Revisiting Lucile Hadžihalilović’s under-appreciated twisted fairy-tale ‘Innocence’
During the early 2000s, female coming-of-age cinema was becoming increasingly popular, utilising comedy and rich cultural references to depict the trials and tribulations of growing up. However, in 2004, French filmmaker Lucile Hadžihalilović took the concept of feminine coming-of-age and turned it into something wildly different. Innocence, her first feature, is a twisted gothic fairytale that depicts the metamorphosis of young girls into teenagers.
The film opens with the unsteady image of rushing water, in which the camera has been immersed. Muted rumblings create an unnerving soundscape, helping to create a division between the audiences’ preconceived notion of water as a symbol of purity and fertility, and the camera’s depiction of chaos and destruction within the waves. Hadžihalilović cleverly forewarns the harsh treatment of the young and “innocent” girls that we are about to meet.
After a few more shots of the natural world – a motif that becomes apparent all throughout the film – we are introduced to the girls in the most unconventional way thinkable. Six-year-old Iris, the newest pupil at the mysterious boarding school, arrives in a tiny coffin, a symbol of childhood death, surrounded by young girls wearing all-white dresses and different coloured hair ribbons. Iris is helped out of the coffin, where she has been laying almost completely naked, before the older girls’ dress her in a matching outfit.
Many viewers might find this uncomfortable – yet that is the point Hadžihalilović seems to be making. By inserting images of half-naked children, the director challenges the audience, making them question why these images make them feel uncomfortable in the first place. This becomes apparent as the film progresses, where we learn that the only activities the girls are taught in school are ballet (which they perform to male guests) and biology (where they learn about their changing bodies). Hadžihalilović depicts the terrifying assimilation of children into the sexualised sphere with eerie precision, which is unfortunately all too ripe under patriarchy.
To do so, the world Hadžihalilović creates is uncanny – an entirely separate world that seems to exist within its own confines, yet one that bears many resemblances to our own. Men are few and far between until we see the girls perform a ballet recital under the supervision of their teacher Mademoiselle Eva, played by Marion Cotillard. Wearing butterfly costumes – a symbol of their metamorphosis – the older girls are forced to perform in front of a group of shadowy figures whose faces are never revealed, making their presence even more chilling. A man throws a rose at the eldest dancer, 12-year-old Bianca, shouting: “You are the most beautiful one!” which she tucks under her leotard strap. Bianca is aware of the sexual connotations present within the transaction, smiling back as the camera cuts to Eva, who acknowledges the exchange with a passive look on her face. It’s a disturbing sequence that stands out as one of the film’s most perturbing scenes.
Hadžihalilović weaves gorgeous, dreamlike images of nature and childish joy with hauntingly dark corridors, mysterious figures and moody lighting. Existing in a microcosm of unexplained events and rituals, Innocence is not the easiest of watches, yet the director asserts: “I believe everyone can find their own stories within the film.” As Innocence comes to an end, the older girls are finally released from boarding school and placed in the real world. This is a world of sexuality and male dominance, instantly symbolised by a water fountain that the girls sit by. As they splash and frolic in the water, their purity begins to tarnish as they are approached by boys. The final shot reveals a giant phallic spray of water that covers the camera, bringing this multi-layered motif back into the forefront to beg the question – will young girls ever be free?
Innocence is a brave exploration of feminine coming of age which utilises taboo images to emphasise the gross nature of a culture preoccupied with youth and the sexualisation of children. Hadžihalilović’s film cannot be watched passively – her sinister tale, aided by Benoît Debie’s unsettling yet beautiful cinematography, is an unforgettable feat of storytelling, leaving audiences undoubtedly unsettled long after viewing.
