User Reviews

N travels to Istanbul to take up a teaching job; taking a month off to get himself familiarised with the country he gets lost and asks L to help him. He falls in love with her and becomes obsessed with her mysterious connection to M, a sunglass-wearing stylish man accompanied everywhere by Dobermans. L disappears and N begins a frantic search for her. He finds her only to tragically lose her once more. It's possible that N's name is André; it's less certain whether L's real name is Lucille or Lane. If this weren't confusing enough, there is a plot about white slavery in Istanbul. Or maybe not.

This is the spectacular debut of Alain Robbe-Grillet, the screenwriter of Alain Resnais' mind trip Last Year In Marienbad. Once again he subverts the conventions of narrative by fracturing timelines, contradicting the facts of the action from chapter to chapter, interrupting the flow of the narrative with repetitive descriptions of objects and ending the novels on a note of ambiguity.

L'Immortelle is all about deception and artificiality. L gives N a guided tour across Istanbul, promising him to show him its cultural treasures only to bring attention to their own falsehood. Istanbul is a city putting on an act for the tourists, she explains, mythical Istanbul only exists as an illusion to meet the Westerners' stereotypes. As L demystifies Istanbul, her own mysteries deepen. Why does she pretend not to understand Turkish? Who is the sun-glassed man N sees her with on several occasions? Is he a pimp or the leader of a white slavery ring? And why does she disappear? This movie takes a sadistic pleasure in teasing the viewer and denying him a clear answer. It brings up questions of identity and memory but confuses the answers through multiple interpretations, and in the end says there aren't any answers at all. The viewer who enjoys these perverse entertainments must be the rare person who loves frustration in his art.

If the plot is deliberately sparse, the technical construction of the movie is exuberant. Released in the same year two revolutionary movies – Otto e Mezzo and Contempt –changed the art of cinema, L'Immortelle followed a different path to filmmaking while retaining its own originality.

Constructed in order to resemble the imperfection and fleetingness of memory, the movie builds itself upon successive layers of flashbacks, obsessively repeated with disorienting variations. A gesture of the hand performed in middle of a forest is re-enacted in a hotel room, a scene is re-imagined with different characters.

The scenes cut abruptly into each other proudly piling up what is commonly called continuity errors. A character wearing a white suit stands disoriented in the middle of a street; as the scene cuts to him climbing a street he wears a black suit. N and L leave a mansion on the margin of the Bosphorus by a row-boat, only for the scene to shift to the two watching from a ferry the same boat coming into the river. Try to make sense of this, dear viewer.

If this visual confusion weren't enough, the sound, designed by Michel Fano, further serves to disrupt the intelligibility of the action. A howling at the beginning of the movie is heard again in a tragic scene later on. Often disconnected from the image, sounds and noises follow their own logic and reoccur like musical themes.

Little information is given about the characters. During a stroll in the woods, N asks L for her home address. He doesn't even know where she lives. She asks him something to write on and he hands her a blank page and a pen. She writes something on it but throws the paper away, telling him not to bother to look for it because what she wrote is false. After she disappears halfway into the film, N searches for the blank paper but when he finds it, it's blank. She never wrote anything on it. Always the movie points to the unreality and falsity of everything.

The movie doesn't flow as a linear narrative but moves as a circle; it builds on the cumulative effect of repetition. After visiting all of Istanbul together, an obsessed N in search of L starts retracing all his steps, discovering by himself the secrets of the city. Even limited by the barrier of language, N scratches a conspiracy that may involve street peddlers of tourist souvenirs, shop-keepers, and the cops, all involved in a mystery that may have something to do with kidnapped women. Is the mystery really worth knowing? Probably not, I doubt Robbe-Grillet really thought it through. But the viewer should understand this is not a movie to watch to know what happens, but how it happens.

The movie is not character-driven and the actors don't perform. They gesture. They move their heads in slow form, smile, stare, or they stay fixed. One of the most unsettling traits of the movie is the fact that time seems suspended around L and N. As they walk the streets, the figures of the passersby remain frozen like statues, as if in anticipation of something. This was an idea Robbe-Grillet took from 'Marienbad,' but here it's much more involving since it affects an entire city.

Although there is no acting here in the traditional sense, that is not to say the actors weren't perfectly chosen. Jacques Doniol-Valcroze, with his wide eyes and impersonality, is the stand-in for the viewer, the anchor that keeps the viewer focused. Through him we watch and try to understand. Like him we're totally clueless. The sensual Françoise Brion is a cipher without substance, hiding herself behind her seductive smile and her dream-like voice with its perfect tone for the narrative of a story that seems the cross between a fairy-tale and surrealist experiment.

Robbe-Grillet enchants, surprises and torments with the dazzling procession of sounds, sights and expectations that constitute this cinematic labyrinth.

