Perhaps Haneke's best film, of those that I've seen. It's very much a Haneke film: the stoic long shots and long takes, the harsh silences and amplified 'regular' sounds (the turning of pages, the running of water, the hum of a vacuum), the unsentimental and even cruel gazes. Some have said that this may be one of his most accessible films -- which is something I don't agree with. Whereas something as brutal as Funny Games or The Piano Teacher may be more overtly violent, those films have a certain sadistic, Brechtian glee that get your blood pumping. Amour does not have these moments. When the final act of love from husband to wife occurs, we gasp, but we do not get a stunned rush like with Caché's slice-and-spurt. I found myself watching this moment with a certain understanding and compassion, rather than a bewilderment that demands a chuckle of disbelief.
It is this compassion that really makes this film special in Haneke's oeuvre. But it being a Haneke film, it's not sentimentalized in any sense: the overbearing gaze of the camera really prevents such an act from occurring. As we watch Anne and Georges as they go about their day-to-day lives, I found a gentle sense of caring come over me, but one that was primarily marked with a respect. By that I mean I didn't watch and reduce them to archetypes of the elderly. They don't particularly remind me of any of my relatives. Instead I felt that these were two individuals that didn't want or need my pity, my sentimentalization. No. Anne asks Georges after her first stroke to promise her that he will never send her away ever again -- and he doesn't. This takes an incredible amount of respect for Anne's wishes, and is a sign of incredible love. He struggles greatly for the rest of the film to take care of her, and her descent is indeed... how do I say this? It's "heavy" to watch. But there are small sparks of lightness amongst all the heaviness: Georges' meandering reminiscing; Anne flipping through a photo album; small jokes and quips; an unexpected visit from a pigeon. As the body withers away, and the mind seems to have slipped, there can still be joy. But just as quickly as stopping a Schubert CD, it can cut to the silence.
Near the end of the film, there are a series of shots of landscape paintings. Apparently, these belonged to Haneke's parents, and some critics are suggesting that their only function are a direct personal stamp: nothing more. Instead, I found the paintings to be a key to the thematic weight of the film, which is one of my favourite concepts: the sublime. The paintings are all Romantic landscapes, some going into the Impressionist era, and they strike as more than simply a recreation of natural beauty. The clouds, the horizon, coming face-to-face with infinity and oblivion: Amour is a recognition of the gravitas of old age and inevitable death, but also recognizing that even during this apparent decline, love can survive --indeed, it must survive--and that two people can sit together quietly in each other's company, an aura of mutual respect, care and peace permeating the twilight. "C'est beau, la vie."
(Unedited, conversational review. I just typed and never looked back.)
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