Why you’re wrong about Gaspar Noé
When Gaspar Noé debuted his second feature film, Irréversible, at the Cannes Film Festival in 2003, viewers were quickly divided. With graphic violence and even a lengthy rape scene, the film was received negatively by many audience members in attendance, 200 of whom walked out of the screening in protest.
Since then, Noé has continued to make controversial movies, like the pornographic Love to the strobe-heavy Lux Æterna, making him one of the most divisive figures in modern cinema. Many people seem to see Noé as nothing more than a cinematic provocateur simply trying to shock audiences and cause outrage, but I’m here to argue that you’re wrong.
Noé is obsessed with weird and boundary-pushing cinema, admitting that he has been this way since he was young. He once told Rotten Tomatoes, “The day I turned 18 my mother wanted me to see Pasolini’s Salò [or the 120 Days of Sodom]. She said, ‘Now you are old enough to see a precise portrayal of human cruelty.’” He also cited the surreal genius of Eraserhead as one of his biggest inspirations, as well as the visual feat that is 2001: A Space Odyssey.
It’s easy to see how these films have influenced Noé’s work, from the bright colours in Kubrick’s space epic reflecting Noé’s appreciation for bold visual style, to the senseless violence of Salò informing his recurring themes of human depravity. Yet, the filmmaker has always harnessed a unique style that feels unequivocally his, with Noé’s standout technique arguably being his experimentation with form as a way to shape his narrative.
Noé doesn’t merely use non-linear storytelling or quick cuts – the filmmaker truly pushes the boat out when it comes to choosing methods to best get his narrative across with a visceral sense of urgency. That’s what makes his work so idiosyncratic and compelling; he draws you in with genuinely innovative approaches to form, allowing his explorations of sex, drugs, and violence to take on a much more poignant sensibility. Yet, it’s not all style and no substance with Noé; he allows the pair to inform each other.
Take Climax, for example, which follows a dance troupe as their rehearsal turns awry when someone spikes their sangria with acid. Paranoia and mistrust spread rapidly as everyone starts to act strangely, and to communicate this chaos, Noé uses various long takes (one is over 40 minutes) to glide between different characters, allowing no respite from the insanity that has descended upon the building.
Then there’s Enter the Void, with its first-person point of view depicting a man’s experience of Tokyo nightlife after he is shot and killed. It’s a psychedelic meditation on life and death, with Noé allowing us to take on a perspective rarely afforded to cinema-goers, floating across brightly-lit neon clubs or reflecting on moments from the character’s life. Noé’s choice to shoot the film this way is not only a fascinating viewing experience, but one that directly aids the complex themes of dying and observation.
With Irréversible, Noé used various disorientating techniques to capture the heinous nature of incessant violence, and while it’s uncomfortable to watch, it’s a truly affecting piece of art. From the backwards storytelling and the constantly fluid and dizzying camera movements, to the pounding electronic music and nausea-inducing sound frequency added to certain scenes, Irréversible is a bleak ride through the most unforgiving and disturbing back alleys of humanity.
It’s understandable, of course, if people find the film a triggering experience – I still can’t make my mind up about that harrowing rape scene – but Noé’s mission was clear: to depict the truest horrors of humanity, and he certainly succeeded.
Noé isn’t always focused on sex and violence, however, and with Vortex, arguably one of his greatest films, the director used a split-screen technique to follow a couple whose health is rapidly deteriorating. It’s a haunting and tragic film, and the use of title cards with the actor’s and Noé’s birthdays on them, as well as the inclusion of an old clip of Françoise Hardy performing ‘Mon Amie la Rose’, only serves to emphasise these painful themes of mortality.
As an artist, Noé has consistently explored the pain and violence to be found in living and the mysteries of death, and he does so in a way that is confronting and often challenging to watch. Yet, doesn’t all great art stir up uncomfortable emotions and divide opinion? Noé is an undeniably skilled filmmaker, and he is much more than an enfant terrible of French cinema. While he is certainly a respected figure for many, it’s about time people recognised how truly underrated his genius really is. In a landscape of blockbusters and uninspired and unoriginal stories, Noé constantly experiments with form and daring themes, making him one of the most groundbreaking filmmakers of his generation.
