The Intruder (2004) User Reviews (20)

A Mysterious Life Revealed Visually

[noralee · 8/10 · 11 January 2006]

"The Intruder (L'Intrus)" is a visual pilgrimage through a mysterious life.

Grizzled Michel Subor plays "Louis Trebor" like Jason Bourne as an old man with a hidden past, living simply in an isolated hut in the woods for justifiably paranoid reasons (but attracting pretty young women who can be useful to him). We learn more about him through dreams, flashbacks and a journey that may unfold chronologically or not, as well as through his brusque interactions with family, lovers, business associates and a striking nemesis. Like "The Limey," the film resonates with parent/child regrets and a suspicious past revealed through clips from an old film with the same actor as a young man (here Paul Gégauff's 1965 adventure film "Le Reflux").

In a complete contrast of moods, we meet his son Sidney (Grégoire Colin) who has to be the sexiest house husband in the world, as he sweetly and seductively does household repairs and cares for a baby, a toddler and every need of his working wife. Surely director/co-writer Claire Denis must have created him as a woman's fantasy if ever there was one and a lesson to other filmmakers on filming foreplay. There's an additional extended scene where he seeks his father in the woods while carefully carrying his angelic baby in a pouch. He is everything his father is not and has every relationship his father is incapable of sustaining; no wonder he thinks his father is "a lunatic." I spent the rest of the film in dread that something bad would happen to him as the true nature of the heart of his alienated father is very gradually played out before our eyes.

The film is a puzzle, but Subor is ruthlessly fascinating as we watch him traverse countries and negotiate nefarious deals, and the voice-over narration for Denis's "Beau Travail" was annoying anyway. We have to figure out from skylines and incidental signage that he is traveling to Geneva, Korea and the South Pacific. Time passing is indicated by the seasons changing and scars being created and healing. There are lots of images of water for cleansing and for distancing.

Continuing her fascination with the morphing of colonialism into globalization, as well as playing a bit on stereotypes of the Mysterious Orient and Russian criminals, Denis has incorporated elements from Robert Louis Stevenson, Paul Gauguin and Marlon Brando's Tahiti idylls and a 40-page memoir by French philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy, the last for the title and heart-transplant plot used for an ironic theme of limited immortality which does have consequences.

While "Louis" thinks he's succeeded in being above boundaries, rules and morals, there is some amusement in the last act as the locals don't quite know what to do with him and try to help him solve his quixotic odyssey, even as he again lies in isolation.

Several people in the audience left in frustration at the elliptical, but strikingly beautiful, story telling method. The unconventional narrative does raise a lot of plot questions on details.

The nonpareil of free association film making

[gradyharp · 7/10 · 20 May 2006]

Claire Denis has demonstrated repeatedly that film does not need to tell a story, that it is sufficient to create an experience that allows the viewer to take the ingredients and make of them what they will.

Ostensibly the idea within the framework of a most non-linear film is the older man living on the French-Swiss border, a man devoted to his dogs, who still has a lover, but whose cardiac status increasingly threatens his life. He has a son with a little family who infrequently meet with him, but when he discovers he is in need of a heart transplant he opts for going to Tahiti via Japan to obtain a heart transplant on the black market and to rekindle a long lost relationship with a son he had form a Tahitian women years ago.

What Denis does with this outline of a story is use her camera to explore the loneliness of the soul, the vastness of nature, man's interaction with people vs animals, etc. Much of the time the 'film' doesn't make sense, but that is because we try too hard to connect all the dots laid out before us in beautiful pictures. Life is sort of like that: we look, see, observe, integrate, process, and make of it what we will.

