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    ‘No Fear, No Die’: Claire Denis’s Noir Comes Home to Roost

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    The French filmmaker’s confident third feature has been largely overlooked. Thankfully, a newly restored version is getting its first New York run since 1992.Most celebrated for “Beau Travail,” her sensuous transposition of Herman Melville’s “Billy Budd” to an African outpost of France’s Foreign Legion, Claire Denis could be the strongest French filmmaker of the post-New Wave generation. She is certainly the greatest risk-taker — unafraid to eroticize her male actors, unleash outré violence, or subsume an elusive narrative in a fiercely lyrical force field.“No Fear, No Die,” made nearly a decade before “Beau Travail,” does all three. Newly restored, the film is now at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, its first New York run since 1992. Few revivals are more deserving.Introduced when Denis was still relatively unknown, as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center series “Eurobeat: Blacks in European Cinema,” the movie was well received at the time. (Caryn James’s New York Times review in 1992 called it “exquisite in its own tough-minded way.”) Still, even as Denis’s stature has grown, her confident third feature has been largely overlooked.“No Fear, No Die” might be described as doubly noir. Set in a sketchy demimonde, it takes its epigraph from the sometime crime writer Chester Himes’s memoir “My Life of Absurdity”: “Every human being, whatever his race, nationality, religion or politics, is capable of anything and everything.” The main characters are two former colonial subjects. Dah (Isaach de Bankolé, featured in several Denis films, including her first “Chocolat”) is from Benin; his partner Jocelyn (Alex Descas) from Martinique.The action is largely confined to a glorified truck stop disco in a dingy Paris suburb. The club’s shady white owner Pierre (Jean-Claude Brialy) plans to use the joint as an arena for cockfights. The sport is illegal in France, if not Martinique, where Pierre formerly lived and, as he makes abundantly clear, enjoyed the favors of Jocelyn’s mother.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      ‘Chocolat’: What France Knew

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      Newly restored, Claire Denis’s quasi-autobiographical “Chocolat,” a child’s-eye view of French colonialism, is austere yet vivid.A young white woman revisits Cameroon and remembers an idyllic childhood in a French colonial outpost. Her name is France.Released in 1988, Claire Denis’s quasi-autobiographical “Chocolat” is the brilliant prelude to a great career, as demonstrated by the new 4K restoration revived for a week by Film at Lincoln Center.Denis served a distinguished apprenticeship, an assistant director to Jacques Rivette, Dusan Makavejev, Wim Wenders and Jim Jarmusch; she made her debut as a filmmaker in her early 40s with a confident, fully formed style. More visual than literary, “Chocolat” is at once open and elliptical, austere and vivid.France (the country as well as the child played by Cécile Ducasse) may be the nominal protagonist of the film, but its central character is Protée (Isaach de Bankolé), the colonial family’s handsome, fiercely self-contained “house boy.” His name is also allegorical, suggesting the shape-shifting Greek sea-god Proteus.France’s parents — her mother in particular — are dependent on Protée, and in the absence of other children, the servant is France’s closest companion. Keeping a respectful distance, Denis renders him unknowable, yet in his pride and humiliation, he provides the movie’s emotional depth. Reviewing in The New York Times, Vincent Canby wrote that Protée had “the manner of a prince, someone taken hostage in war, waiting to be ransomed.”Cameroon’s imminent independence is less referred to than implied, overshadowed by the episodic narrative. Alone when France’s father (François Cluzet) travels, her mother (Giulia Boschi) is frightened by a hyena and wooed by a ridiculous English diplomat. A neighboring family of missionaries decides to leave. An airplane malfunction strands a motley bunch of white people — a French planter with a secret African mistress, a defrocked priest and a frightened couple on their honeymoon — with the family for a month, affording a gallery of colonial types.An early American review of “Chocolat” compared its “intertwined themes of colonialism and forbidden love” to one of Somerset Maugham’s steamy Malaysian melodramas. Still, as a child’s apprehension of the adult world, the movie seems closer to Henry James’s “What Maisie Knew.” The oblique story line is refracted through, even as it frames, France’s (or “French”) innocence. The clarity of Denis’s compositions imbues the pampered isolation in which the family lives with tender regard and implicit horror.Discovering “Chocolat” at Cannes, Canby noted that, although “one of the more impressive films” at the festival, it was not especially well received by French critics. The Times, however, would be unusually supportive. When “Chocolat” opened in New York in 1989, Canby’s enthusiastic review occasioned features on both de Bankolé and Denis, the latter piece calling the movie “a brave attempt to probe an upheaval many French people would prefer to forget.”Denis cannot. She returned to Africa for her two strongest films, the 1999 “Beau Travail” (seventh in the recent Sight and Sound poll of cinema’s “greatest films”) and the 2010 “White Material,” a convulsive drama of political change shot in Cameroon and featuring de Bankolé as a revolutionary hero. As the films in her unofficial African trilogy were shot at roughly 10-year intervals, Denis may yet go home once more.ChocolatThrough March 2 at Film at Lincoln Center in Manhattan; filmlinc.org. More