No spoiler here, but I do want to disagree with one of the former posts that claimed there was no resolution. I think there is a very definite and forceful resolution, that can be missed if one exaggerates the stiff professor seeking his lost and mysterious paramour. That pseudo-plot does resemble L'aventurra and Last Year at Marienbad, however.

I saw this film in a new 35 mm. print, along with Robbe-Grillet's 2nd film, Trans-Europe Express. Taken together, they provide very clear clues to what Robbe-Grillet is up to, how they relate to Last Year at Marienbad. what one can expect, and why Robbe-Grillet is important.

Last Year at Marienbad overwhelmed the viewer with its fascinating cinematography, set in a spacious European hotel and its extensive formal gardens. Substitute Istanbul, with its ruins, streets, and back alleys for the formal gardens, in L'immortelle, and you can sit back and enjoy the movie for its visuals alone. Trans-Europe Express seems to find anything and everything in Antwerp that is photogenic, punctuated by shots of trains, inside and out.

Highly charged eroticism is another feature of L'immortelle, with scenes of the gestures that precede f**ing, gestures that break off before the culminating copulation, which is left to the viewer's imagination. And Robbe-Gillet throws in a seemingly gratuitous scene in which the viewer joins the patrons of a night club to view a very alluring dance act. But maybe not so gratuitous; rather a signature scene, since Trans-Europe Express, also includes such a highly charged night club dance. Since L'immortelle begins with the protagonist solitarily looking out of the window, a scene that recurs several times, I interpret that as indicating that what we are seeing is from the point of view of that character. Perhaps someone can supply us with insight into how these dance scenes function as parts of the entire movie.

There is not a lot of dialog, and, what there is, frequently affirms the fakery of the entire city of Istanbul, in which the very ruins are claimed to be currently produced only for the delectation of tourists. As we view the astoundingly photogenic visual details, these are constantly being undermined by that theme. The tourist as voyeur suggests that we, too, viewing the movie, are viewers of something that is unreal.

To summarize: what one can expect in a Robbe-Grillet film, based on his first two, includes a feast of photogenic visual background, a preoccupation with erotic desire from a male point of view, and a deconstruction of what is being portrayed, a deconstruction that suggests that cinema itself is becoming aware of its own fakery.

How can this not yet have any IMDb comments? The reason must be its relative obscurity in the Anglosphere, in which case it definitely needs to be rediscovered.

What I had heard of Robbe-Grillet's own films suggested they were weak in comparison with his collaboration with Resnais, but 'L'Immortelle', at least, totally overturns that suspicion. The plot - what there is of one - is not too dissimilar to 'L'Année dernière à Marienbad': a man meets a mysterious woman, loses track of her, finds her again. Or does he? Is he being deceived, or pursuing an erotically alluring phantasm? Once again, the narrative is inherently ambiguous, filled with conflicting testimonies, and arguably of secondary importance to the film's treatment of space and locale.

The camera pores over a drowsy Istanbul, following its characters through shuttered windows and on to boats at sea, through cavernous mosques and ruins (which the woman claims are artificial), and crowded bazaars. The formal compositions are as impeccable as those of early Resnais, with actors arranged almost geometrically, like inanimate objects. Some of the shots are reminiscent of Antonioni, such as a slow zoom through the railings of a cemetery, or a long shot which reveals an initially bustling plaza to be deserted. The viewer's eye is tricked (mirroring the perceptual confusion of the central male character), as people appear and disappear, only to reappear within the space of a single pan. Another source of alienation is the use of Turkish speech, which 'our man' cannot understand, and therefore remains untranslated in the subtitles.

As one might expect, there is no resolution to this film: its ending is as elusive as its beginning. Some viewers might tire of the repetitiveness of its structure, as scenes are replayed and memories recollected, but I can practically guarantee that fans of Resnais will find much to enjoy. Other later points of comparison might be David Lynch, or the analogous atmosphere of Oriental anxiety in Cronenberg's 'Naked Lunch', but Robbe-Grillet ought to be regarded as a major cinematic artist in his own right, just as he has long been highly regarded for his literary output (the fact that he also published 'L'Immortelle' as a 'ciné-roman' suggests his belief in the continuum between the two artforms).

Postscript: I have subsequently had the opportunity to watch Robbe-Grillet's latest, 'Gradiva' (2006), and unfortunately it leaves one wondering how the mighty have fallen: a sloppy and ridiculous piece of 70s-style pseudo-erotic fantasy (think Borowczyk, but not as good) which totally lacks the visual precision and intellect of 'L'Immortelle'. I can only surmise that his film-making career went downhill steadily after the 1960s, but we should probably cut an 85-year-old man some slack.