In using this form of film making (much as she did in the strangely beautiful 'Beau Travail') Claire Denis has developed a signature technique. Whether or not the viewer finds the finished product rewarding has much to do with our individual methods of processing visual and conceptual information. This is an interesting and visually captivating film, but many viewers will find it an overly long discourse about very little. Perhaps watching again will change that. Grady Harp

The Big One

[onibaba · 8/10 · 16 September 2004]

After "Beau travail", everybody was waiting for Claire Denis to make a follow-up masterpiece that never arrived. Now it has. Denis makes a quantum leap in this film, an orgy of gorgeous cinematography, elliptical editing and willfully obscure narrative events that feels strange and acts even stranger. There's a nominal plot (derived partly from the Jean-Luc Nancy book of the same name) about a mature man in need of a heart transplant and who seeks a Tahitian son he abandoned long ago; but mostly it's an exploration of the idea of intrusions personal and cultural. It takes a couple of viewings to fully comprehend, and has pacing problems close to the end, but it's still more advanced and gripping than anything else I've seen this year. Miss it at your peril.

Others in the fragile Self

[icivoripmav · 18 January 2009]

First of all, I liked very much the central idea of locating the '' intruders'', Others in the fragile Self, on various levels - mainly subconscious but sometimes more allegorical. In fact the intruders are omnipresent throughout the film : in the Swiss-French border where the pretagonist leads secluded life; in the his recurring daydream and nightmare; inside his ailing body after heart transplantation.... In the last half of the film, he becomes intruder himself, returning in ancient french colony in the hope of atoning for the past.

The overall tone is bitter rather than pathetic, full of regrets and guilts, sense of failure being more or less dominant. This is a quite grim picture of an old age, ostensibly self-dependent but hopelessly void and lonely inside. The directer composes the images more to convey passing sensations of anxiety and desire than any explicit meanings. Some of them are mesmerizing, not devoid of humor though, kind of absurdist play only somnambulist can visualize.

gnomic

[vincenthetreed · 6/10 · 2 November 2005]

Like another commentator, I have hoped for a film as good as 'Chocolat' in vain. Still, obscure and rambling as this is, it's interesting, often beautiful, and I sucked some kind of story-satisfaction out of it, perhaps more satisfying because it was hard-won. Less so because some of the puzzles - like why does the protagonist have two identical sons, one in Tahiti and one in France, one alive and one dead? - seem to be there just to obfuscate, as though the film-maker were holding her hand in front of your eyes. Fantasy and symbolism are fine, but there has to be some structure in which to classify and interpret them. Other puzzles, like who most of the characters are and why they are doing what they are doing and what it has to do with the 'story', are part of the challenge of Mlle Denis's narrative technique, which I hope she continues to develop and refine to the point where everyone understands inexpressible things without quite knowing how, instead of not knowing how things are meant to express anything at all.

Beautiful cinematography without hardly any dialog.

[jaybob · 6/10 · 31 July 2010]

If the running time was 30 to 40 minutes shorter , my rating would have been much higher.

125 minutes is way way too long. The writer/director Clair Denis must have forgotten that all the beautiful scenery & fantastic cloud effects are meaningless if there is no story to go along.

We have a middle aged man who had a recent heart transplant operation, who wants to find the man who gave him his new heart. We do see his overly vivid scar. HINT TO Ms Denis. Todays body scars are hardly visible. This I know for a fact.

That is a minor point. The film takes place in many locations BUT we are not told in most cases where the scenes are set.. .

I do disagree with most of the reviews this has received, It is no a great film nor is it a bad one. It is just an overly long bore.

One of the directors previous films was the excellent BEAU TRAIVAL.

Ratings: **1/2 (out of 4) 72 points (out of 100) IMDb 6 (out of 10)

A cinematic poem that conveys a mood of abiding loneliness and loss

[howard.schumann · 10/10 · 1 November 2009]

Films such as Chocolat, Beau Travail, and others have propelled French director Claire Denis into the top echelon of the world's most unique and accomplished filmmakers and her 2004 film The Intruder (L'Intrus) adds to the depth of her portfolio. A cinematic poem that conveys a mood of abiding loneliness and loss, the film provides a glimpse into the psyche of a man who is deteriorating physically and mentally and who travels to various parts of the globe seeking redemption and peace but finds it hard to come by. Loosely based on Jean-Luc Nancy's memoir of a heart transplant, The Intruder is a film of such unrelenting opaqueness that even after two viewings it is difficult to describe it in other than subjective, impressionistic terms.

