An Interview with Arnaud Desplechin, Director of Un Conte de Noël
By Leslie Weisman, DC Film Society Member
This interview took place in the offices of the AFI Silver Theatre in Silver Spring, Maryland.
Leslie Weisman: If I may preface my questions with an observation: This can be a very demanding film for audiences, one they can revisit repeatedly, and discover something new each time. It’s chock-full of cinematic, theatrical, philosophical, medical, and literary references; its characters are deeply human, but can quickly become utterly alien, to the viewer, to their family — even to themselves. Abel is gentle and humorous, yet asserts that he feels no grief upon the death of his little boy, and listens to sharply, even painfully dissonant music; bad boy Henri is almost pathologically self-centered, yet capable of making an extraordinary sacrifice for someone who, by virtue of her relationship, should love him even if the whole world rejects him, and yet tells him frankly that she doesn’t — and (except for a fleeting moment) never did. What led you to create these characters? Which came first: the characters, or the storyline?
Arnaud Desplechin: If I like a film, even if I don’t like it very much, I will see it maybe three or four times, because now it’s on TV, on DVD. Sometimes if you see a movie once, it’s perfect. But it can happen that people see it twice. So each time I make a movie, I try to put a few things in it so that if someone is forced to see my humble films twice, he won’t be bored; perhaps he will see other things in it. So if I can hide here and there a few details ... a person will be obliged to see it three times, which is such a bore! I’m just trying to help him get more out of it each time. When I make a movie, my first thought is that I’m making it so that it has to be seen once. But with TV today and DVDs, and the silly things we have on planes, you know... If you add a few things, the audience won’t be bored the second time, you know? I think it’s nicer.
LW: Well, I don’t think the audience will ever be bored. Several of the cast members — Catherine Deneuve, Mathieu Almaric, Emmanuelle Devos among them — you have directed before; they seem to form almost a part of your film family. Did they contribute to the script, to the development of their characters?
AD: Oh, no. Actually I’m not able to write for actors, because if I was writing for an actor, I would deprive myself of freedom. I would think — and I’m not avoiding the question, but — I would start to think it’s too mean or it’s difficult to say, or it’s too weird, or it’s too something. So I would write it so it’s easier for the actor. And in a way I think, what I have to write will just have to be bleak or weird or obscure or absolute... to go a little bit too far. If I was writing for someone, then I would restrain my imagination, I think. For example Matthew [Mathieu Almaric] loved it, the way his character is depicted as Matthew. It was the first line in the script, for his character. A man is walking in the street, he’s mumbling an odd song; and then you have the song, which is really odd — which is unactable, no actor except Matthew could act it — “my nose don’t belong to me, my ear is not mine, my eyes... if I’m losing... my ass is not mine” — it’s so bizarre, it’s obscene. So if I was writing this for Matthew, I would be so ashamed, I couldn’t do it. What I’m able to do is to say to Matthew, “I have a few lines which are unactable, but if you could do something with it, if you could manage, well, fine.” Plus the character who is depicted is a massive man, this massive man is walking and mumbling, and in the previous film with Matthew, it was not Matthew, the character was not massive, he was light. But in this film the character has to be Matthew. I’m sure if I was thinking about Matthew in the writing process, I wouldn’t allow myself to write — you know, the character is Mathieu, the character is this, or the character is that, that woman is beautiful, that woman is... I wouldn’t dare. I just wouldn’t dare.
LW: Well, and especially with Matthew, when he takes that precipitous fall... That must have been painful. Did you have something that caught him, or...?
AD: Professional secret. Well, you know — remember those commercials — “Don’t try this at home.” You would be dead.
LW: Now this is a long question, and I apologize. Although this is a richly cinematic work, the theatrical references are notable, chief among them Shakespeare, but also the ancient Greeks. Junon [Catherine Deneuve] and Henri [Mathieu Almaric] directly address the viewer, almost at times like a chorus. And Abel quotes from the prologue to Nietzsche’s “On the Genealogy of Morals” in trying to comfort Elizabeth: “For us this law holds for all eternity: ‘Each man is farthest from himself,’” recalling in reverse the ancient Greek aphorism, “Know thyself.” And in fact the children’s play has elements of Greek tragedy, of (as Andrew O’Hehir wrote in Salon) “banishment, punishment, repentance, forgiveness,” which “recapitulate the central themes” of the film. At the same time, that scene (with the children) can be seen as a sort of extradiegetic tweak on Shakespeare’s Hamlet, when in Act III the players enact a scene that evokes Claudius’s murder of Hamlet’s father. And the closing lines of the film — “If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended” — are Puck’s closing lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream — and of course you use the wonderful Mendelssohn throughout the film. And — closing the loop — Elisabeth is a playwright, and Henri’s default on a loan to buy a theatre sets the whole story in motion. These references to things theatrical testify to your love and knowledge of the theatre. Was there also a larger purpose in these references for the viewer to see?
