I wanted to leave this screening about halfway through, but not because it was a terrible film. On the contrary, it was because Dumont's impeccably observed production evokes the same sense of claustrophobia experienced by its titular character, who is yearning for release from the asylum to which she had been committed by her family.
For most of the film's duration, neither Camille nor the audience are entirely clear about why she was incarcerated, or at least, why she remains so. What little back story we are given is relayed principally by Camille herself, and in a manner that suggests more eccentricity than madness. I had not read up on Claudel prior to seeing this film, but having done so since, I absolutely endorse Dumont's rendering.
The direction is unhurried and the dialogue minimal. Long takes abound, soundtracked by repetitive noises like echoing footsteps, the crunching of gravel, and, most disconcertingly, the infantile howling of the asylum's residents. The sense of place and aesthetic is intelligently realised, and for all its oppressive qualities, this film is a beautiful thing to look at.
As Camille, Binoche shines like the genuine star she is - a genius artist playing a genius artist. The occasional closeup (and there are many) may reveal a composure running one or two shades too deep for this character, however whenever our heroine cracks, Binoche exemplifies her mastery at bridling and channeling female psychology. The other figure in the narrative equation - Camille's brother Paul - is played by Vincent in turns both tender and oblique.
Thematically, Dumont does not preach, but tantalisingly throws juxtaposition after juxtaposition before us, inviting manifold readings.
Rather than write a critical analysis here, it will suffice to say that there is much to be gleaned from this film, notwithstanding biography.
8.5/10
For most of the film's duration, neither Camille nor the audience are entirely clear about why she was incarcerated, or at least, why she remains so. What little back story we are given is relayed principally by Camille herself, and in a manner that suggests more eccentricity than madness. I had not read up on Claudel prior to seeing this film, but having done so since, I absolutely endorse Dumont's rendering.
The direction is unhurried and the dialogue minimal. Long takes abound, soundtracked by repetitive noises like echoing footsteps, the crunching of gravel, and, most disconcertingly, the infantile howling of the asylum's residents. The sense of place and aesthetic is intelligently realised, and for all its oppressive qualities, this film is a beautiful thing to look at.
As Camille, Binoche shines like the genuine star she is - a genius artist playing a genius artist. The occasional closeup (and there are many) may reveal a composure running one or two shades too deep for this character, however whenever our heroine cracks, Binoche exemplifies her mastery at bridling and channeling female psychology. The other figure in the narrative equation - Camille's brother Paul - is played by Vincent in turns both tender and oblique.
Thematically, Dumont does not preach, but tantalisingly throws juxtaposition after juxtaposition before us, inviting manifold readings.
Rather than write a critical analysis here, it will suffice to say that there is much to be gleaned from this film, notwithstanding biography.
8.5/10
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