escape me to at least some degree. I think "inscrutable' is too heavy a word, yet as much as it stands to be enjoyed by everyone on one level, and on additional levels by more attentive viewers, I can only congratulate those grasp the entirety of the plot as it presents. Be that as it may, the strength coursing through the film is inescapable, and from its dialogue to its characters and not least the buzzing, vibrant scene writing, this is delicious and satisfying even if we lack the palate to discern every last touch of its bouquet.

Zulawski is in no way a director for beginners, and one must be ready to actively engage with his pictures or not even bother taking a look. This is to say nothing of the pervasive dreary ambience, or abundant sex and nudity and considerable violence. Even if one is unable to pick up on every last minutiae, however, those who are thusly prepared will be greeted with a bounty of masterful film-making, acting, storytelling, and otherwise craftsmanship that is ample compensation for the labor that our spectatorship requires. It bears repeating that whether or not one is specifically a fan of Romy Schneider I believe this merits exploration for her acting alone, but even outside that performance there is so very much to appreciate here. It's not a title one can watch passively, but in every regard 'L'important c'est d'aimer' is worth every gloomy minute, and earns a high, hearty recommendation.

Romy Schneider was absolutely right to consider this film as her major professional achievement. Thanks to Christopher Franck's remarkable adaptation from his own awarded novel LA NUIT AMERICAINE (not to be mistaken with Truffaut's well-known DAY FOR NIGHT) and to Georges Delerue's haunting soundtrack, Zulawski is here at his paramount, because his usual romantic excesses perfectly fit this time the subject. As for the cast, all the actors have never been so right in the part they've been chosen for : from Fabio Testi to Jacques Dutronc, from Klaus Kinsky to Claude Dauphin, not to mention Michel Robin. The scene in the bar, just after the theatrical premiere of Shakespeare's RICHARD III, when the whole crew reads the articles dedicated to their play, almost looks like a mirror of Zulawski himself, as most of his works have been misunderstood, if not definitely "killed" by the critics. if you happen to belong to the happy few who sincerely praise L'IMPORTANT C'EST D'AIMER, try to see some day the films that writer Christopher Franck personally directed from other novels of his about the same bohemian milieu, specially JOSEPHA, featuring Miou Miou & Claude Brasseur.

Hardly anything witty about love has dawned on Zulawski's third feature, an almost exclusively chamber drama, where a burgeoning attraction between a pornography photographer Servais Mont (Testi) and a second-rate actress Nadine Chevalier (Schneider), has barely taken off from the platonic struggle, because Nadine is married to Jacques (Dutronc), to whom she bears a tangible fusion of gratitude, responsibility and affection, which complicates their situation into a torrid emotional abyss so as to testify that love is indeed the most inscrutable, unpredictable, yet the most important thing.

Crammed in the high-ceiling, antique-looking Parisian apartments and loci like theatre, bar and hospital, its mise-en-scène strains to stay claustrophobic, fluid and quivering, signals the characters' shaky states, but, Zulawski and the screenwriter Christopher Frank fail to let their emotions run the full gamut to reach out its dazzled viewers, a stately but shallowly anaemic Testi cannot portray a role, whose inner depth is apparently out of his league, fumbles and routinely daydreams from scene to scene, his fervent gaze can not justify Servais' actions, his thoughts, and the limp dialogue doesn't help either.

Ms. Schneider, won Best Actress in the first-ever César Awards, is palpably more tapped into her role, sending off her raw charisma into her inwardly paralysed psyche, she tries to be frank with her own feelings, desire, dignity and pride at her own peril, but there are too many smoke and mirrors around to indulgently mystify an uncompounded, and fragmented story-line, the only thing to ameliorate the faint exasperation is when the pure dramatic sequences take the stage: Kinski's spit-fire flare-up is a mood-enforcer, Dutronc stands out in his chummy whims and delightfully erratic behavioural conundrum, a peculiar man who withdraws into a reprieve from, in an obvious tenor, a husband's functionality (abruptly falls into slumber so that his wife can only hopelessly play with herself to slake her desire), but also hatches up something seemingly unspeakable and inexplicable with Servais through an undertone of self-abandonment and total capitulation, in a muscle-versus-quirk contest over the same woman.

Zulawski's highbrow ambition to extract something refine and sophisticated out of the triangular deadlock doesn't consummately do the trick, in the end, Servais has to pay his debt with his blood and internal bleeding, from a father figure Mazelli (Dauphin), in his case, love IS the most important thing, if he can endure all the pain both physically and mentally, to demonstrate his unconditional devotion.

Georges Delerue's score is ever so conspicuous whenever a close-up is zoomed in between Servais and Nadine, to cloyingly illustrate their passion, otherwise, it remains forbidding and sinister, circles around a pessimistic account of love, in its purest but strangely tepid manifestation.

I'm not surprised to read here at IMDb that Romy called this her best work. She leads a cast of irresistible losers (Dutronc, Kinski, Testi) in the wholly believable debauchery that is so truly the amoral dilemma of the profession Maugham has called "THE show business". The physical electricity of these performers is such that I came away from it thirty years ago thinking that Miss Schneider was Brando's doppelganger. Or perhaps she WAS Brando! After all, they were never seen together, were they? If acting may be defined as the truthful response to fictional stimuli, then this film, which, by the way, must be screening daily in both Heaven and Hell, was perhaps shot in one cosmic take. These actors display - seamlessly - their bodies, their appetites, their loves, egos, ids and superegos. Never mind the sadness, life is for learning.

A very simple, and (thus) extremely powerful film. And, sadly, underrated. It's a mind-opening experience. It doesn't say anything new or different on the subject, its simplicity and consistence shows loud and clear that...love is nothing but pain, but it's the only thing worth fighting (living; feeling pain) for; the only thing that sets you free. When Schneider's personage finds an earlier repulsive photograph dying in his desolated apartment you get to feel that now she cannot not love him... A very sincere, believable, touching film resembling real life and real love. Every actor's work is praise-worth, and worth the film's title. They knew what each of them were talking about. And no wonder Kinski took part in this. (The mood of this film is somehow similar to Last Tango in Paris.) You can almost feel wounded along with these 'people' that are being thrashed by love.