Nine years after dropping the masterpiece that is Holy Motors in our collective lap, French filmmaker Leos Carax makes his English-language and musical film debut with Annette, a sprawling rock opera born from his collaboration with Ron and Russell Mael (better known as the cult, genre-defying band Sparks).
The film opens on Carax, sat with his daughter behind a mixing board, as he politely asks: “So, may we start?”. The question becomes the hook to Annette’s overture, which sees the cast and crew head out of their recording studio and march together in song through the streets of Los Angeles. In a long tracking shot, the audience bears witness to Adam Driver and Marion Cotillard’s transformations, as they slowly move from versions of themselves and into character. He dons a dark wig, green leather jacket and motorcycle helmet; she takes a tan trench coat and climbs in the back of a black SUV. Driver and Cotillard disappear, replaced by Henry and Ann.
Henry McHenry is a controversial comedian and the self-dubbed “Ape of God”, who enters his shows in a “Rocky-era boxer meets grumpy old man” robe and smoking a cigarette, baiting the crowd with furious rants and gravelly singing intervals. He isn’t funny; what’s important is simply that his audience roar with laughter on cue, and that they be the sounding board to his hostility. Ann Defrasnoux is a world-renowned singer, a fragile-feeling, exquisite opera soprano who is destined each night to die a tragic death. Henry is in love with Ann, and Ann is in love with Henry. These two “love each other so much,” they like to sing, even as reminding us of that fact demands Henry surface for air mid-cunnilingus.
But make no mistake, Annette is not a love story. First comes love, sure, but then comes a creepy marionette baby (who lends her name to the musical), career suicide, a crumbling marriage, a dramatic shipwreck, possible murder, a supernatural haunting, and viral fame. Not that the plot matters much. Central to the narrative is Henry’s unravelling – his arc serves as a dissection of male egotism and entitlement, shines a spotlight on the price of fame and what horrors the public will excuse away in the name of creative “genius”, and perhaps even works as a commentary on child celebrity culture and artistic exploitation.
Yet despite treading thematic ground ripe for exploration, Annette is too far distanced from its own events and characters to do more than just suggest surface-level analysis. What the film lacks in substance and narrative heft however, it makes up for in both style and spectacle (Carax was, after all, a founding member of le cinéma du look). From the Renaissance art quality of its set pieces to the daring use of ethereally beautiful, fantastical elements, there’s no denying that Annette is visually stunning. Also deserving of praise is the acting: from Driver’s commanding, unyielding performance and Cotillard’s understated turn, to Simon Helberg single-handedly providing the musical its heart and warmth as Ann’s lovesick accompanist.
None of that proves enough to erase Annette’s flaws, however. Not only is Carax’s musical narratively and thematically flimsy, its characters mostly archetypes, and its runtime far too long, but most of the songs aren’t great either – which, for a musical, is an issue. Sparks’ hyper-literal lyrics do little to convey the characters’ state beyond generic and obvious emotions, nor do they advance the story. And so, despite all it has working in its favour, Annette remains vague and glib.
There will be people who will love Carax’s latest exactly because it is so uninterested in audience gratification, and will praise its bravery and rejection of narrative convention. For this reviewer however, there’s just not enough substance to Annette to support its own massive frame. Call it a film to be admired, but not necessarily enjoyed.
Annette releases in UK cinemas September 3rd.