Louis Trebor (Michael Subor) is a man in his seventies who is likely dying of a heart condition and who, like the professor in Ingmar Bergman's Wild Strawberries, attempts to come to terms with the mistakes of his life while he has time. It is clear that he is physically rugged and very wealthy but seems emotionally drained and the look on his face is one of quiet resignation. Though we see only one episode of violence, where he gets out of bed in the middle of night to kill an intruder, there is a sinister sense about him. He might be an intelligence officer, a foreign agent, or a hit man.

Whatever the case, he apparently is under some kind of surveillance and acts like a man that has been involved in criminal wrongdoing and is only now able to see the consequences. Facial close-ups throughout the movie create a strong sense of isolation. He lives with his dogs in a cabin in the Jura Mountains near the French-Swiss border and has an estranged son Sidney (Gregoire Collin) whom he has long neglected. Sidney lives nearby with his wife Antoinette (Florence Loiret-Caille) and their two children. In one telling scene, he meets up with his father on the street and calls him a lunatic, but that does not prevent him from taking his money.

When the film opens, we meet Antoinette, a Swiss border guard, who boards a van with a trained dog to sniff out some contraband. When she comes home, she is greeted by her husband who asks her with tongue-in-cheek if she has "anything to declare?" Other than these three individuals, the people and circumstances we see during the rest of the film may exist only in Louis' imagination. Louis has three women in his life and we meet them all in the film's first half hour: a pharmacist (Bambou) who prepares his medication, a neighbor (Béatrice Dalle) who is a dog breeder who refuses to care for his dogs when he goes away on a trip telling him that they are as crazy as he is, and a young Russian organ dealer (Katia Golubeva) who he tells he wants a "young man's heart".

Relentlessly, she stalks him throughout the film but it is apparently only in his mind. In the last section of the film, Louis travels to South Korea in search of a heart transplant and to Tahiti to deliver a gift to a different son, one whom he has not seen for many years or perhaps has never seen. His heart transplant, however, appears to be a metaphor for a man without a heart, a man whose life has been fascinating but ultimately directionless, intruding into other people's lives with little real empathy. The Intruder contains a haunting guitar soundtrack by Stuart Staples of the band Tindersticks, reminiscent of the guitar riff in Jim Jarmusch's Dead Man, and gorgeous cinematography by Denis regular Agnes Godard.

Godard creates memorable images that convey a mood of longing and regret: a heart beating alone in the snow, an infant in a sling looking up at his father for a good two minutes, the baby's expression gradually turning from morose to a half smile, colored streamers blowing from a newly christened ship, a massage in a dark room by a mysterious Korean masseuse, and the vast expanse of ocean seen from a bobbing ship deck. While The Intruder can be frustrating because of its elliptical nature, Denis forces us to respond out of our own experience, to understand the images on the screen on a very personal level. If there is any theme, a hint might be found in the opening that tells us what is revealed piecemeal in the film - "your worst enemies are hiding, in the shadow, in your heart."

movies, dreams and dirt

[klauskind · 10/10 · 20 April 2005]

Two things haunt you throughout L'intrus (The Intruder): who's the intruder and is it a movie or a dream you're watching? The ending is so shocking that for a while you're at a loss for an answer to either of those questions. The intruder pops up as different characters, different men in different circumstances who don't belong in the scene, so they're expelled from it, kindly or brutally, but often without emotional involvement. The main character, Louis, is a contemptible man. He's got rough ways, some mean job and no heart. He needs one and goes after it. He has a heart transplanted and afterwards decides to start a new life. Can this man succeed in his quest for redemption? A guy like that could cut your throat at the drop of a hat. You know it but Claire Denis doesn't encourage you to judge him. Occasionally, there's a young Russian woman -a beautiful girl who seems to inhabit someplace between heaven and earth - who does judge him. She may even punish him. But not Denis. There's the character played by Beatrice Dalle who wants no business with him: don't touch me, she says. But Denis lets this man be himself, films him in his self-absorbed quest. I don't know if what she films is the heart or the mind but it isn't the traditional plot basics. Whatever she films, you get it in the end. You know who's "the" intruder, you know why, more or less, and some scenes come back to your mind with their full meaning. But was it a movie or a dream?