Fresh from "Last Year at Marienbad", Alain Robbe-Grillet not only wrote, but directed, this brilliantly rendered exercise in cinematic style. The superb combination of story, actors, setting, cinematography, editing, music and sound all make this a cinematic experience of the highest order.

A Frenchman, newly arrived in Turkey, encounters a beautiful woman, and meets her again on several occasions, but learns virtually nothing about her - although she appears to be shadowed by a man in sunglasses with two Dobermans; when she fails to keep a rendezvous, he attempts to find her, but is hindered by his foreignness in an alien culture. The lugubrious Jacques Doniol-Valcroze makes the perfect foil for the "eternal feminine" embodied by Francoise Brion - exquisitely desirable, in stunningly elegant clothes and coiffures, with a seemingly sunny and open manner, but ultimately opaque. Filmed in crisp black-and-white images, the Istanbul locales (mosque, houses, cafés, streets and seascapes) give the film its magical background of fantasy grounded in realism. The stunningly shot and edited scene in the plaza, at first populated (a la "Marienbad") with stationary people casting no shadows, then empty, with only Brion walking across it, is one highlight of a film filled with many memorable shots and sequences: the fisherman by the bay; the woman seen - in memory or fantasy? - through the slats of the wooden blinds; the cemetery of steles - by day - and at night; the wooded glen, when the woman writes her address on a paper, which she then casts away - and the man later searches for it; the excavation with the long, steep staircase; the vendor outside the mosque who pretends (or does he?) not to speak French, and the photo set he gives to the man, with the woman in the shadow - scenes not soon to be forgotten. In the background, the recurring diegetic Turkish music, dogs barking, the murmur of the sea and the city - all so endemic that it's a surprise to see a music credit for Georges Delerue in the end credits. All in all, a landmark of inventive cinema from its period of peak creativity.

Seen at the French Institute, NYC, on February 19, 2008; programmed, coincidentally (?), one day after the death of Robbe-Grillet. Excellent print, but slightly spoiled by a bubble in the screen, which caused an irritating rippling effect for the many panning shots.

Alain Robbe-Grillet's L'immortelle (1963) is a very complex work of Cinematic Art.

On a literal level of analysis, it is rather incomprehensible. Only when we NOT attempt to interpret it as a rational portrayal of reality but, rather, as a symbolic portrayal of reality do we come closer to a possible meaning for this work of art.

Before delving into the deeper structure of this film, however, it would be helpful to consider the surface structure relationship between the two main characters, Andre the professor, and Lale, the "mysterious" woman that he meets upon his arrival in Istanbul, Turkey.

In the character of Andre, I see an instance of a theme that I have found in many French films, namely that "falling in love makes you stupid". As with other instances of this theme in French cinema, Andre falls suddenly and passionately "in love" with a woman he just met, a woman who refuses to divulge to Andre anything about herself. Such a state of affairs would naturally make any "non-stupid" man in Andre's position justifiably suspicious about the moral character of such a woman in regard to what she has to hide. Yet he seems to fall deeper "in love" with her as she continues to hide the very basic details of her life from him. Andre's "stupidity" here is totally incongruent with a man who is a highly educated professor.

One day Lale just disappears from Andre's life without leaving a clue. A man with any common sense would just assume that the woman "dumped" him and just move on with his life. But, no, "stupid" Andre still feels that he "is in love" with this woman enough to want to find her, although she gave him no information about herself that would enable him to do so. Still, Andre walks the streets of Istanbul, looking for Lale, the woman who has obviously just "dumped" him.

When Andre does accidentally find Lale, she is standing on a street corner in provocative attire, which would suggest to any "non-stupid" man that Lale is, in fact, a prostitute, and that this was the reason for her secrecy in her relationship with him. But "stupid" Andre doesn't even seem to consider this possibility and simply agrees to go on a ride with her, whereupon she has an accident and gets killed.

End of the love affair now for Andre, right? Oh, no!! The "stupidity" of the character Andre goes on even at this point by still trying to discover details about Lale's life. He even somehow finds the very car in which Lale was killed, now repaired, and buys it, and reenacts the accident wherein Lale got killed and, in the process, gets killed himself, thusly maintaining the theme "falling in love makes you stupid" unto his own death, or perhaps his own suicide.

That this "stupid love" on Andre's part is not "real", and may even be delusional is symbolically emphasized in the early part of the film when Lale makes repeated suggestions to Andre that his whole experience in Istanbul is "just a dream". These suggestions are an entrée for the viewer into the deeper levels of analysis of this film.

Curiously, the film tells the viewer nothing about Andre other than that he is a "professor" from France who moved to Istanbul for a new teaching position. But why would a professor from culturally upscale France take a teaching position in the cultural hinterlands of Turkey? Of course, if a professor's field of academic expertise directly dealt with Turkish culture, then this would be a reasonable explanation. Short of this, a professor in some non-Turkish academic field might take a teaching job in Turkey because of an intense, and informed personal interest In Turkey. However, neither of these two possibilities seem to apply to Professor Andre because he is totally ignorant and uninformed about Turkey altogether. He knows nothing of the Turkish language, and is so uninformed about Istanbul and the Turkish culture that he needs the local Lale to act as his tour guide and cultural informant.

