Summary
Moving into his new apartment, Luc, a young cartoon artist, is greeted by his elderly
neighbour, Monsieur Clément. The latter invites him to dine with him and
his wife one evening and reluctantly Luc accepts. Distracted by the news that his
girlfriend is expecting a baby, Luc forgets the appointment and is obliged to have dinner
with the Cléments another time. He learns that Monsieur Clément is
fanatical about the dancer Fred Astaire and, more disturbingly, that his wife is a full-size
plastic doll. Before he can leave Clément’s weird apartment, Luc is knocked
out by the old man. When he comes to he is trussed up and gagged in Clément’s
bathroom. Luc’s nightmare has only just begun...
Review
Philippe Haïm had established himself as a much sought-after film score composer
before he made this, his first film, in 1997. Not surprisingly, one of the strengths
of Barracuda is its rich and varied music, which is as much a fabric of the film
as the moody, claustrophobic cinematography and the intentionally kitsch setting.
What is more surprising is how masterfully Haïm succeeds in creating a fantasy world
that is both spookily unreal and chillingly banal. Starting as a seemingly low-key
conventional drama, Barracuda quickly mutates into something must more enticing
and unsettling - a stylish psychological thriller laced with more than a hint of black
comedy. With a few homoerotic touches thrown in, it may also be fair to describe
the film as a gay psycho-sexual fantasy, although such an epithet doesn’t really do justice
to the film’s truly bizarre format or its palpable human dimension. It would be
equally possible to categorise Barracuda as a love story, albeit not quite the
kind most people would expect of French cinema.
The drama revolves around the interplay of the two central characters, a handsome young
artist named Luc and a reclusive sixty-year old man named Clément. The former
is a minnow who is haplessly scooped up by the latter, the predatory "barracuda" of the
film's fishy title. Luc’s desire to escape compels him to understand Clément’s
psychology. Clément, meanwhile, wants to transform Luc into the son he never
had, contrary to the wishes of his bitchy plastic “wife”. Unfortunately for Luc,
the only relationship the old man has had with a living thing for the past twenty or so
years is that which has enjoyed with his pet goldfish. The scenario may sound ludicrously
contrived or, at best, surreal but Haïm's visually alluring realisation of it renders
this odd-ball nightmare frighteningly plausible.
Whilst the film is heavy on dialogue it never flags for a moment, and there are plenty
of unexpected surprises along the way. One of the film’s unusual devices is to send
the narrative down a "blind-alley" as one of the protagonists imagines a possible outcome
from his actions. This contrivance works well, emphasising the desperation of the
two characters as they struggle to keep on top of a situation that appears to be rapidly
getting out of hand. In such a set-up, the actual reality and an imagined projected
future reality may well become fused together, at least in the minds of its players.
Whilst this idea could have been pursued a little further, particularly in the latter
part of the film, Haïm appears reluctant to do so, probably for reasons of narrative
coherence. Overall, the director just about gets the right balance between in-your-face
innovation and audience discomfort.
In his first significant film role, Guillaume Canet does rather a good job in his portrayal
of the tormented victim of a decidedly sinister neighbour. The role demands a great
deal, particularly since Luc’s suffering is apparently the only real thing in this bizarre
psychological fantasy. He works well along side the film’s lead actor, Jean Rochefort,
despite the vast difference in age and experience between the two actors.
Canet has since confirmed his talent in various films, both as an actor and a promising
director.
In the role of Monsieur Clément, Jean Rochefort gives what must surely rate has
his most disturbing and enigmatic screen performance to date. There is no question
that the character played by Rochefort - a solitary old man with an unhealthy fetish for
Fred Astaire - is unhinged, devoid of morals and capable of any conceivable perversion.
Nothing he does to his helpless victim would surprise us after he knocks him senseless
with the butt of a fire extinguisher (something which gives the film its underbelly of
macabre excitement). What is more unnerving is Clément’s apparent gentleness
towards his victim - he looks far more sympathetic than we would like him to be.
Clément’s perverse actions lack an evil imperative, his enforced solitude seemingly
justifying his behaviour and giving the character a tragic dimension. We end up
pitying this sad old man more than the brutalised, shit-scared Luc. What Rochefort
does well, and this film is an excellent example of this, is to bring depth and humanity
to his characterisation. Far from being a shallow villain, Clément is disturbingly
real, a hopeless wretch whose desire to be loved has driven him to the absolute edge of
sanity. It’s a worrying thought, but he could conceivably be any one of us.
© James Travers 2004
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