Great director, average movie

[chuzzlewit-1 · 5/10 · 4 May 2005]

It's certainly beautiful, as must be any movie featuring the outstanding cinematographer Agnès Godard and the criminally underacknowledged sound mixer Jean-Louis Ughetto. Most movies don't give us images as warm as Michel Subor drinking with a Pusan local or as vivid as a flashback to a boat's arrival at a French Polynesian island. But from the director of "Friday Night" and "Beau Travail," that's not enough.

Subor's character, Louis, is an intruder; various people are intruders in Louis's life (notably Béatrice Dalle); Louis even has an intruder inside his body - his transplanted heart. The heightening of Louis's condition, at first achieved through long looks at his huge chest scar, becomes absurdly literal when we see a bloody organ lying in the snow. All this is meant to make some vague point about rejection, and how communities and their outsiders relate to each other, but except in the Korean section and parts of the Tahitian one, Denis's use of photogenic isolated locations defeats her theme by not giving Louis enough human life to interact with. Perhaps I'm grading too harshly, but I expect great things from a Denis movie, and I didn't see them here.

More than just visual

[kinaidos · 9/10 · 8 April 2006]

The film is not visually stunning in the conventional sense. It doesn't present a series of pretty pictures. Instead it is a visually interesting film. It forces the viewer to constantly process or perhaps imagine the context of the various shots. This sort of thing is easy to try but hard to succeed at. The film refuses to use the crutch of a genre to help the less than fully engaged viewer get what's going on. Instead the film touches on and moves through a number of different genres. The trick to loving the film is being able to enjoy this playfulness. I suspect 99% of North American viewers will just not get it. If you try to pin down the narrative of this film, or the philosophical message, or the symbolist structure, etc. you will waste your time. There are none of these. The film only feints towards these genres and others at times. The only unifying force in the film is Claire Denis's own sense of what fits together. There are so few feature length films that come close to satisfying Kant's description of what art is, namely the enjoyment of the power of judgment itself instead of simply subsuming experiences under concepts. Film usually takes the easy way out and opts for the simpler pleasure of understanding what's happening. Most film is not art. Most film doesn't come close to art. When a film does, as this one does, and is still enjoyable by a large range of viewers, it's something of a miracle. My on negative comment is that at times I find the film too simplistically buying in to the various narrative threads that run through it. The Tahiti father-son narrative, even though it's not exactly conventional, ends up making things a little to clear and simple. It dominates too much.

A bit too far over most of our heads

[cwx · 5/10 · 9 May 2006]

Well shucks, I tried to like it, and at least I succeeded in not hating it and in getting something out of it (whereas several walked out of the theater during the "festival" screening that I attended). That said, filmmaker Claire Denis clearly wasn't willing to meet me halfway. This film is clearly inaccessible by design. Not only do you not quite know what things mean, you don't even know why things are happening or even what is happening. In fact, you're not even sure what thematic ballpark we're supposed to be in. Entire sequences and characters are introduced with no rhyme or reason. And while there are plenty of films I've seen lately that have similar obstacles to enjoyment, there is often enough beauty or artfulness that those concerns don't ruin the experience. Denis, however, prefers to assail the viewer with images that fail to even appeal to the viewer in any aesthetically comprehensible manner. I'm not saying it's crap. I'm just saying it's not for me, or for most people, and that there's nothing wrong with that.

Free Verse and Dripping Paint for a Darkened Heart

[HardKnockLife210 · 10/10 · 5 June 2006]

The Intruder (L'Intrus), a film directed by French director Clair Denis, is the liberation of film. It follows its own spirit across time, space, and character. There may be a plot, but what I understood of that I picked up from the description on the Netflix DVD sleeve. Honestly, it's probably better to know nothing about the film before watching it, because then the viewer can set aside any and all expectations. The film demands that the viewer think, but also taunts the fact that he or she will not gain full understanding.

