Watching Them Watch Us
Don’t worry there are very few spoilers in this post.
Recently I went to go see Amour, which was one of the most moving films I have seen in a while. I knew beforehand it would be incredible, but was unsure how. The most recent 5 films by Michael Haneke have been phenomenal in all aspects of the filmmaking. His techniques are unlike any that contemporary filmmakers are using. He is breaking the mold of filmmaking by going back to traditional techniques, expertly used in the 60s during the French new wave or in the 40s with Italian Neorealism, a style that preached “real life” in film. By showing the real world, Haneke suggests you ruminate on the images and think it over. Haneke once said. "The audience completes the film by thinking about it; those who watch must not be just consumers ingesting spoon-fed images." Haneke plays with film realism perfectly in Amour. In lieu of quick cuts Haneke instead uses shots that sometimes are so long you begin to feel uncomfortable and squirm in your seat. Instead of fast paced music and exciting acting and dialogue, Haneke uses long periods of silence or single sounds (you can literally hear the characters breathe – or in the case of the female lead Anne - moan) that resonate with visceral emotion throughout the film. You spend much of the film almost living the experiences of the main characters in a very potent way.
One of my favorite scenes was one that had little to do with the overall action of the film and might not have featured the two main characters at all. The film opens with a camera meandering through a house where we glimpse a dead woman covered in flowers. Then the action cuts to a theater as the audience is filling in. We are searching the faces of the audience members wondering if we recognize anyone and pondering what Haneke is trying to make us focus on. You ask yourself if the woman you just saw is part of this group. You have no idea of where this is or who any of these people are. And nothing happens. Literally. The scene lasts for what feels like 5 minutes until the lights go down and a piano is heard. One single shot, focusing on nobody in particular. For the rest of the movie, we do not leave a French couple’s apartment and we see their lives as the wife’s health starts to fail.
This scene is such a great moment. Haneke clearly doesn’t care that you have no idea what is going on. He is doing this intentionally and having you watch an audience watching something else. It is brilliantly meta-cinematic. Haneke is clearly reminding you that you are watching a film. This is art imitating life. It is almost a disclaimer saying, “This film is real life. This is something you WILL experience. Heartbreak and loss is a constant and everyone experiences it on some level.” From that point on, the film drips with realism. Each moment is so truthful and real that you leave the film feeling as though you just lived 85 years with the two main characters. All of their heartbreak. All of their happiness. All of their pain. All of it. By showing us the audience, which participates in their show by clapping, Haneke asks us to participate as well with the events that are to unfold. He asks us to let go. He asks us to be moved and to think about the emotions pervading the film. We leave the film thinking it over and resonating on the strong emotions we felt throughout, just as he asked us to do.
Henry Powell appreciates movies that make him cry 6 times and dissecting what he's just watched over a delicious cup of Constant Comment tea and oatmeal cookies.