La Cicatrice intérieure
d. Philippe Garrel, 1972
La Cicatrice intérieure may very well be the most arresting avant-garde film I have ever seen. I've encountered many great ones before, including Michael Snow's Wavelength (1967), Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman (1975), and many of Brakhage's films, but never something that made me so aware (and, by turns, happy) that I was watching a film.
The other two Garrels I've seen, 1968's La revelateur and 2005's Regular Lovers, each have their own poetic essence, with the latter possibly being my favorite of his. But there's something altogether unnerving about a film like La Cicatrice intérieure, whose 60-minute length seems to encompass so much.
In essence, the film is like Satantango (1994), Gerry (2002), and the Brown Bunny (2003) in its portrayal of space and time, but Garrel's work (a tremendous influence on all these films) is more gorgeous and hypnotic, perhaps because of how completely it embraces the, I don't want to say pretension, but materialism of a landscape film.
Knowing very little about the film before watching it, I was shocked to see Nico in it. As it turns out, she was one of Garrel's major collaborators in the stage of his career immediately following La Cicatrice intérieure. Not only is she the emotional driving force of the film--delivering a performance that is both captivating and frightening--but her enigmatic and utterly amazing songs adorn the photography of the film.
In as much as can be reduced (though I don't really want to spend a lot of time breaking this film down), La Cicatrice intérieure seems to be a work about life. Garrel approaches the subject from an elemental point of view, shooting his film in long takes of people walking, without any deceitful editing. The viewer sits there, calm, fully aware of what's to happen in the next few minutes, with little to no surprises coming. This, to some, may seem like a harsh way to spend an hour, but it's really quite exciting and calming. Garrel is exploring what is beyond our physical experience, but the irony is how he does it in the most material and aesthetically-restricted form.
If the screams Nico howls in this film mean anything (and I'm not sure that they do), it has to do with something close to Garrel's title, a scar, an inner trouble. This, Garrel suggests, is what keeps us human, whether we like it or not.
Without a doubt, La Cicatrice intérieure is an unforgettable experience.