The human heart is the film's enigma. Every image questions its role, its nature, and its form. The heart is the intruder, that of the viewer and that of Louis. Louis' character is played by Michel Subor with the peace and mystery required by such a character. Honestly, anyone could've played Louis' character, if he or she possessed a wandering, willing, and comfortable heart. Yet Subor is the one featured here; he becomes the film, his identity is inseparable from it. Many of the film's images lingering in my mind revolve around his expressions, vocal but mainly physical.

The Intruder is poetic in its ability to capture the stillness and fullness of movement, but more fluid than any literature in the shape it refuses to take. "Surrealistic" has been a term used in describing this film, but perhaps "quasirealistic" is a more adequate term. Nothing in the film exists outside of the possibilities of reality; the simple omnipresent score confirms that by imagining in music the connection between heartbeat and dim light.

Watch the trailer a few times if you're attracted to visual imagery; see the film to see the consequences of the combination of verse and a grasping for freedom.

Comfortably Comforting

[frankgaipa · 9/10 · 1 June 2005]

My take on this, at our local festival where people would see me so often they thought me a better source than I may actually have been, began with a head shake: "Well, I can't summarize the plot, but it's a really superb character study of an extremely scary man." Then, slight embarrassment, I ran into someone who actually knew what had gone down, that is, from whom Trebor unwittingly gets his new heart. It'd been my last film in a long, long day halfway through the festival. Maybe I'd dozed. The better a film is the more likely it triggers daydreams that send me really dreaming. Don't know. Did know there was an O'Henry twist achingly just beyond my ken as things finished. And knew it had to do with the heart, hence the quietly hilarious talent search. My plot-loss remark had more to do with intricacies of Trebor's connections in France, his relation to the dog woman and so on, stuff I'd been wide awake for. Denis barely glances at details that might have anchored another director's treatment.

But I write these things too often from memory, especially festival films, films whose DVD I don't have at hand (Le Lait de la tendresse humaine is one of many examples.), and plot kinks fade much more quickly than broader impressions. Still, or already, L'Inrus in my memory is beyond all else a character study of a sort of dark-side superman, a super fiend not ensconced in genre or historical trappings but active and plausible, relatively soft-spoken, driven but patient, right among us. The scar, once he attains it, makes him, just visually I mean, in image, a sort of hybrid Frankenstein monster, mad doctor and creation all in one. The actual doctors are his tools. If he doesn't extract and install the heart himself, it's only because it's not possible. He's the force, always, the parasite consuming everyone he touches and finally himself. What else is he? To suggest that he's us, the First World versus the Third, seems too simple since he feeds no less on his fellow First Worlders, on all of us.

Denis's camera's eye - when it looks at things I know - goes usually where mine would, so I tend to trust her when she looks at things I don't know. Snow trekking, too-fast bicycling, and forest darkness I've known in small ways, but the South Seas not at all, so I made better entry into L'Intrus, both France and the crystalline isles of its finish, than into Beau Travail. L'Intrus is, for me, a very comfortable discomforting film. It's a sequence of places portrayed familiarly, with a intimacy that allows us to know them whether we've seen the reality or not. A single image, Trebor cycling, his massive weight on the thin racing frame, the sounds of violated air and shrieking tires, the asphalt ribbon, the dark-in-bright-sun evergreens, cued me that the film would be linear, a road trip, a single will-driven thrust.

Despite Trebor's personal power, he's a human failure. No matter who he's with, he's alone, though apparently he hasn't always been. His body aborts life twice, first to need the new heart, then despite it. L'Intrus is tragedy. Trebor is hubris.

I'm navigating perilously the thread of what I remember. Let's leave it at that.

a crab scuttling ever so slowly across the beach

[Forbes500 · 4/10 · 13 May 2005]

Claire Denis's movies seem to fall into one of two categories: the violent and bloody or the quiet and intimate. "L'Intrus" definitely falls into the first category, but it's not so awful as "Trouble Every Day" or "J'ai pas sommeil."