To me, this suggests that either: 1) Andre left France not because he wanted to leave, but because he was forced to leave, or 2) Andre never left France at all, that his whole "Turkish adventure" is just a psychotic hallucination in the mind of a mentally ill professor still living in France, cloistered within the ivory towers of academia.

1) Andre may have been forced to leave France and to relocate to Turkey because of some scandal, or because of his general inadequacy as a professor, either of which made him unemployable in France. The confusing, non-linear sequence of the film, the obsessive repetition of already shown scenes, as well as Andre's obsessive "love" for Lale may symbolize the mental deterioration, the downward spiral of a ruined man.

2) The confusing, non-linear sequence of the film, the obsessive repetition of already shown scenes, as well as Andre's obsessive "love" for Lale may also symbolize the psychotic hallucinations of a mentally ill professor still actually living in France, a professor who might be so sexually inadequate, and so socially isolated that he has reached the mental breaking point, and mentally escaped on a "Turkish adventure", replete with a mysterious temptress.

It's difficult to believe that Tobbe-Grillet isn't taking the mickey here because he has made the ultimate movie FOR posers by making one ABOUT posers. Literally. He clearly saved a fortune on actors by just getting passers-by to stand perfectly still and expressionless. Even a DOG poses in the middle of the road. I note that after more than 20 years there are NO comments here and I can't believe that the usual pseuds/academics missed it but anything's possible. I can't believe I'm writing this but the movie (if that's what it is) opens with a guy (turns out he was one of the founders of Cahiers du Cinema, surprise, surprise) standing not only still but robot-like in a sterile room. Then there's a shot of a woman doing guess what? That's right, you got it in one. More? Why not. There's a really GREAT shot of an old guy sitting stock still on the waterfront while a dead fish lies on the dock; a shot of a man and a woman standing equally still etcetera, etcetera and these shots are HELD for what seems like forever but is probably no more than forty or fifty seconds and there's even a shot of a group of people POSING in a square. Now what this all means your guess is as good as mine unless, of course, you're a pseud and/or academic in which case you've already awarded Robbe-Grillet the Golden Ego Massager. Otherwise come back the Carry On series, all is forgiven.

Around 1960 French cinema introduced 'Nouvelle Vague' (= French for 'New Wave'). This style of filming, quite revolutionary back then, soon spread abroad. To Italy for instance, where masters as Fellini and Antonioni made their impressive careers with it.

'Nouvelle Vague' is said to be based on the then new realization that sometimes techniques control men, instead of the other way round. The new filming perfectly reflects all nagging uncertainties coming from this new insight.

In 'Nouvelle Vague' we see people doubting themselves and their relations. People seeking for certainty and security in life, which they may find in their surroundings: 'Novelle Vague' often excels in shooting architectural beauty.

'L'immortelle' (= French for 'the Immortal') features all 'Nouvelle Vague'-styling. Set in Instanbul for a change, bringing in some Turkish & oriental culture. Not surprisingly its story is inconclusive, leaving you in doubt about what really happened.

I don't think 'l'immortelle' can match productions like Antonioni's 'l'avventura', or Fellini's 'la dolce vita'. However, it makes a good second place -- still providing a good watch.

The film is in French, and there are no Turkish subtitles. only Turkish players in limited numbers in small roles speak Turkish. There are not many dialogs anyway. From the voice of Generic Müzeyyen Senar, the vote starts with a song from the farfar. There is no mess on the subject. As far as I understand, a man living in the Bosphorus Yalida meets and falls in love with a very beautiful mysterious woman, then loses her in a car accident during a night fun together. Then he starts to see his dream all over Istanbul .. Cemeteries, mosque courtyards, boathouses, strait yachts, steamer ferries, steamer decks, old cistern streets with cobblestone, cobblestone. The back streets of Beyoglu, Pavilions, night clubs, Turkish Art Music songs in the background Müzeyyen Senar, Inci Cayirli and Asik Veysel songs and songs. Announcing Muzeyyen Senar, who is also singing on the radio, as Sevim Tuna ..... Then he bought his car where he had an accident. Let me not say the end. The melancholic crazy is doing a crush. In 1963, with the great help of French writer and Director Alain Robbe-Grillet 'Big Turk director Lutfi Akad', the film was portrayed in an exceptional beauty in the background in a way that no Turkish director has ever done or could do. Watched with interest. Old virgin Istanbul is very beautiful -Mustafa Haldun Kurtsen- 10/9