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      ‘Stars at Noon’ Review: A Not-So-Innocent Abroad

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      Claire Denis’s captivating new film, starring Margaret Qualley and based on the novel by Denis Johnson, treads familiar territory in a foreign land.Based on the 1986 novel “The Stars at Noon” by Denis Johnson, Claire Denis’s adaptation reprises themes to which she has often returned — colonialism, dislocation, the complications of looking — since her seismic 1988 debut, “Chocolat.” The results are sometimes wobbly, but this much remains stable: No living director better understands the politics of sensuality, the terrible power of light and shadow on skin.Denis’s latest not-so-innocent abroad is Trish (Margaret Qualley), a willowy young white American in Nicaragua who becomes ensnared in a corrupt system. Her claims to be a journalist are murky, but she has clearly upset the wrong people somehow, reduced to trading sex for cash and favors in hopes that she can reclaim her passport and escape.In this context she meets Daniel (Joe Alwyn), a mysterious and handsome British man, and the erotic intensity of their easy intimacy bends everything toward it; Daniel, it seems, has his own troubles, and soon the star-crossed couple are running for the border, pursued by a variety of shadowy goons.Denis nibbles around the edges of plot and motivation in ways that sometimes struggle to cohere — details are spare even for a director justly celebrated for her elliptical poesy — and in important ways, “Stars” lacks the specificity of her best films. Shot in Panama and updated to the pandemic present (Johnson’s novel is set amid the Nicaraguan revolution), its sense of place feels less indelible than incidental.But as usual in Denis’s work, the smallest act or subtlest gesture can open entire worlds of feeling and consequence. In her hands, Qualley is a force of nature, moving through space with a manic freedom and energy reserved only for the young, beautiful and damned.Stars at NoonRated R for abundant sweaty sex and some violence. Running time: 2 hours 15 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on Apple TV, Google Play and other streaming platforms and pay TV operators. More

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      ‘Both Sides of the Blade’ Review: Who Do You Love?

