Amour (2012)

Michael Haneke is a name you most likely haven’t heard unless you’ve studied film or have particularly curious taste. He is an Austrian filmmaker most known for his deeply serious movies like the successful drama The White Ribbon and Cache, which now has something of a cult following. These are mystery movies that contain no real clues or even a resolution, at least, not on the surface. I consider Haneke a genius and one of the greatest modern directors. I am also aware that few other filmmakers have so successfully alienated their audience. His movies are not only not for everyone, they are for only a select few. Those who appreciate his style are in for a treat with Amour, Haneke’s latest and most widely recognized effort.

This is probably his least complicated, most straight-forward film to date. Jean-Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva give amazingly subtle performances as an old married couple who seem to live very happily and quietly in a small apartment rather cut off from the rest of the world. One morning at breakfast, she completely freezes up and her husband can’t snap her out of it. She has had a stroke and for the remainder of the film, she will very slowly deteriorate until she ultimately reaches her death. Riva, now 86 years old, plays the tragic victim with astonishing frankness. At first, she is logical and even indignant about her condition. Then, she reaches depression and attempts to kill herself when her husband isn’t around. Then, she sinks into a blabbering vegetable state from which she does not recover.

Though he hasn’t been getting as much attention as Riva, Trintignant is equally powerful in the lead. I have heard his performance and Haneke’s direction described as cold and uncaring. I don’t see it that way. I have personally experienced loss, as many have, and I have never seen a movie that so accurately captures what it is really like. This is not an emotional film full of The Notebook-style tearjerking trickery.  It is brutal and without pity, rather like the real inevitability of death. Just as the characters are confined to their apartment, the film takes place entirely (with one early exception) within this small area, forcing us to witness all of its mounting hopelessness without interruption. At over two hours, the experience is indescribably harsh. Still, I can’t help but admire its unflinching nerve; its desire to fully and uncompromisingly capture grief even in the face of almost guaranteed audience hatred.

Amour is not just an exercise in emotional brutality. It is a truly great and beautiful film that enforces Haneke’s usual style of letting you figure a lot of things out on your own. All of his movies have important details between the lines and this is no exception. It may be hard to spot the hidden clues of the picture’s real meaning, due to the brilliant composition of the cinematography. The lengthy, stable shots may not always show you what you think you should see, but they always show exactly what you need to see. For example, there is an early shot that confuses a lot of viewers because it doesn’t seem to have an immediate purpose. It is actually training your eyes to forget the way you usually watch movies, where the images spell everything out. Attentiveness is a vital part of enjoying Amour. Yes, enjoying.

Even with all the trauma it inflicts on the viewer, the movie still somehow manages to resonate positively. This is because there really is happiness lurking in the cracks of the story, which is essential, because a movie with nothing but heartache can’t survive. All of the characters’ actions, even when they seem disturbing, are done out of love, a real love that we can believe and root for. This may be a tough movie to take in, but its rewards are worth it.

10/10