Losing a loved partner one has lived with for years can be a devastating thing to cope with, but not really knowing if he is dead or alive -- or worse, going into denial that he has died -- can lead a person right into the edge of the abyss. Such a thing should never happen to anyone, but it does to Charlotte Rampling's Marie Drillon, a university professor who is happily married to Jean Drillon (Bruno Cremer in a near-silent performance). The opening ten minutes describes everything one needs to know about them: their dynamics, their love for each other unquestioned, quiet, but as potent as a garden filled with the scent of roses and lavender.
On a trip to the beach, Marie drifts into sleep as Jean decides to take a swim. When she awakes, she misses him and thinks he's within the area. Unfortunately, he is not... and the more she looks for him the less likely it is that he is alive. A search brings forth little comfort, and she if left from there on in limbo, wondering where Jean may be, if he is alive, or dead.
Her behavior from then on becomes increasingly erratic, which is an indicative of what happens to a person who's become so attached to another and the horror that slowly arises to the surface when those ties are suddenly, irrationally severed. She catches a glimpse of a young college student and is suddenly unable to continue giving a lecture; she seems a little off at a dinner party; she has gone on a spending spree (buying a new shirt and tie for Jean) despite the fact that her account is overdrawn and due to Jean's disappearance she has no access to his funds (which leaves her in a predicament as to how will she survive). Above all, she is acting as though Jean is still alive and well.
A particularly disturbing moment arrives when Marie decides to embark on an affair with another man who comes into her life: Vincent (Jacques Nolot) which establishes that maybe reality for her has finally cracked. Vincent and Marie begin making love, seen mainly through the motion of their hands... and then Jean's hands come into the left of the screen, identified through the blue shirt she bought him. It continues in perfect silence, with only her moans barely overheard. A later sequence has this odd threesome repeated as Jean observes her and Vincent making love from a distance.
In many ways, UNDER THE SAND has the elements of a thriller. A disappearance, the search, and the inevitable revelation as to what exactly happened. However, when a person is so deep in denial, those things matter little, if at all. Marie receives the crucial call from the morgue and decides to ignore the message left. She seems unable, unwilling, to face what has happened, and one of the more heartbreaking scenes of her anguish take place in a small montage where she is seen alone, sitting on a subway station, then riding the train, looking forlorn and empty.
Charlotte Rampling makes this her movie all the way. She's on screen at all times, and her performance is reminiscent of the one Juliette Binoche gave in BLUE. As a matter of fact, Binoche herself might have been the better choice, but Rampling is outstanding in her willingness to portray a woman in intense pain, suffering and coming apart from the inside out, desperate for answers but equally closed to them. Her disconsolate weeping at the end is an emotional tour-de-force wrenching itself out from its restraints, and that final scene on the beach as she runs towards the enigmatic, ghostly image of a man she believes to be her husband (whom she seemingly cannot reach) packs a devastating blow to the senses. A powerful masterpiece from the hands of Francois Ozon.
On a trip to the beach, Marie drifts into sleep as Jean decides to take a swim. When she awakes, she misses him and thinks he's within the area. Unfortunately, he is not... and the more she looks for him the less likely it is that he is alive. A search brings forth little comfort, and she if left from there on in limbo, wondering where Jean may be, if he is alive, or dead.
Her behavior from then on becomes increasingly erratic, which is an indicative of what happens to a person who's become so attached to another and the horror that slowly arises to the surface when those ties are suddenly, irrationally severed. She catches a glimpse of a young college student and is suddenly unable to continue giving a lecture; she seems a little off at a dinner party; she has gone on a spending spree (buying a new shirt and tie for Jean) despite the fact that her account is overdrawn and due to Jean's disappearance she has no access to his funds (which leaves her in a predicament as to how will she survive). Above all, she is acting as though Jean is still alive and well.
A particularly disturbing moment arrives when Marie decides to embark on an affair with another man who comes into her life: Vincent (Jacques Nolot) which establishes that maybe reality for her has finally cracked. Vincent and Marie begin making love, seen mainly through the motion of their hands... and then Jean's hands come into the left of the screen, identified through the blue shirt she bought him. It continues in perfect silence, with only her moans barely overheard. A later sequence has this odd threesome repeated as Jean observes her and Vincent making love from a distance.
In many ways, UNDER THE SAND has the elements of a thriller. A disappearance, the search, and the inevitable revelation as to what exactly happened. However, when a person is so deep in denial, those things matter little, if at all. Marie receives the crucial call from the morgue and decides to ignore the message left. She seems unable, unwilling, to face what has happened, and one of the more heartbreaking scenes of her anguish take place in a small montage where she is seen alone, sitting on a subway station, then riding the train, looking forlorn and empty.
Charlotte Rampling makes this her movie all the way. She's on screen at all times, and her performance is reminiscent of the one Juliette Binoche gave in BLUE. As a matter of fact, Binoche herself might have been the better choice, but Rampling is outstanding in her willingness to portray a woman in intense pain, suffering and coming apart from the inside out, desperate for answers but equally closed to them. Her disconsolate weeping at the end is an emotional tour-de-force wrenching itself out from its restraints, and that final scene on the beach as she runs towards the enigmatic, ghostly image of a man she believes to be her husband (whom she seemingly cannot reach) packs a devastating blow to the senses. A powerful masterpiece from the hands of Francois Ozon.