Micheal Hanake's Amour (2012)
Probing the agonizing process of disease-stricken death, ahead of the event that it finally becomes, is a valiant endeavour, whether in life, literature, or the visual arts including cinema, given that it is one of the fiercely discarded taboo topics worldwide by unanimous choice.
No surprise that a film theme revolving around a death from progressive disorder has few takers, which makes it an inherent risk for a guild that ultimately survives and thrives on the patronage of the audience, not award fests. And yet, certain mavericks choose to deep dive into the petrifying phenomenon called death, which is way more than simply a cessation of life, to re-examine some of our cherry blossomed, cherished beliefs like eternal love and togetherness, romanticised to glory by umpteen makers across the globe since time immemorial.
Austrian film maker and screenwriter Micheal Haneke is one such dissident whose masterpiece ‘Amour’ (love in French) vaguely reminds the sensitive viewer of Victor Frankl’s idea of ‘tragic optimism’ as also historian and philosopher Will Durant’s post script that it is the mood of the strong man who seeks intensity and extent of experience, even at the cost of woe. Well, as a viewer, one is indeed expected to cultivate that mood if it isn’t naturally forthcoming, before watching the film which squarely highlights the tragic inevitability of life, as also the extreme options masquerading as choices at one’s disposal to arrest a cold-blooded, vicious loop of indefinite windups.
Amour is the poignant story of an octogenarian music teacher couple - Anne (‘Hiroshima, Mon Amor’ fame Emmanuelle Riva and Georges (‘The Conformist’ fame Jean-Louis Trintignant) that begins with the end: Anne’s stench-filled, lifeless body amid withered flowers scattered on the bed, discovered by firemen breaking into a claustrophobic Parisian apartment in emergency mode.
The next frame is a piano performance, with the camera panned on a regaled audience throughout, expecting us to spot a duo but making no explicit attempt to help us do so. Most of us don’t, I for sure didn’t, and it was the Roger Ebert review that urged me to go back to the frame and savour the delight in hindsight.
Well, following the normal course, it is only when the scene shifts to Anne’s and Georges’ residence, we know both were part of the enthralled audience, and the performer was Anne’s student.
The elated couple is in a playful mood, reflective of their wholesome approach to autumn years. Sadly, this phase is short-lived and Anne’s momentary frozen stance on the breakfast table – apparently symptomatic of lewy body dementia - sparks off a fatal spree that goes downhill into a pitiable pit of many a false bottom.
The quick-witted Anne soon becomes aware of the impending horrors en route her approaching mortality and hence is vehemently opposed to the idea of shifting to a nursing home post the diagnosis of her terminal disease. Georges respects her decision which means he must not only see her wither away into nothingness – first on the wheelchair and finally on the bed - but also withstand the umpteen ugly turns that will make her stubborn and stroppy way beyond his imagination. Georges admirably comes to terms with the fag-end reality of his life and does all he can to nurse his wife in the vain hope of a reversal in the name of recovery, as also keep her away from her growing suicidal tendencies.
Both are all alone in this losing cause – their standoffish daughter, accommodating neighbours, well-meaning pupil, caring attendants, callous ushers – none can help – whether or not they mean to. Worse, the bond that holds the couple together is itself in question: what with one partner first deprived of her raison d'etre and then her dignity, and the other at the end of his tether in coping with her loss, which is a bigger loss to him as he is tasked with the onerous responsibility of having to measure it inch by inch.
With the protagonist duo endorsing the maker’s conviction in full measure, there’s not a single moment that appears theatrical or overtly clinical. Haneke makes use of a tottering pigeon, scampering for safety within the confines of the couple’s lifeless abode, as a telling metaphor to convey larger truths surrounding Georges’ decisive moves that bring down the curtain on two lives well lived till the point where life becomes a graveyard bereft of dignity.
The end is allusive, with a few cues furnished to help us imagine what transpired, but it is futile to indulge in conjectures on ‘what’ and ‘how’, given that the ‘why’ is amply clear.
Amour is cinema at its very best, where it asks questions of life that we don’t in real life.
If one believes cinema is also meant to be a dissection of reality more than its mere representation, and that serious, introspective cinema has a place of pride like spine chillng adventures, murder mysteries, retro offerings, grand biopics, no brainer comedies, and melodramatic family sagas do - Armour becomes a must watch!