#azazeljacobs

There is something truly special about discovering a movie you’ve not heard of, purposely avoiding promotional materials in order to go in with the purest approach possible, and then, despite years of film viewing and analysis, finding yourself truly captivated by the journey a film presents with little to no clue where the journey will leave you.  Pardon that extremely intense run-on sentence, but it best describes my experience with French Exit.

Initially, it is hard to put a finger on how one is supposed to take French Exit in, but as the story unfolds (especially in two key areas where it takes the boldest of giant steps), the idea of passive-aggressive value starts to take hold, which is a concept that mirrors the melancholy dark humor that fuels the narrative.  The boldest example of this can be found in the way that Frances Price literally sets her money up as a timer for her expiration, which is ironic considering she played life previous to our entry point in the story in a reverse manner where she assumed she’d expire before the money did.  With this new assignment to the last thing of “value” she holds (other than her son Malcolm, who she ultimately wants to be free though she never outright states it), her nonchalance towards the way she doles out the money is both alarming to us while being unburdening to Frances, which creates that rare situation in which the tension exists between onscreen characters and viewers.  With this self-appointed sense of urgency in the air, the value of everyone’s relationship dynamics and interpersonal communication is suddenly thrown under viewer examination in light of how striking Frances’ choice is.

Much like Frances marches into the unknown with a private sense of knowing, we as viewers are pushed into two moments of panic that gives us an indication of how fragile things are : Frances removing Malcolm from his school (which we later find out took place immediately after Frances was released from jail in light of her actions after discovering Frank was dead), followed by a flash-forward to her notification that Frank’s money and assets are going back to the bank (which will leave Frances and Malcolm penniless).  While not directly spelled out, Joan’s recommendation that Frances head to Paris is a subtle indicator of where Frances will end up (which is nicely tied up in the penultimate scene).  The general stillness and acceptance of these fates creates a sort of blank slate aura that somehow allows us as viewers to accept the initial baby step (and eventual forward leap) into the world of the mystic, which helps cleanly separate the story into a beautiful rise and fall.

The odd mood that the story sets is bolstered by the muted, worn-out book page look that the color-timing employs.  There are also moments of striking use of lighting, especially in the apartment, which is especially impressive in light of the fact that the production team used the cheat code of making New York and Paris the main locations.  Speaking of great locations, the interiors and the exteriors of the ship that takes Frances and Malcolm to France is also a great set piece.  The way that the extremely dark humor is balanced against very nuanced and reserved performances is an achievement in terms of strong direction, and while this film will likely not get a Best Director nod during awards season, it is worth recognizing how well Azazel Jacobs is able to walk his cast down the path.  The muted chamber-style score helps sell the dark tone while also giving the film the feel of a play in the vein of Death of a Salesman.

Michelle Pfeiffer has carved herself a long and fruitful career out of using her stunning beauty and stirring intensity to great effect in her roles, and that practice continues with French Exit, but without making it blatant, she adds in touches of despair, romantic longing and existential dread in her march towards her accepted ending.  It took me a while to peg where I recognized Lucas Hedges from (it was Mid90s), and while I wasn’t necessarily the biggest fan of how stoic and defeated he played his role for the most part, it does seem necessary, as it makes the two moments that he accepts his inner pain and sadness pop, meaning the performance was clearly a calculated choice.  Danielle Macdonald does a fabulous job of being the first indicator of where things will take us with her standoffish persona and seeming mystic ability, and when she is not around, her energy is counterbalanced by the fabulously abstract and sincere humor that emerges from Valerie Mahaffrey’s consistent scene-stealing appearances.  Isaach de Bankolé brings some additional sincerity to the table in tandem with a dose of healthy curiosity, while supporting appearances by Imogen Poots, Daniel Di Tomasso, Susan Coyne, Eddie Holland and a voice only role by Tracy Letts fill out the small but powerful ensemble cast.

HUFFPO EXCLUSIVE

Music: diNMachine

Video: Azazel Jacobs

Camera: Tobias Datum

Performance: Debra Winger

According to its songwriter, Michael Schumacher…

“‘Brisé,’ written for choreographer Liz Gerring, features bits of glass, hanging like a mobile from strings, for part of the percussion track, the recording of waves—recorded on a trip to San Francisco—and a field recording of children in a playground in Berlin.”

And according to director Azazel Jacobs…

"Brisé" played in a loop from a small speaker while we made this video. We - cinematographer Tobias Datum, actress Debra Winger, and myself - had few preconceived ideas of what would occur during the shooting, but it felt far from being free form. The song itself, already loaded with story, has such a strong sense of place and particular grounding that it felt more like being led, than trying to find our way.

We started at the beginning. Syncing up the sound of water with an image of it literally forced us to be on the same track. We began raising questions while simultaneously shooting; Who is this woman? How long has she been here? Where is she going…? We trusted the music to reveal any needed answers, all we had to do was listen.

I’ve never had a chance to work this way - to tell a story from the score, rather than the usual opposite. I believe it's a testament to the song, to the work of diNMachine, that the tables could be turned so and that I am still walking away with the feeling of making something personal. The woman that Debra so beautifully brought to life, and Tobi was able to capture, is someone that I feel I now know. She will remain on my mind, wondering whether this is a story of her survival or her destruction. Perhaps, it's more similar to the definition of "Brisé": (something I have only thought of looking up now) a ballet movement in which the dancer jumps off one foot, beats the legs together, and lands on both feet.

Ah. So she makes it.