Vasti Roodt crossfire
In the Mail & Guardian of July 28, David Macfarlane concludes his defence of Catherine BreillatOs Romance with a call for women to speak out on the presumed merits of the film (OFlaccid reviews reveal male myopiaO). Macfarlane is filled with indignation at the critical comments the film has elicited from three male critics, and presumes that a female audience would be more alive to its worth. I beg to differ. A so-called female perspective does not require the suspension of oneOs critical faculties, and Romance deserves a great deal of criticism. In my view, the film is a failure, both as an Ointervention in gender debatesO, as Macfarlane would have it, and as an artistic endeavour. Let me begin with the latter accusation. To put it bluntly: without the sex, the film is a straight-to-video production. It is ponderous and self-consciously intellectual, and often simply boring. OneOs boredom derives precisely from BreillatOs determination to present the film as art rather than as pornography. Her solution is to regale the viewer with interminable voice-overs, designed to imbue the sex scenes, as well as the aimless to- ing and fro-ing in-between, with philosophical depth. The solution, fails, however, and the film remains nothing more than scenes of unhappy copulation looped together by tedious stretches of navel- gazing.
In this respect, Romance fulfils what Umberto Eco identifies as a primary criteria for pornography: it wastes endless amounts of time. In his tongue-in-cheek essay How to Recognise a Porn Movie, Eco argues that in the porn film, spectator interest is aroused only when there is an intimation of the world in which the sexual coupling takes place, a world in which the participants exist as characters. For the sake of such character delineation, porn actors are shown to take inordinate amounts of time doing ordinary things, whether travelling from A to B, conversing, sipping drinks, reflecting, fiddling with their clothing, and so on. These lengthy stretches of in-between time are intended as proof of a world beyond the sex scenes, which ultimately allows the sexual transgression that is the true subject of the film to retain its interest for the audience.
The point here is that pornography is not so much about sex as about tediousness. Porn films are boring precisely because they lack all interest in character and plot, except as a means for the actors to engage in sex. In my view, Romance does not fall far short of this description. BreillatOs portrayal of the world in which Marie has to Ofind herselfO as a sexual being never progresses beyond filling the gaps between one unfulfilling sexual encounter and the next. The characters themselves are little more than cartoons, going about their lives and encounters with little or no motivation. One senses that the film is not interested in them as people, in what makes them behave as they do, but only cares about showing them doing it. This tedious indifference, and not the tame shots of genitalia and simulated copulation, is what makes Romance pornographic. The film is an artistic failure precisely because it pretends to be something else. Still, MacfarlaneOs defence of the film did not refer to its artistic merits so much as its contribution to current gender debates. He takes two male film critics to task for failing to understand, and daring to ask, why Paul (the boyfriend) has lost all sexual interest in Marie. The answer, so Macfarlane tells us, would be self-evident to most women. Like Marie, we are supposed to know, either Ointuitively or intellectuallyO, that Ocertain kinds of heterosexual men are actually not interested in womenO. Leaving aside the facile logic of this statement, there are other, fundamental problems with the filmOs portrayal of the dynamics of power between the two main characters. For instance: Paul not only refuses to pleasure Marie, but also denies her the right to give him pleasure (note: it is not that he cannot experience arousal; quite the contrary, he cuts off all sexual overtures from MarieOs side because he stands in danger of becoming aroused). How does she repond? By continuing to beg for sexual attention. Why doesnOt she leave? Because she loves him, we are told. Yet the little time Paul and Marie spend together is filled entirely with arguments over not having sex. The film does not even hint at a further bond between them. The object of MarieOs affection is so entirely indifferent to her either as a companion or as a lover that her feelings appear to be on a par with that of an adolescent hankering after an idolised but inaccessible male. Against this background, MarieOs eventual sexual forays are desperate attempts to have her desirability confirmed by a man, any man, as a substitute for the unattainable lover. In this regard, her behaviour simply conforms to the standard depictions of male supremacy and female dependence. In all her experiences, from the anonymous pick-up in the bar, through the scenes of rape and bondage, she remains the complacent participant in and, at least sometimes, the victim of male fantasies. Her dealings with the men she picks up reinforce the notion of an unbridgeable sexual chasm between men and women, while her behaviour towards Paul is presented as a deluded desire to overcome this divide.
The extent to which the inaccessible lover remains the focal point of all her sexual encounters is demonstrated by the fact that when she eventually manages to arouse Paul to the point of impregnating her, all further sexual exploration comes to a halt. Ironically, it is impending motherhood that finally enables Marie to sever the connection with Paul not by leaving him, but by blowing up his apartment with him inside. The implication here is that if she must do without him, he must not have the opportunity to do without her. The film ends with mother and baby presiding over PaulOs internment. Some might argue that this facile celebration of motherhood as redemption from male dominance is subverted by the fact that the filmOs writer and director is herself a woman. But this argument is based on questionable assumptions. In the first place, the audience cannot be expected to interpret every image in the film from the perspective of the director. A film that may not be read outside of the directorOs controlling vision is bound to fail on its own terms. Secondly, would we know what Breillat is trying to say with these images just because she is a woman? Is a Ofemale perspectiveO really so simple and homogeneous that one can access it simply by virtue of being female? And finally, even if it were possible to read the film through specifically female eyes, how would that make the birthing, rape and bondage scenes automatically less exploitative, the characters less one-dimensional? Given that the film ends by pushing one of the greatest cliches of all that motherhood is the solution to all of womenOs struggles with men and with their own sexuality I fail to see in what sense Breillat breaks down any patterns of male domination, or subverts any gender stereotypes. The film insinuates that a womanOs liberation from her enslavement to male affirmation or desire can only begin after she has been impregnated by one such male. And ultimately, we are asked to believe that pregnancy and giving birth are what define women as whole beings our ultimate romance, regardless of our disappointments in being romanced by men. An important intervention in current gender debates? A cutting-edge exploration of the erotic encounter? A half-decent porn movie? I think not. My response to the film indicates that, at least for some women, MacfarlaneOs conviction that Breillat has her pulse on contemporary female experience is much misplaced. The description by one of those OmyopicO male reviewers remains apt: Romance is indeed a con job. It is also a tremendous waste of time. Vasti Roodt is a PhD student and part-time lecturer in the department of philosophy at the University of Stellenbosch