Now, ever since I saw "Chocolat," I've made it a point to see every new movie Denis makes. And I have always been disappointed. "L'Intrus" was no exception. She has yet to make a movie as personal and as moving as her first one.

You get a lot of the Denis regulars: an older but still magnificent Béatrice Dalle who seems to be in the movie only to show off her full lips, the gap between her teeth, her ample cleavage, and a couple of nice coats; the black guy from "Trouble Every Day" and "J'ai pas sommeil," Grégoire Colin, and that Lithuanian or Russian girl. Michel Subor's character was interesting enough, but the camera lingered on him at such length that I got annoyed by that curly forelock of hair hanging over his forehead and was relieved when, somewhere in Korea, I think, he finally got it cut.

There was certainly some action--gruesome murders, a man's search for a son--and there may even have been a plot, but one viewing wasn't enough to figure it out, and two viewings are, I fear, out of the question. For one thing, the score was jarring and obtrusive (as in "Beau Travail"). For another, the seasons changed too abruptly, leaving you even more confused about what was going on. Oh, there were a few pretty shots, and if you liked "Friday Evening" with its shots of the folds in heavy drapes and bedsheets, you might appreciate the aesthetics of "L'Intrus." Otherwise, steer clear.

I saw this movie in French and it's possible I missed something crucial. But the dialogue in a Denis movie rarely amounts to more than five pages, double spaced and with ample margins. In "Chocolat" the silence is sublime; in "L'Intrus," it's just dull.

A PURE cinematic experience

[bastard_wisher · 10/10 · 2 July 2006]

I don't think anyone besides Terrence Malick and maybe Tran Anh Hung makes cinema on a purer level than Claire Denis. That said, I don't love this, her newest film, quite as much as her 2001 masterpiece "Trouble Every Day" (although it comes very close), which itself is one of my absolute favorite films. It it only because the narrative here is possibly slightly too elliptical for it's own good. Don't get me wrong, the fact that this film barely has a plot at all is really one of the best things about it, but I think Denis took it about one degree farther than it needed to go and consequently the film does flirt with incomprehensibility, and a few key plot points should have been clarified somehow (like that the main character goes to South Korea to get his heart transplant, instead of just showing him there all of a sudden without any explanation of where he is or why he is there). Also some of the other characters seemed unnecessary and as if they were just excuses for Denis to use actors she likes yet again (Beatrice Dalle's character in particular is a little distracting because you keep expecting that she is going to have some significance). Still, the film is incredibly absorbing and the cinematography is beyond amazing. It is definitely very much a masterpiece in it's own way. At least as good as Denis' more highly-acclaimed "Beau travail", if not better. Claire Denis has to be my favorite French director at this point, better than Leos Carax even. Also I have to admit that the South Korean sequence really does do "Lost in Translation" better than that film itself does (and I, unlike some, am a huge fan of that film as well).

bad art film

[Buddy-51 · 2/10 · 3 November 2006]

For the big thinkers among us, "The Intruder" is a maddeningly incoherent movie from France that gives so-called "art films" a bad name. The story is something about a bitter old coot, Louis Trebor (Michel Subor), who goes searching in Tahiti for a heart transplant, but beyond that, I have no idea who any of the people in the movie were or why they were doing what they were doing. With no coherent storyline to boast of, the movie loses us early on, though I'm perfectly willing to admit that there might be SOMEBODY out there who actually gets some deep message out of this film.

This muddled, snail-paced drama runs a full two hours and five minutes - though I seriously doubt anyone with any kind of a life will still be hanging around by the closing credits.

A voyage across continents and time and space

[TemporaryOne-1 · 10/10 · 21 February 2017]

A voyage across continents and time and space happens The body takes, the body transfigures itself, the body rejects Two sides of a new heart struggle to beat as one in an old man who owes many debts, while two hemispheres continually peopled with billions of inhabitants struggle to beat as one after billions of years of continental break-ups and ice ages and mass extinctions and mass migrations and devastating wars and the rise and fall of sweeping civilizations, trillions upon trillions upon trillions of unpaid debts that will one day be wiped out in one single blow if the core of the the son, I mean sun, burn out.

