Miséricorde: Guiraudie's Delicate Dance of Desire

Miséricorde: Guiraudie's Delicate Dance of Desire

As we approach the end of this year's Cannes Film Festival, one thing is certain: at least in terms of the main competition, this has been a lackluster year for Cannes. One rare bright spot, however, is that Alain Guiraudie's new film, Miséricorde, despite not being selected for the competition, has received almost unanimous acclaim from film critics. This has even prompted Roger Koza to lambast the festival for not including it in the main competition.【1】Perhaps after watching this nearly flawless film, we'll understand why its relegation to Cannes Première is so infuriating.

Miséricorde opens with a classic Guiraudiean scene: we're introduced to the protagonist through the interior of a car interior , watching him drive along countryside roads. Soon, we realize that the POV shot at the film's opening is actually a reveal of the protagonist's observer identity: at a dinner table after a funeral, he can't help but steal glances at the bachelor he's interested in, and later, when he repeatedly ventures into the woods only to return empty-handed, it becomes clear that he's not just there to pick mushrooms like everyone else, but to conduct his own monitoring. This observational gaze is not so much presented as a POV shot, but rather as a horizontal line of sight that persists regardless of whether it's in a subjective or objective shot, and whether it's in a close-up or a wide shot.

However, this theme of observation seems to shift in the second half of the film - starting from the final confrontation with his childhood friend, the protagonist appears to cease being an observer. This displacement of the observer is subtly reflected in the minute changes to the sequences in the forest, where he begins to absent himself from the deep focus shots. More directly, his gaze no longer looks outward, but instead, from the moment he raises a stone to strike his fallen friend, he becomes truly embroiled in the isolated village. This reminds us of the protagonist's first drink at the home of the man he desires, where the man says that finding porcini is not difficult, and what the protagonist needs to do is 'just look at the ground'. This phrase is almost a spell, because ever since the protagonist developed a murderous intent, his gaze has been fixed on the ground, and that's precisely why, for him now, finding the morels growing unexpectedly on the buried corpse is more than a result of killer's revisiting the crime scene. Of course, this transformation brings not only the absurd combination of guilt and harvesting skills, but also an existential crisis born from the reversal of the 'observer-observed' dynamic - putting aside the priest's ubiquitous presence, the protagonist is now numb to the changes in his surroundings, unable to detect the presence of his pursuers as sharply as before, and instead, has been thoroughly objectified by the police lurking in the shadows, making him susceptible to legal judgment at any moment.

Similar to the shift in the observer's identity, there is also a reversal of roles in the confessional: the murderer becomes the priest while the real priest becomes the penitent. This reversal doesn't erase the thoughts and emotions that should be present, but rather amplifies them, making them more complex and pronounced. Perhaps the reversal itself implies a dual nature, leading us to the protagonist's identity: he has a childlike face, but often lacks the innocence of a child, instead revealing a wild and evil streak; he's a returnee in some sense, but often appears more like an outsider in the village. This contradictory nature sometimes manifests as a 'day and night' struggle: on the protagonist's face, the camera captures not only the expressionist shadows in the confessional but also the divine sunlight on the cliff. In this film, the struggles are always raw and powerful, like the protagonist's physical confrontation with his childhood friend. Therefore, Miséricorde not only evokes F.W. Murnau and John Ford, but also perhaps recalls Straub-Huillet, because in some of the latter’s films, materialistic confrontations become a bridge between the everyday and the mythological, and this is precisely something Guiraudie attempts to find in this film.【2】

Miséricorde itself, like its character, possesses a duality, resembling a mix of Guiraudie's different previous works: it combines the elements of sexuality and murder like L'Inconnu du lac, while also touching on social politics like Viens je t’emmène (although without presenting them in a particularly radical way); it overlays the natural or primal aspects of L'Inconnu du lac (violence and absolute darkness) with the absurdity of Viens je t’emmène (cleverly hidden beneath the surface-level narrative), ultimately becoming a hybrid of film noir and farce. In this new film, we're left unsure whether the village is realistic enough, only knowing that it's a place from which one can never escape; we're also uncertain about the true timeline, as the digital clock's glow seems like a recurring nightmare, constantly bringing us back to the terrifying cycle of dawn; and we're unaware of the personal histories of the characters between their childhood and the present, with descriptions that are not only fragmented but also contradictory. This ambiguity may be intended to give the film's own duality enough space to unfold, or perhaps to draw our attention to what's truly clear: desire is not only the protagonist's motivation - the longing for that man drives him to stay in the village, and even, to rely on passion to eliminate the obstacles to his desires, as well as the driving force behind the film itself- the struggle between the protagonist's desire and that of the outraged person inevitably escalate into a brutal fight leading to death, and others' desires for the protagonist shield him from worldly legal punishment, keeping him trapped in the village.

Looking back, this new film resonates with religion in a seemingly ambiguous way. On the most obvious level, the title itself carries a certain religious connotation. Indeed, in this work, we can grasp the way Catholic orthodoxy coexists with contemporary world through the priest's words and actions: he appears to have a highly contemporary perspective on justice, yet ultimately still subtly invokes the name of God; he confronts his desires honestly, but without transcending the boundaries of doctrine. However, at the same time, the priest's solemnity is constantly dissolved by strange humor, and thus it seems that religion in the film doesn't receive clear affirmation suggested by the title. Moreover, miséricorde seems to exceed the realm of religion - apart from the priest, the dead person's mother is also protecting the protagonist, a fact that pulls us back to the film's center, namely desire. And from the film's ending, the consequences of miséricorde triggered by desire are difficult to judge as purely good or evil. Perhaps in the end, we're left with a world in constant disintegration, where desire circulates and sustains certain things, becoming a substitute for faith while retaining an equally intense mystique.

Reference

1. Koza, R. Cannes 2024 (06): Las PelÍculas Nos Pueden Hacer Mejores. Con Los Ojos Abiertos. 22 May, 2024.

CANNES 2024 (06): LAS PELÍCULAS NOS PUEDEN HACER MEJORES - CON LOS OJOS ABIERTOS

1. Jendrysiak, P. Alain Guiraudie (2024) (2/2). Débordements. 22 Mai, 2024.

Alain Guiraudie (2024) (2/2) – Débordements (debordements.fr)

wirtten by Summum Bonum