Murder,
manipulation, sexual anxiety. Acclaimed young director François Ozon
dives into a challenging exploration of adolescence that leads to
shocking crime headlines. Americans are certainly not strangers to
tragedies of misplaced and disconnected youth, and Ozon’s film
explores the fragile psychology of two criminally minded teens with
moments of stunning insight. Art film enthusiasts will undoubtedly
embrace Criminal Lovers as a feast of distinct visual style and
haunting ideas, but general audience will likely be lost in the abstract
psychology and turned away by the brutality.
In the style characteristic of TV news
reporting, Criminal Lovers shocks
first and explains later. Two young lovers, Alice and Luc, stab to death
another young man. They have obviously planned the murder carefully, but
once they start driving out of town to dispose of the body, the
carefully laid plans begin to clash with reality. First, they run over a
rabbit, then they rob a store because they are hungry and out of money.
And of course, along the way they realize they forgot to bring a shovel.
After they finally make it to the woods and bury the body, they get
lost. The cabin of a lone woodsman seems like a temporary rescue from
hunger, but their childish criminal fantasy quickly becomes a nightmare
when the Woodsman imprisons them in his cellar.
Numerous close-up shots of the two young
criminals at the beginning suggest just how deeply their motives and
psyches are hidden from us, and even from themselves. The closer the
camera is placed, the greater the need for a hint of an understanding of
their actions, and the greater the void of their apathy in a desperate
urge for the next great thrill.
Perhaps, the most memorable scene of
perplexing symbolism follows Alice, with a shovel against her shoulder,
and Luc through the toy isle of a supermarket. On one side of the isle,
Alice is staring at Barbie dolls, on the opposite side, Luc is staring
at action toys. In the middle of this colorful abundance of youthful
distraction, the stark metal of the shovel illustrates that for Alice
and Luc murder is just another walk down the fantasy isle, more the mad
game of evil children than premeditating adults.
After Alice and Luc become the Woodsman’s
prisoners, flashbacks reflect on their actions, and their motivations
are exposed. Alice is a heartless manipulator acting out of conflict
with her sexual impulses. Luc proves to be a weak pawn in Alice’s
schemes because of his own sexual identity confusion. He emerges as the
protagonist in need of becoming a man, and the Woodsman, although scary
and repulsive, awakens Luc’s compassion and accountability in part by
unleashing his closeted homosexuality. The events in the Woodsman’s
cabin are rich with insight and transforming revelations. A mythical
place of dark seclusion is optimal for reflection. Even though danger
looms, this darkness is the place of rare opportunity for spiritual
redemption even in the case of a cold-blooded murderer.
Talented Natacha Regnier as Alice and
Jeremie Renier as Luc vacillate between helplessness and self-indulgent
brutality. We can’t quite decide whether to feel sorry for them or
lock them up and throw away the key. Miki Manojlovic, though, anchors
the movie in mature mystery as the Woodsman. His quiet dominance
contrasted with his haggard looks and desolate life-style evokes
sympathy while constantly escalating the sense of danger.
Unfortunately, just as the movie reaches
moments of immense power, the story degenerates into a clumsy and
unexpected conclusion. Such, perhaps, is the nature of an art film,
which tries so hard not to be taken for granted that it sometimes leaves
its viewers with a few good scenes and a nagging feeling of irrelevance.
Criminal Lovers would make a great
opener for an adolescent psychology debate, a film lecture, or even a
good conversation, but an average viewer will find it hard to swallow as
sheer entertainment. Sadly, the movies that invite us to reflect are too
often disconnected and unappealing.