An infant smiles at his father, a father searches for an abandoned son, a son has his heart torn out.

Trebor troubadours cross countries and oceans, from the Alps of Switzerland to the Polynesian paradise of Tahiti, in the hope of obtaining a new heart and finding his abandoned son and escaping his conscious.

He swims and cycles and walks and sails and flies, in hot pursuit of a heart, in hot pursuit of a son who may or may not exist, in hot flight from past guilt, in hot tangles of dreams that may or may not be figments of his overheated brain.

His internal experience of his failing heart and new heart and guilty conscience and colonized environment transforms his familiar world into the unfamiliar, and psychological vertigo rises up and chases him into the shifting quicksands of his mind; what he remembers is real, what he remembers is not real; still chained to the Alps, he tumbles through limitless space, and the spatial disorientation is transformed by Denis into an exhilarating, whirling, fluid, cinematographic extravaganza of sensorial movement, with Trebor's potential for balance and self-reconciliation unattainable as the ghosts of his conscience peck away at his heart.

He's a stranger in strange land with a stranger living within him and a stranger shadowing him in the daytime and a stranger shadowing him in the evening, wild dogs in front of him and wild dogs behind him, a cross to the left and an empty grave to the right and a coffin in the middle, his soul yearning for a rejuvenation and a resurrection and ascension that are elusive mirages glimpsed in his dreams that burn out his heart.

He is unhomed but not homeless, his shadowed past eclipses him and he's forced to take measure of his own dwelling within a mental/psychological state of statelessness, alienation, disorientation, unhomedness, existential terror, etc.

He is not only suffering from a deathly paralysis of the heart, he's suffering from a cultural and psychological paralysis, which drives him to restructure his life around a formal structure he once abandoned, drives him to achieve a balance of space and place and culture and memory, but his overabundance of cultural memory and guilt and hallucination creates emotional vertigo, derailing him every step of the way.

His existence is rooted in a beloved son he has 100% faith in yet never met, an abandoned son he thinks is perfect and seeks to unite with in order to cleanse his soul, an idolized, cryptic, insubstantial son represented by a false son who fails to fill the void.

A Dionysian crown and an alpha and an omega and another son crucified and a demon scratching from beneath the clouded ice trickle-trope his journey and wrack his heart.

Trebor is an old man with a besieged body and a besieged conscience and besieged dreams, there are besieged borders (Russian crossed into the Alps with legal documentation) and besieged cultures (Franco-Swiss, Tahiti-French/Polynesia, France-South Korea) and a besieged Christ (won't explain that in this message, but the traditional symbols are in the film from beginning to end).

A heart is implanted but the guilt is unleashed, the mythical son is not found and the son real son is sacrificed.

L'Intrus is a spectacular, sensorial, kinesthetic experience, non-linear motion and reflux, transalpining and transmarining, transplanting and transplaning, transmigrating and transubstantiating, just wow, I've watched this three times and each time I was left breathless by just the vertiginous sensorial experience.

Self Indulgence: 101

[writers_reign · 5/10 · 28 August 2005]

I don't know about you but I go to the cinema - and the theatre for that matter - primarily to be entertained. Okay, if you want to wrap a message INSIDE the entertainment that I'm free to pick up on or not then fine, no problem and even if you want to get me to think a little again no problem, providing you give me JUST a little help along the way, but when you allow the camera to linger forever on something meaningless like an expanse of ocean, or jump about in time for no apparent reason or let peripheral characters come and go with little or no explanation then that's when you start to lose both me and any good will I might have taken into the auditorium. I accept that Clair Denis is a respected filmmaker and an academics darling - she's the subject of a major article, largely on the strength of this movie, in the current edition of Sight and Sound and it's hard to get more precious than that - but that don't mean squat if you're not accessible, dirty word though that is in some circles. If you think Peter Greenaway ISN'T a joke then this film is for you; take it, please.

Not Worth The Effort

[Brakathor · 2/10 · 18 September 2007]

I would like to say that unlike many of the people who disliked this film and found it impossible to understand I was fully able to understand it for what it is.. A very incoherent attempt at a plot line.

