AMOUR

An Insufferable Sadness

Photo from www.sonyclassics.com

No one can watch, or remember, Michael Haneke’s ‘Amour’, without being suddenly awash in horror at the way Georges (Jean-LouisTrintignant) frees Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) from her suffering. Does he do it for himself? For her?  Or for them both?  His choice of methods - shockingly violent, and a disorienting contrast to their gentle singing together - is, of course, disturbing. Yet, in it we see the abrupt turn of Georges’ quietly escalating desperation; the trap he’s increasingly suffocated by.

This movie belongs to Georges.  It is his story; the story of a man forced to stand on the sidelines helplessly watching, with slow agony, his beloved leaving him. Although he seems to be managing quite well, he’s not. With Haneke’s infusion of memories from Georges’ childhood; his nightmare – we see the shadows of Georges real trap take shape: his inability to cry; to be comforted; to share his loss with his daughter, Eva (Isabelle Huppert); to let Anne go; to mourn.

Georges’ memories, as memories can do, take us to the heart of his current struggles.  In the first, Georges as a young boy, returns from a sad movie only to have an older boy callously walk away, as a crying Georges tries to retell the story. Georges’ second memory is at camp, separated from his mother. When a cruel counselor makes him stay at the table until he finishes what’s on his plate, Georges sits. Crying. Alone. If a child has no place for sadness; no one to hear it; what does he do?  He sets up the same cold barriers inside (and later towards Eva), as George’s nightmare shows:

The stairs are blocked. A big wooden X – bars any exit. The floors of the hallway are flooding. Georges wakes with a scream. A panic; yes, from the terror of the nightmare; but even more from what the nightmare means: coming face to face with the rising waters of feelings he has done his best to deny. Sadness he can’t allow or escape from; resentment towards Death itself. For it is Death he wants to control and can’t. Yet, in his final desperately frustrated and angry act, he does. But, then, a horrible irony leaves him with what he fears the most. Being alone. And since Georges can’t even let his own daughter in to share their loss – he has barricaded himself in an unendurable forever kind of aloneness.

And then we have the pigeons. Haneke may say he doesn’t like symbols and ‘the pigeon’ means nothing to him; but, to me, the pigeons dropping in unexpectedly twice in the film hold the key. The first pigeon’s entrance is a sudden invasion; as Anne’s illness has forced its way into their lives. Pigeons if allowed, mate for life, and they are a symbol of hope. Georges’ hope and plan to be uninterruptedly with Anne are now steeped in his doomed effort to protect his beloved wife.  

When the pigeon appears for the second time, Anne is dead. Georges catches the pigeon in a blanket, and we hold our breath expecting a second suffocation. Yet, just as suddenly, Georges cradles the wrapped, caught pigeon tenderly in his arms; then - releases it. Powerless to keep Anne stilled in his love; Georges can’t live with the unspeakable hours, days, months, and (perhaps) years he’s condemned to be without her. Unable to free his sadness from the distant prison he’s locked it in; to mourn his loss - Georges can do nothing else but follow.

First posted as a guest post on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's Psychology Today blog, "Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy"

THE ARTIST

George's Nightmare from 'The Artist' 2012

 

What Makes Change A Nightmare?

Change is scary to many of us. Often we don’t even know why. Surprisingly, perhaps, ‘The Artist’ is more than just a compelling homage to the silent film. ‘The Artist’ is an accurate portrayal of why change can be frightening for some; and, for others, like George Valentin, an absolute nightmare. What is it that makes change so frightening?

George’s terrifying dream tells us quite a lot. After George turns away from the Talkies, from Al Zimmer, from his future, and from change, he has this dream:  Everything in his dressing room makes a shattering sound. George is petrified. Mouthing: ‘What the hell?’ into the mirror - he has no voice. He is the only silent thing in the room. Mouths hovering above are talking and laughing - at him. George doesn’t yell for help.

George is used to living in a silent world. Not only the world of silent movies, but also of his feelings. We can see why in his dream. Voices inside his mind mock him if he even thinks about needing help. To George - needing help; needing people; opening up and talking about feelings – is humiliating.  Some of you, I’m sure, feel the same way. It isn’t easy to be open; to risk saying how you really feel. Voices in your mind, too, might tell you ‘it’s crazy’, ‘don’t make a fool of yourself’, ‘you’ll just be hurt’ – or something like that.

What happens if those voices get louder and louder when you even think of wanting someone, or something else?  Does a warning flash in your mind - ‘Keep those needs quiet’ - like the ‘See No Evil’, ‘Hear No Evil’, ‘Speak No Evil’ monkeys that appear at just those moments in ‘The Artist’? And, like George, do you tell yourself you’re just fine? You can take care of yourself. You don’t need anyone, really. But, it isn’t true for you – any more than it is for George.

In spite of voices that tell you otherwise, there are other feelings and needs that come right along anyway – unwanted and unexpected. Just like Peppy Miller. Who is ‘that girl’? She is everything George is afraid to let himself be - alive, open, not afraid of change, and disarmingly herself. She disturbs his protective shell. He feels something for the first time.  Can he let himself? Not so easily.

George does what many frightened people do. He runs away. He drinks. He is terrified of opening up. He expects to be hurt, and when he is, he attacks himself: “Stupid! loser!”  The voices that mock his need for help and love almost win. Especially when he discovers how much he needs Peppy.

But, something hopeful remains – like the one movie he saves (dancing with Peppy). Once George begins to see that needing help, and love, is not a weakness – he can change. And, not only does he dance again with Peppy, he talks. He no longer lives in a world of silenced feelings. Most importantly, George proves those mocking voices wrong.