AD: There could be so many ways of answering that question. I don’t know if I can elaborate on this, but I will try. One thing is that I’m using these as tools. When I’m reading books, or anything, I feel that what I’m learning is free for me to use, that I can use parts of it. It’s true, you know, on one level what I could say is — I always like this line — “to bring the words back home.” It seems to me that that’s one thing the cinema can do. Instead of using these big words and these names — Nietzsche, the Greeks — you take them and [bring them down to earth]. Like if it’s a film about the Mob, like The Godfather, you say it’s Greek. You know, it’s simple; it’s just a tool to understand what’s happening, what we are experiencing. But in a way it’s true: the Mob is a metaphor for Greek theater, the Greek theater is a good metaphor for our very common lives. So what I like is to use big materials, but to depict very common events, really common. I’ll just mention two of them. I had the final big explanation between the sister and the brother. What are they saying, by the way? Anything. The guy is really just saying, I think you are quite embarrassed because you forgot why you’re upset with me. So you should ask me. But because you hate me, you won’t ever ask me? It’s so silly. And they are so sure that they are full of bitterness. They are fifty years old, and they are behaving like eight-year-olds. And then as soon as I start to write the scene, I know that in such a scene I can’t provide absolute truth, because it would be a scene about hate. So in a way you have two theatres. Each time we have an argument, sisters and brothers, or enemies... we are so sure, and full of anger, that in a way we are playing something. We are playing a part where we think that we are noble: “I am the very Truth and I am so proud of it,” and we behave just like actors. So I thought it would be nice to have the two arguments, the argument between the two of them and the kids who are playing — in a way, you have two theaters — it would be like two ways of representing this argument between the two of them. In the eight first minutes, you have all the Sturm und Drang: bankruptcy, cancer, the death of a child, etc. And we thought it would be funny — I met with my co-scenarist, Emmanuel — it would be funny to have in the next scene Junon, who starts the exposition all over again. As if she was saying, after everything has been explained, settled: “Okay. We will start again, but one thing will be different: I’m the main character. You know, I mean, it’s my cancer which really matters. And so I’m the storyteller, I’m the narrator of this movie.” And when I wrote it I thought that it was funny, because instead of being so proud, Emmanuel and I, of being clever in the exposition, we realized it was very true about the character of Junon, too. You know, “By the way, I’m the main one; the other ones are secondary.” But it’s also true of this family, of the Vuillard family. We started to have this idea that each character at one point of the storytelling would say: “By the way, I do matter. I am the narrator. The other ones are not that important.” So we came up with this idea that each one of the characters would have one moment where he is the narrator of the movie. And this fight between all of them — to think “I am the main one, the other ones are... forget about the other ones, I’m the important one, I do matter” — it was the absolute perfect depiction of the Vuillard family, the fact that they are so brash, each one of them.
LW: Like sibling rivalry, writ large. There are also references, both explicit and suggested, to films by what I understand are some of your favorite directors — Hitchcock and Bergman among them — and I guess we’ll let viewers have fun scoping that out for themselves. And there’s also the embryo-like image that opens the film, recalling Kubrik’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, a striking evocation of fragility and innocence, and a reminder of how each of these lives began. And the delightful cameo by Françoise Bertin, a veteran of nearly 100 films whose face is certainly known to U.S. audiences, if not necessarily her name. And then there’s the scene where Paul, Elisabeth’s son, is watching a silent film featuring a woman in white with a little man riding or pulling on the train of her gown, perhaps...
AD: It’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
LW: Ah, marvelous! Well, that explains why that was in there. Are these references to other filmmakers there so that audiences will have fun recognizing them, or is there a deeper significance to them?
AD: What’s important for me is that here the sound stops. What’s important in the last part is that even a spectator who’s fourteen years old should be able to understand. Whether or not he understands Nietzsche, he should be able to understand the music of the words. But what’s interesting in this scene, where Abel is trying to comfort his daughter, we don’t know that it’s Nietzsche — the spectator doesn’t see that it’s Nietzsche, you see it at the end in the credits, but I put it there in case any spectator is curious. But what’s also interesting is that the father is trying to comfort his daughter, he’s a man and he doesn’t really understand and he does it in a sort of clumsy way; he doesn’t really know what to say. So he reads a citation from Nietzsche. But in the middle of the citation the sound goes off, and instead of a continuation of the citation, you see a scene of Roubais, and we know Roubais is not a very beautiful or very fancy city. [Note: Roubais is Desplechin’s hometown.] And then you hear this music by Mendelssohn. And then it comes back into the citation. What I mean is that you’re not obliged to listen to the words. It’s not teaching anything; you can just think the man is old, that his daughter is a wreck. That it’s about the snow when it melts. It’s about when we are looking for some truth; it has to be as simple as a song. Just as a song. And if someone is looking at the movie with a different kind of knowledge, it has to have a meaning too. So if someone is looking at the film twice, it doesn’t have to be boring. Yes, but — what if someone sixteen years old is in the audience? What if someone forty years old — or if there is a doctor, or if there is a mathematician in the audience? A film has to be made, to my mind, for anyone, and you can always catch or grab a different meaning which will absolutely fit, which has to fit. But it’s also because — yes, I’m a film buff, but after that — what in a way, is so simple — you enter into the blood and flesh of Juno. And then it is scary, because he says: there are cells, there are small cancers in there. And it’s gorgeous at the same time: it looks like space. So if I were to pretend that I’m the first one to have the idea — no. I know that Kubrick had it, but before that, Pascal said it: “These infinite spaces fill me with dread.” So I won’t pretend that I’m greater than Kubrick, I’m just his pupil. I consider it’s a quotation, I know the path, because I love films, so I can recognize when it’s a path. As soon as we are speaking about men obsessed with women, I’m sure that at one point, Vertigo will be quoted.
