Michael Haneke is one of the greatest living filmmakers. I’m not going to add “arguably” to that statement. Consider the Austrian’s oeuvre: the cruel experiment of Funny Games (via Jim Emerson); the sexual masochism of The Piano Teacher; the black-and-white collective psychosis of The White Ribbon; repressed guilt and accountability in Cache. With his latest film Amour, which garnered Haneke a second Palme d’Or in Cannes (2012), the director enters a much more personal territory than before with a film that has been considered (rightly so) as his most humane.
An elderly couple, George and Anne (Jean-Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva), live out their retirement in a Parisian apartment. They go to musical performances and appreciate good literature. They seem perfectly contented to spend time with one another, revisiting memories and doing the chores around the house - all part of a comfortable, sustaining routine. Then one morning, Anne has a stroke. The scene is spellbinding; Georges does not realise what’s is happening to Anne, but when he seems to begin to understand that something is wrong, he takes rational action. Haneke’s use of image and sound is perfect; visually, he alternates two-shots and close-ups, while the sound of water running off-screen adds to the tension.
The stroke causes paralysis in half of Anne’s body. George, her husband of decades, her lover, her companion, becomes her caretaker. She makes him promise that regardless of what happens, he will not have her hospitalised (an arrangement reflecting the real-life pact between Haneke and his wife). As Anne’s condition worsens, George must address not only his responsibilities towards his wife, but also deal with a daughter (the beautiful Isabelle Huppert) concerned for her mother’s well-being and uncertain as to whether her father can take care of her.
What an audacious move to call your film Love – and Haneke gets away with it. While the elements of suffering are there – ageing; disease; incapacitation; the certainty of death – Haneke chooses to foreground love. In its sombre and stark way, the film shows how love is a barrier against the suffering which is irrevocably part of life. In embodying the power of love, Trintignant and Riva deliver superb performances. Riva realises every phase of Anne’s mental and physical degeneration, while Trintignant’s grief and perseverance in the face of his wife’s condition is inspiring without being indulgent or celebratory. A husband is simply doing what one does when a loved one is in need. George and Anne come to vivid life in the carefully constructed apartment, which is not just a home anymore, but a space for love and care to manifest in considerable capacity. Haneke never sugar-coats the severity of the couple’s situation, but makes the devotion that George has for Anne palpable. Haneke does not deal with an ideal of love, but with the act of love. While many films deal with love as abstraction, Amour shows love as a performed part of daily existence.
There are so few truly great films about love, yet there are so many lifeless attempts at showing and understanding love in soulless films that either focus on youthful exuberance or prefer to idealise human relationships as a series of happy events. Love often has little to do with happiness, as Haneke understands, and much with commitment, devotion and determination. Amour deservedly won the Oscar for Best Foreign Film and was also nominated for Best Picture and Best Director. It is a flawless film, full of life, with a master filmmaker delivering some of the best work of a decades-long career.
An elderly couple, George and Anne (Jean-Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva), live out their retirement in a Parisian apartment. They go to musical performances and appreciate good literature. They seem perfectly contented to spend time with one another, revisiting memories and doing the chores around the house - all part of a comfortable, sustaining routine. Then one morning, Anne has a stroke. The scene is spellbinding; Georges does not realise what’s is happening to Anne, but when he seems to begin to understand that something is wrong, he takes rational action. Haneke’s use of image and sound is perfect; visually, he alternates two-shots and close-ups, while the sound of water running off-screen adds to the tension.
The stroke causes paralysis in half of Anne’s body. George, her husband of decades, her lover, her companion, becomes her caretaker. She makes him promise that regardless of what happens, he will not have her hospitalised (an arrangement reflecting the real-life pact between Haneke and his wife). As Anne’s condition worsens, George must address not only his responsibilities towards his wife, but also deal with a daughter (the beautiful Isabelle Huppert) concerned for her mother’s well-being and uncertain as to whether her father can take care of her.
What an audacious move to call your film Love – and Haneke gets away with it. While the elements of suffering are there – ageing; disease; incapacitation; the certainty of death – Haneke chooses to foreground love. In its sombre and stark way, the film shows how love is a barrier against the suffering which is irrevocably part of life. In embodying the power of love, Trintignant and Riva deliver superb performances. Riva realises every phase of Anne’s mental and physical degeneration, while Trintignant’s grief and perseverance in the face of his wife’s condition is inspiring without being indulgent or celebratory. A husband is simply doing what one does when a loved one is in need. George and Anne come to vivid life in the carefully constructed apartment, which is not just a home anymore, but a space for love and care to manifest in considerable capacity. Haneke never sugar-coats the severity of the couple’s situation, but makes the devotion that George has for Anne palpable. Haneke does not deal with an ideal of love, but with the act of love. While many films deal with love as abstraction, Amour shows love as a performed part of daily existence.
There are so few truly great films about love, yet there are so many lifeless attempts at showing and understanding love in soulless films that either focus on youthful exuberance or prefer to idealise human relationships as a series of happy events. Love often has little to do with happiness, as Haneke understands, and much with commitment, devotion and determination. Amour deservedly won the Oscar for Best Foreign Film and was also nominated for Best Picture and Best Director. It is a flawless film, full of life, with a master filmmaker delivering some of the best work of a decades-long career.
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