Many in cinema circles argue that Henri-Georges Clouzot, and not Alfred Hitchcock, is the “true” master of suspense. Indeed, Clouzot’s Les Diaboliques is certainly brilliant (though I was underwhelmed by his highly regarded Wages of Fear), but I have yet to see him equal Hitchcock’s Psycho or Rear Window. However, The Mystery of Picasso is not a thriller. It is, in fact, a completely different genre and for that, Clouzot deserves accolades that I cannot bestow on Hitchcock. This is a remarkable and unique work. If you go into The Mystery of Picasso expecting suspense, you’ll be caught off-guard. The film is a collaboration between Clouzot and Pablo Picasso, one of the most fascinating painters of the 20th century. There are no actors besides Picasso and Clouzot themselves. There is no ‘script.’ The Mystery of Picasso studies art’s creative process in a dazzling fashion. Much of the film is simply blank paper being filled by Picasso’s improvisations. Under less talented direction, this could have been a 75-minute bore. Under Clouzot’s hand, it’s hypnotic; he shot 23 different paintings by filming through the paper (Picasso used ink that bled through the canvas). Those who lack much of an attention span could become weary but the film rewards patience. Watching Picasso’s style develop—from black marker to splashes of color to fully detailed paintings—is a treat. Many of the early pictures showed every brush stroke but the later ones took longer. Clouzot’s brilliance comes out in the editing where he effortlessly displays how Picasso’s paintings evolve. As a deft touch, Clouzot uses wipe cuts exclusively to switch from scene to scene, portrait to portrait.
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L’Age D’Or, Luis Buñuel’s third film, opens with a short documentary about scorpions. For three minutes, we see them scurry around and attack rats. The movie then begins and we don’t see a scorpion again—however, Buñuel has shrewdly set the tone. Poison remains prevalent throughout all 60 minutes of L’Age D’Or. Buñuel’s surrealistic style is quite unsettling. Many of the images burrow into your head and nest there. There are dreamlike blends between reality and whimsy, visual poetry that’s far more effective than dialogue. The story, centered around two young individuals (Gaston Madot and Lya Lys) in love but constantly handcuffed by society, develops at breakneck pace. The characters have no names yet their identities are firmly established. Almost immediately, our male protagonist breaks free of two policeman to kick a helpless dog. Later, he does the same to crush a bug, kick a guitar down the street, and shove a blind man. He even slaps the girl’s mother at a dinner party when she accidentally spills a drink on him. One could argue that Madot is the cruelest cinematic character ever conceived. But the girl’s reaction to this scoundrel is the most intriguing element of all. Erotically biting her lip as Madot smacks her mother, she practically trembles with sexual excitement. One can’t help but be fascinated by their convoluted love, even if it’s pretty much reprehensible.
Buñuel was clearly a great fan of Emily Bronte’s “Wuthering Heights.” He later adapted it himsef and L’Age D’Or smacks of its characterizations and mood. Like Heathcliff in “Wuthering Heights,” Madot is unrelentingly cruel except around Lys, who’s able to draw out an otherwise nonexistent softness. Social status prevents Heathcliff and Cathy from marrying, just as it halts Madot and Lys from any kind of normal relationship. There’s a grander scope here, though. Though the film’s core is its love story, larger themes resonate as well. Genocide, mutilated eyes, a fire at a party that doesn’t cause a single guest to blink, murdering a child…we’re forced to think about the significance of every scene. Certain aspects of the movie, including the ending, remain a bit hazy but in no way does that diminish L’Age D’Or‘s awesome power. This isn’t a film for the timid.