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      In the latest film from Claire Denis, Juliette Binoche plays a Parisian radio journalist in a romantic quandary.When we first meet Sara and Jean, they are enjoying a vacation. To be precise, they‘re making out in the waters of a sun-dappled lagoon, the very picture of midlife romantic fulfillment. The fact that Sara and Jean are played by Juliette Binoche and Vincent Lindon, two of most charismatic actors of a certain age in modern cinema, makes their apparent bliss look all the more enviable.But the pictures only tell part of the story. The couple’s smiles and caresses are accompanied by brooding, cello-heavy music — the kind that lets even the most inattentive or tone-deaf viewer know that something bad is going to happen. Even when the sound brightens and Jean and Sara return to their tidy Paris apartment, you can’t quite shake the feeling of dread.“Both Sides of the Blade” is a Claire Denis movie, which is to say that it can be expected to confound expectations, including those it seems to set up for itself. Sex, politics, vampires, science fiction, Herman Melville — nothing is alien to this restless and resourceful filmmaker.Here, the plot occasionally gravitates toward romantic comedy, as Sara finds herself torn between Jean and François (Grégoire Colin), a former lover who is also an old friend and potential business partner of Jean’s. But the mood hovers in the neighborhood of melodrama, thriller, even horror. Sara’s passion for François seems almost like a form of possession, and allusions to Jean’s status as an ex-convict contribute to a free-floating sense of danger.The dissonance between the film’s structure and its tone is potentially interesting, and the off-balance intensity of the performances means that “Both Sides of the Blade” is never dull. As they did in “Let the Sunshine In,” Binoche and Denis trace the disruptive effects of desire on a woman who is neither heroine nor victim. The impulses that lead Sara to destabilize her own domestic life are mysterious even to her, and the audience may wonder why she appears to prefer François, who is pouty and petulant (even in bed), to the stoical, sad-eyed Jean.Bad choices often make good stories, but there is something thin and tentative about this one, which Denis wrote with Christine Angot. Sara is the host of a public-affairs radio broadcast, a job that allows the film to glance occasionally at the wider world. Guests talk about the crisis in Lebanon and the pervasiveness of racism in Western society, and their presence in the movie is a puzzle. Maybe we are supposed to see that Sara cares about such matters, or that Denis does, or to be reminded that we should. Or maybe Denis is pointing out the gulf between public concerns and private experience.The larger problem is that the main characters and their situation seem weightless, their nonromantic lives sketched in hastily and without much conviction. Jean sometimes travels to the suburbs to visit his mother, Nelly (Bulle Ogier), who is caring for his teenage son, Marcus (Issa Perica). The young man, whose mother is out of the picture, is biracial, and becomes a too-convenient symbol for social problems the film otherwise ignores. He steals Nelly’s credit card and does badly in school, and because we know almost nothing else about him as a character, he seems like a stereotype.Marcus’s behavior provokes a rant from his father against “the prevailing discourse” that emphasizes identity over individuality. Like the segments from Sara’s radio program, this diatribe against le wokisme waves in the direction of contemporary reality without engaging it.Meanwhile, the Sara-Jean-François love triangle, as it grows louder and more tearful, loses momentum as a source of drama. Its resolution is — and I mean this as a literal description — a bad joke. How strange that a filmmaker as idiosyncratic and fearless as Denis has made such a generic, tentative film.Both Sides of the BladeNot rated. In French, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 56 minutes. In theaters. More

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      French Female Directors Continue Hot Streak at Rendez-Vous Festival

