 What happened to Alain Corneau? Back in the 1970s, he directed the sublimely dark Série Noire, easily one of the best French films of the decade (and one that badly needs to be resurrected). Best known in the states for 1991's crowd-pleasing, Tous les Matins du Monde, his films have gone from the hard- to the soft-boiled. (Filmbrain has yet to see the 1995 James Gandolfini/Alicia Silverstone vehicle, Le Nouveau Monde.) When Filmbrain heard that Corneau had adapted Amélie Nothomb's autobiographical novella Stupeur et Tremblements, he was curious, to say the least. Would he be able to turn this brief first-person narrative into a successful film, and would he be able to make Nothomb's Japanese characters be something other than the ridiculous caricatures that they are in the novel? The answer is no, and no.
Fear and Trembling (as it's called here) is an autobiographical account of Ms. Nothomb's experience working for a large Japanese firm in Tokyo when she was twenty-one. Though hired as an interpreter, she was never given any work of that sort, and the story chronicles her downward spiral from coffee girl to toilet cleaner. The entire novella is set in the office, and the story is told primarily through interior monologue -- there are only a few scenes of actual dialog. This is the first (and major) problem with the film -- about 70% of it is voiceover, and actress Sylvie Testud is simply reciting verbatim the lines from the book. Filmbrain is a hardly a Robert McKee acolyte -- he believes that voiceover can be wonderful in the right hands (read: Scorsese) -- but using it to the extent that Corneau does (he wrote the screenplay as well) shows either laziness on his part, a lack of creativity, or simply a case of a book not suitable for filming. The end result is more like a book-on-tape, with pictures. It's a very flat film in this regard, and the only saving grace is Testud's performance, which is quite good, even beyond her ability to speak near-perfect Japanese. (She was awarded the César for best actress this year.) Unfortunately, this isn't the only the problem with the film. There is another, more complicated issue.
When Amélie first arrives at the company, she is introduced to her boss, Fubuki, an untypically tall, beautiful Japanese woman that Amélie immediately adores. Though things seem fine at first, it's not long before they wind up in a Hegelian master-servant relationship. And though Amélie is continually on the receiving end of humiliation and scorn, she still defends and admires Fubuki. While this is a theme that has been explored successfully in other films, the problem here is that Fubuki, like all the bosses in the film, are nothing more than caricatures that are brimming with stereotypical behaviors that border on being racist. They scream and grunt at Amélie, psychologically and physically menace her, and even threaten her when she refuses to eat a piece of chocolate -- and they do all this with glee.
Amélie Nothomb was born in Japan, and spent part of her childhood there. It was her love of the country that took her back there at twenty-one. As she says in the book, she wanted to be Japanese, and this is her justification for submitting to all the abuse. "Anyone else in my situation would have quit. But not if they were Japanese. ... I would survive. I would do what a Japanese would have done." Yet if she so adores the country, its culture, and its people, why paint virtually every Japanese character as a sadistic puppet? While it might work in the novel for comic effect, it's a bit disconcerting on the screen. Being a foreigner in a Japanese corporation can be a harrowing, frustrating experience (Filmbrain worked at one in Tokyo, years ago), and it's clear that Ms. Nothomb landed in a particularly tough environment. But does that justify her often grotesque portraits?
Filmbrain doesn't wish to come right out and accuse the film of being racist -- that's rather pointless. Corneau takes Nothomb at her word, and the film seems guiltier of ignorance than malicious intent. (Filmbrain is curious to know if those that found Lost in Translation offensive feel the same way about Fear and Trembling.) It is interesting to note, however, that the only scene from the novella not present in the film is one in which a fellow European (a Dutch man) is shown in an embarrassing light -- he has bad body odor from excessive sweat. Was Corneau not comfortable with this scene, or did he feel it just wasn't necessary? Fear and Trembling hasn't been released in Japan (it did play at one festival), and one can only wonder if it ever will.
Regardless of whether or not you find the film racist, offensive, or simply exaggerated for comic effect, it is the dependency on and overuse of voiceover that ultimately destroys it. Perhaps Corneau's intention was to build the film around Sylvie Testud's performance -- but even that is not enough to make the film particularly interesting. The novella can be read in about the same time it takes to watch the film. Filmbrain's advice? Read the book instead. Filmbrain would love to hear from others who have seen the film. |