I don't like to toss this word around but in this case it fits very well. The director firstly presents the material in an extremely "arrogant" way and worse, extremely incoherently. It is incoherent in that it presents the material in a messy dislodged order, making us think that the director was too drunk to remember which scenes come first, and arrogant in that at 2 hours long they expect us, the viewer to CARE by the end of it.

I respect surrealist cinema for what it is. (creating a story around a more than real world that does not tie to real life) But there is nothing surreal about having a story placed in ordinary modern times, and a modern day earth setting, that is most importantly not able to engage the audience but furthermore, simply a dislodged series of events that barely tie together. The most accurate way to describe the experience of viewing this film is like viewing a story; perhaps even a very GOOD story as it was based on a book, but being frustrated by the fact that the camera doesn't seem to capture the necessary moments and tie together any means of coherence.

Let's compare stylistic cinema. Compare Gaspar Noe's "Seul contre tous" to this. He gave us a coherent, extremely engaging and intellectually deep story. This movie offers no intellectual study, and while it is very stylistic in it's fragmented presentation, the director has ultimately abandoned the essential art of good storytelling and all we are left with is a mess of events that barely tie in together.

Yes indeed it IS possible to make sense of things.... to a POINT. But as i said earlier the viewer will reach a stage where they simply say "Who cares." It plays out like watching a drab mundane story of a man going to a supermarket and buying groceries in uncronological order. Even with murders it is completely uninteresting and unengaging. Too many people these days will give high marks to something they are unable to understand or make sense of simply for fear of looking foolish, and in every way this film TRIES to make the viewer look foolish.

If you have too much time on your hands, then please watch this film, taking into account what I have said of it. It is a story based on a book that could have been presented in a MUCH more effective way and that is my bottom line reasoning.

"Immersed in Pure Cinema?" You Must be Joking!

[writerasfilmcritic · 5/10 · 3 February 2010]

This is a very peculiar movie which, despite the pretentious musings of others about its hidden meanings and artistic brilliance, adds up to not very much worth watching, in my humble opinion. Yes, there are some pretty scenes in the Alps and in the South Pacific but there is very little acting going on and no writing at all. OK, so the director simply wanted to shoot some expensive film in her very expensive camera with all the rest of her expensive equipment in tow, replete with hefty travel budget, extensive staff, and etc. On a literal shoestring, I do something similar with my Krasnogorsk 3, or should I say, did with my K3 before the current economic conditions put my budding film-making efforts on extended hold. But when I go around shooting interesting footage and allow "the story" (or more accurately the edited montage) to take its own course and unfold of its own accord, which is nothing more romantic or thoughtful than just the way I shoot film, I note that nobody is falling all over themselves to exhibit my work, calling it brilliant, artistic, and ever so poignant and meaningful. Perhaps I need to shoot an entire 100-foot roll on just one landscape. This director, in contrast, can't even explain her own efforts. In the interview portion of the DVD, her inarticulate, meandering explanation of the point, coupled with "meaningful gestures" that don't quite bridge the gap, indicate that she's as clueless about the meaning of this flick as a typical viewer might be and I'm not sure she'd disagree.

And as for Colin Gregoire, am I sick of seeing that odd-looking fellow standing there playing the role as if he's got something interesting going on between his ears. He doesn't. In "The Dreamlife of Angels," he played a convincing heel and so far I see no reason to alter my assessment of his apparently shallow character. I'd much rather see more of his French and Belgian costars in that exceptional movie than more of him but apparently he has better connections than they do in the French movie biz. As for the protagonist in this non-flick, he does little for me until he goes to Tahiti, and I must say, that's a neat hut on the beach he built for himself. I remembered him from his role in "Topaz," where he played a sketch artist who did some moonlighting by interviewing a member of the Castro regime as a favor for his CIA employed father-in-law (John Forsythe) just before it hit the fan in the Cuban Missile Crisis. He was much older and heavier in this film, of course, but still recognizable.