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      The series returns in-person with an especially strong slate of work by Frenchwomen — fitting, given their run of honors at top festivals.Sex and the city, false identities and love triangles feature prominently in this year’s Rendez-Vous With French Cinema, an annual showcase of contemporary French filmmaking held by Film at Lincoln Center.Since last year’s virtual edition, female directors from France have been making headlines, with two major European festivals awarding their top prizes to Frenchwomen: Julia Ducournau took home the Cannes Palme d’Or for her gender-bending love story “Titane”; and Audrey Diwan nabbed Venice’s Golden Lion for “Happening,” about a young woman in the 1960s seeking an abortion. Even the master filmmaker Claire Denis received one of her only competitive awards when she won best director for “Fire” last month at Germany’s Berlinale.“Fire,” a brooding melodrama, will be the opening-night film when Rendez-Vous make its return to in-person screenings on Thursday in New York. A pared-down pandemic production stocked with booming performances by Juliette Binoche, Vincent Lindon and Grégoire Colin, the film is Denis’s second collaboration with the screenwriter and novelist Christine Angot. Unlike their first effort, “Let the Sunshine In” (2018), a sly romantic comedy in which Binoche played an artist drifting through a succession of frustrating relationships, “Fire” is all Sturm und Drang. It focuses on the love lives of a late-middle-age couple with the kind of tempestuous passion befitting an adolescent affair. Though Denis obliquely weaves in broader social commentary with a subplot involving a troubled mixed-race son, the film’s shambolic qualities stoke the erotic follies at its core with transportive delirium.Anaïs Demoustier as the title character opposite Christophe Montenez in “Anais in Love.”Danielle McCarthy-Bole/Année ZéroAt Rendez-Vous, Denis is joined by other established French directors like Arnaud Desplechin (“Deception”), François Ozon (“Everything Went Fine”) and Christophe Honoré (“Guermantes”). But a newer generation of filmmakers is making a strong showing as well, and many of them are building on the great promise of the festival-winning streak for Gallic women.Three of the four feature debuts in the program are by women, including Constance Meyer’s “Robust,” a handsome-looking dramedy about an aging actor (Gérard Depardieu) who strikes up a friendship with his female bodyguard (Déborah Lukumuena). Though significantly less flamboyant, “Robust” takes cues from the 2012 interracial buddy blockbuster “Les Intouchables.”What may be the strongest debut in the lineup is Charline Bourgeois-Tacquet’s “Anaïs in Love,” which would make a fine double feature with “The Worst Person in the World”; both are about impulsive 30-somethings who fall in love and lust at the clip of a pop song. “Anaïs,” a jaunty summer story full of droll chatter and sparkling countryside vistas, follows its capricious heroine as she enters into an affair with an older man, only to find herself more interested in his novelist wife.Films like “Anaïs in Love” that relish the frisky humor and whimsy of modern romance without moralizing guilt would seem to fit squarely in the sexually liberated tradition that many see as central to France’s artistic heritage. The debate between a younger generation of feminists spearheading the country’s #MeToo movement, which has been gaining momentum after a feeble start, and elite figures who denounce the movement as extreme and puritanical continues to cast a shadow over the French film industry. This year’s Rendez-Vous selection certainly straddles the old and the new — though conspicuously absent is the Rendez-Vous regular Jacques Doillon, whose strong, if thorny, new film, “Third Grade,” concerns the playground intrigue between two children, one of whom sexually harasses the other. Nevertheless, the program keeps in step with the national penchant for sexual audacity.Jade Springer as the daughter of divorcing parents in “Petite Solange.”Aurora FilmsMale directors have rarely had any qualms about examining the intimate lives of women, and Jacques Audiard’s “Paris, 13th District,” a punchy drama in slick black and white about the messy dating lives of young Parisians, continues that tendency. It’s a pleasant surprise, though the auteurist theory explanation for a film’s success (or failure) is particularly questionable here. Consider the compelling performances by the film’s lead actresses: Noémie Merlant plays a law student whose life is thrown into shambles when her classmates mistake her for a popular camgirl; and Lucie Zhang makes her auspicious debut as a first-generation Franco-Chinese immigrant, a punkish, bedraggled young woman with a self-sabotaging romantic streak. Complex and not necessarily likable without falling into the “messy woman” archetype of so many pop feminist characters, the women of “Paris, 13th District” must have benefited from the august scriptwriting team — Audiard, Céline Sciamma (“Portrait of a Lady on Fire”) and Léa Mysius — who temper the director’s penchant for vacuous stylization with grounded humor and pathos.Five Movies to Watch This WinterCard 1 of 51. “The Power of the Dog”: More

