AT THE CANNES Film Festival in 2019—the last edition before the pandemic struck—the winner of the Palme d’Or came as no surprise. Bong Joon-ho’s “Parasite” seemed destined to win the top prize from the moment the credits rolled and the audience offered a five-minute-long standing ovation; the reviews were rapturous. This year there was no outright frontrunner. Of the 24 films in the main competition, Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s “Drive My Car”, adapted from a short story by Haruki Murakami, received the most positive reviews. Asghar Farhadi’s “A Hero” seemed to be the sensible, uncontentious pick, in that it was a cleverly constructed, socially conscious satire from a much-loved Iranian writer-director. But on July 17th, when the jury announced that Julia Ducournau had prevailed for her unheralded film “Titane”, it immediately felt like the correct decision.
One reason its triumph went down so well was that “Titane” was directed (and written) by a woman. Previously, the only woman to win a Palme d’Or was Jane Campion, for “The Piano” in 1993. The fact that Ms Ducournau should have become the second woman ever to win that prize in the same year that Chloé Zhao became the second woman ever to win the Academy Award for Best Director put a sizeable crack in the glass ceiling.
The other reason Ms Ducournau’s victory was so welcome has nothing to do with her gender. The Palme d’Or doesn’t usually go to experimental or controversial work: it tends to go to thoughtful, politically engaged dramas made by directors such as Ken Loach (who has won twice, most recently in 2016) or Michael Haneke (who has also won twice, in 2009 and 2012). They are so well established that the win has little impact on their careers. In contrast, “Titane” is only Ms Ducournau’s second feature film. Her debut, “Raw” (2016), was a coming-of-age horror movie about a vegetarian veterinary student who develops a taste for human flesh. Her febrile follow-up is even more shocking.
The film’s anti-heroine, Alexia (Agathe Rousselle), is a tough, taciturn, heavily tattooed and scarred young woman who makes a living by dancing for the lecherous patrons at motor shows. She is well qualified for the job because she has had an erotic obsession with cars ever since she was injured in a crash as a child, and had a titanium plate slotted into her skull. What is even weirder is that cars reciprocate her feelings. When she sprawls on the back seat of a Cadillac one night, the vehicle jerks and bucks around in apparent excitement, and the next day Alexia discovers that she is pregnant with something oily and metallic. It is typical of the surreal mood created by Ms Ducournau that Alexia is irritated, but not especially astonished, by this pregnancy.
“Titane” only gets more jaw-dropping from there. Accompanied by dance music that sounds like an industrial drill, and low choral chanting that would be perfect for a Satanic mass, the film transforms from an eerie cyberpunk fable to a gruesome black comedy about a sprightly serial killer, to a twisted but tender fairy-tale in which a hulking fire chief (Vincent Lindon) treats Alexia as his long-lost son. Scene by scene, the dark narrative flows with a kind of logic, but it is impossible to guess where it is going.
It is also difficult to say what it all means, which sets “Titane” apart from those films at Cannes that had a clear political agenda. There is some warmth to the story of two damaged loners learning to trust each other, and there are frequent sparks of deadpan humour, but in general “Titane” is the cinematic equivalent of a long, disturbing, gore-drenched, sweat-soaked nightmare. Whether or not it makes sense, you can’t forget it.
When the film was first screened, it seemed inevitable it would be classed as a curio that would attract a cult following of extreme-cinema aficionados. So it was a thrilling upset when the festival jury, led by Spike Lee, awarded it the Palme d’Or. Even those critics who weren’t fans of “Titane” admitted that this was an audacious and mischievous move. Mr Lee and his fellow jurors had delivered a provocative rejection of safe and respectable movie-making, a declaration that the venerable festival itself could still learn new tricks, and a life-changing boost for the talented and imaginative Ms Ducournau. Not many people at Cannes had expected it, but in retrospect, any other choice would have been a disappointment.
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