LW: The silhouettes that set the stage with the story of the Vuillard family recall both Lotte Reiniger’s silhouette figures and the prelude to Orson Welles’ The Trial. Did either of these films or directors have any impact on your decision to use these silhouette figures?
AD: Not really. It’s not a quotation. The first concern is really just to tell something more quickly, to find a form that goes more quickly. And I thought it would be fun. We have Elizabeth, she’s writing in her diary, and she’s looking at her shadow, and it’s fun. And I thought that the fact that it’s a girl that’s afraid of having a shadow, of her dark part... And she wants to be immaculate and neat, and not to be a monster. “Come on, you’re just a monster, just like your brothers and father and mother.” You have to accept that you have a shadow; it’s great to have a shadow, a shadow is nice. It means that you have a body, and to have a body is great news. So after that, we started to work with that. As for influences, I can’t say. It’s not quotation... It’s true that we had a big
exposition of Kara Walker’s works in Paris, and I missed it — a great misfortune, because I was working, and I was so sad to have missed it. One year after that I was in Boston, because I was showing a film, and I was meeting a teacher in a French restaurant. It just happened we were meeting in the lobby where a film of mine was screening, and we began to speak. And she said, “By the way, do you know, Kara Walker did her studies here, and we have two of her works,” and we saw the two of them. For sure, I don’t feel that I can quote Kara Walker, because I deeply respect her work, and her work is deeply involved with political issues and racial issues that I can’t share, being white. And I really worship what she is doing, because it’s so involved. But for sure, it has an influence on me because in a way, I am living in the world that Kara Walker and all those great artists are inventing, I am just part of it. So in a way, it’s going through me, because she is such a powerful artist. And so here we are, it is — the way you put it — a legend of a family, shadows. Plus it’s the birth of cinema. Orson Welles? Because of his novel, Bram Stoker, Dracula? For sure, Coppola.
LW: There are several references to Jewish things and people: Henri’s girlfriend Faunia, who identifies herself as a non-observant Jew; Abel commanding his daughter to “Read! It’s a mitzvah!”; Junon calling Henri “my little Jew,” with what seems like a mixture of mockery and affection. Is there a thread linking these references?
AD: It’s something that I’d have a hard time explaining, and that I had an easy time living. As a Frenchman, if I think of Renoir and Truffaut, if I want to portray a little cinematic world in the French language, if I don’t have a vertical axis of Christians and a horizontal axis of Jews, I’m not really able to portray something. You have to have two dimensions, one dimension is not enough. If not, it wouldn’t be a world; it would be a prison. So after saying that, yes, it’s a Catholic house, and it’s Christmas, and they’re very serious about being Catholic. But after that, I thought, if I could see Jesus on the TV — I remember this American friend, who said to me, “You can’t put The Ten Commandments on TV for Christmas; you can’t.” And I said, “But why?” And he told me: “Because it’s an Easter movie.” And I guess that’s why I brought it into the movie, because I thought it would be redundant. (Laughs). And it’s true that not everyone is Christian, that’s for sure, and it’s not true that everyone is white. It’s not true that it’s normal to be white, it’s just specific. Just like this election. It’s good news, it’s just absolutely good news.
LW: I guess we have time for one final question, and I’d like to close with something light. The Obled brothers are as cute as buttons. I understand, if my information is correct, that the entire film was scripted, and that there was no improvisation; but these two little charmers — they’re what, four or five years old?
AD: Four and six.
LW: Four and six! What was your method in working with them? Did you create these parts with Clément and Thomas and in mind?
AD: They are actors, you proceed just like with actors. But it’s the pleasure of it, you know? The pleasure for them to be considered actors. But I wouldn’t speak with them any differently. I would speak to them just like with any actor, exactly the same. For them it’s a great pleasure because I can argue with them, and work with them in a very straight, plain way. And it was also a pleasure for Catherine Deneuve. It’s amazing to see the great pleasure she took, to be seen on the same level with all the actors, along with these two kids from Roubais — who have this very strong accent you could cut with a knife — and to see Catherine Deneuve work with that, and to be seen as an equal with these two boys.
LW: And it has been a great pleasure speaking with you. Thank you so much. It was a pleasure as well to have with us, assisting as needed in translation and clarification, Paul Young, Assistant Professor of French at Georgetown University. Mille mercis!