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      The Joy (and Pain) of the Physical, at an In-Person Berlin Film Festival

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      Coronavirus measures brought hassles. But the movies brought a means to escape them.BERLIN — What is your strategy during a nasal-swab antigen test? Personally, I look up and to the right as the technician inserts the little wand, either affecting an air of nonchalance or pretending I’ve been struck by a highly original thought. I know others make idle chitchat, and at least one fellow critic has taken to staring deeply into the tester’s eyes. It’s a pandemic: You get your kicks where you can.At the Berlin International Film Festival — which announced its prizewinners on Wednesday but is continuing public screenings through Feb. 20 — attending members of the press have had ample opportunity to hone their swab technique. Mandatory tests every 24 hours — even for the boosted — were part of a package of restrictions that the organizers of the festival, which is known as the Berlinale, agreed to so it could take place as a physical event.There were complaints. But every time someone whinged about the new ticket booking system or became exasperated by the Escher-inspired exit routes, which always seemed to involve multiple uphill flights of stairs, I found myself thinking: “Deal with it.” Or sometimes, less charitably: “Suck it up.”The category error from complainants is to compare this reduced-attendance edition with Before Times Berlinales. The real comparison is with last year’s online version, which debuted a stronger selection of films but didn’t feel like a festival at all. Consider that lonely experience as the alternative and the staircases, seating hassles and swabbing become a small price to pay.Ariane Labed in “Flux Gourmet.”Bankside FilmsAnd however deep your tester probes, it could hardly be as invasive as the public colonoscopy undergone in Peter Strickland’s willfully outré “Flux Gourmet,” one of the event’s buzzy early titles. Surely the most single-minded evocation of the discomfort of suppressing flatulence ever to get a major festival berth, Strickland’s film was only rivaled by François Ozon’s festival opener “Peter von Kant” for fun, gaudy aesthetics adorning an oddly disposable story. Ozon’s film quite amusingly pulls off its trick of overlaying details from Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s biography onto a gender-flipped reworking of Fassbinder’s 1972 classic “The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant,” without ever actually justifying why.The single-location “Peter von Kant” is one of several Berlinale films that bears the hallmarks of shooting under pandemic conditions. “Fire,” which brought Claire Denis (incredibly) her first best director award at a major film festival, is another. Here, Juliette Binoche plays a woman torn between two lovers (or between “Both Sides of the Blade,” as the film’s more evocative international title puts it). If it falls short of Denis’s highest watermarks, it is at least notable for how it acknowledges the pandemic without making it the subject of the film.Quentin Dupieux’s highly enjoyable “Incredible But True” takes an oblique approach, not referencing coronavirus restrictions directly but creating unmissable parallels in what is essentially a time-travel movie. Witty and unassumingly profound, it’s a marked contrast to Bertrand Bonello’s chaotically indulgent “Coma,” which involves lockdown navel-gazing of a borderline incomprehensible nature. It received a wildly divided reception, represented by the guy beside me leaving in a huff partway in and the guy in front of me leaping to his feet shouting “Bravo!” at the end.Cyril Schäublin’s “Unrest” is defiantly uncategorizable.Seeland FilmproduktionTwo lower-key Asian titles also unfold in coronavirus times, without being overwhelmed by pandemic paranoia. Hong Sangsoo’s “The Novelist’s Film” is another deceptively breezy slice of life from the Korean director, which brought him — a perennial prize taker at the Berlinale — the runner-up Grand Prix award. The notion that this makes the festival’s jury president, M. Night Shyamalan, a de facto member of “the Hong Hive” is remarkable for anyone acquainted with their respective oeuvres — the kind of thought it’s useful to have strike you when you’re having your nose swabbed and want to look loftily away.The accurately named Japanese gem “Small, Slow But Steady” also featured masks, though here we notice the difficulties they present for lip readers. The beautifully absorbing story of a deaf female boxer whose beloved gym is facing closure, ​​Sho Miyake’s affecting drama is miniature in every way except emotional impact. Its bittersweet main idea, about a treasured place facing its imminent end, is writ in larger, bolder, colors in Carla Simón’s “Alcarràs,” which won the Golden Bear, the festival’s top award.“Alcarràs” follows the windy, sun-blasted fortunes of the Solé family, from the Catalonia region of Spain, during the family peach orchard’s last harvest before demolition. It’s a lovely, chattering, life-filled title featuring irresistible performances from its nonprofessional, all-ages ensemble cast. Its triumph here makes it the third consecutive time, after Cannes and Venice, that a major European festival’s highest honor has gone to a woman for her second film.Michael Thomas plays a washed-up club singer in “Rimini.”Ulrich Seidl FilmproduktionBut for all its sunshine and sad, brave wisdom, “Alcarràs” was, for me, outmatched by a much wintrier competition title. Ulrich Seidl’s “Rimini” is an uncompromising, coldly provocative drama that gathered no prizes, which is a shame. But that its star, Michael Thomas, playing a washed-up club singer in an off-season Italian beach town, was not specifically recognized is more or less a crime. My other competition favorite, Natalia López Gallardo’s formally striking debut feature “Robe of Gems,” did pick up the Jury Prize. But otherwise, as has been the case since the Encounters sidebar was inaugurated in 2020, a lot of the more interesting titles ended up there rather than in the main competition.A scene from “Robe of Gems.”Visit FilmsIn particular, Jöns Jönsson’s “Axiom” is a clever examination of the psychology of a compulsive liar. And best of all — in this section, this festival and, for me, this year so far — there’s Cyril Schäublin’s utterly singular “Unrest,” a movie that is defiantly uncategorizable, unless you have a category earmarked “playful, otherworldly tales of watchmaking and anarchism in 1870s Switzerland.”“Unrest” was the most transporting movie I saw in Berlin, at least until I physically transported myself to the city’s planetarium to watch Liz Rosenfeld’s experimental “White Sands Crystal Foxes.” The film itself is a rather exasperatingly overwritten art piece, but the experience was little short of transcendent. Lying under a domed 360-degree projection, suspended amid cascading imagery, I felt pleasantly disembodied. Later, it occurred to me how odd it was to yearn for a return to the real world, just to better escape it again.Five Movies to Watch This WinterCard 1 of 51. “The Power of the Dog”: More