Veteran Canadian avant garde filmmaker, Denis Côté once stated that he measures the success of his works by the number of walk-outs.
It's doubtful that his wish will be satisfied with his latest. Nobody's Violence (Violence du corps de l'autre) is a profoundly engaging, genre-shattering, surreal investigation of a futuristic euthanasia enterprise.
Reteaming with actress Larissa Corriveau (Mademoiselle Kenopsia) and fellow director Vincent Biron as cinematographer, Côté fashions a swirl of dreamlike energy that riffs on genre films ranging from dystopian sci-fi to character study to bitterly ironic satire of the power of the rich. He even throws in romance. It's so utterly engaging that it is certain to haunt audiences well after the end credits roll.
The film's brilliance lies in Côté's narrative strategy: He keeps the plot simple, relying instead on Corriveau's mostly silent performance. She is Mira, a mysterious woman who acts as an angel of mercy for the terminally ill. She maintains a detached façade that counters the fears and anxieties of those she attends. The minimalism of this plot grants the director and his DP the opportunity to fashion a densely textured, gloomy world.
Larissa Corriveau is bewitching as Mira, a prototype caregiver who offers no judgement or emotion as she ministers a potion to people on her route. It kills instantly, but there's nothing sinister here: It becomes clear that she has entered into a contract and she's simply fulfilling their wishes.
It's a richly textured meandering film, moody in the best tradition of surrealist cinema with a unique understated vitality of its own. Côté, relying on the expert lens of his DP, wisely takes his time to fashion a dreamscape which begins to shift into more ominous realms. In doing so, he can expose the various impacts of choosing to end one's life. Biron's leisurely camera movements take in the specifics of each person's home. This grants them a certain grace as he often doesn't dwell on their faces or even the why's and wherefores' of this final decision.
The film is rich with detail, despite the graininess of the film stock: He presents his vision with a handmade 16 mm film quality. In this way, Côté traverses the line between dream and neo-realism in a manner that lands an even harder gut punch. This leaves viewers with plenty to sort through intellectually and emotionally.
Since the central figure remains a mystery, this straightforward narrative becomes more engrossing. Mira glides through the space of the film as an apparition, thus allowing her to move in and out of the different realities as she enters each individual's personal space.
As the film progresses, we see how her job is a burden that weighs heavily on her shoulders. Cracks in Mira's tough façade begin to emerge with each encounter, so that we can eventually see that this job is taking its toll. As she takes refuge in the wilderness to seek comfort, the film takes a turn as she stumbles upon a rave. There Mira meets Pierric (Xavier Bergeron), a free spirit who seems to at least try to coax her out of her shell.
But of course, Mira is on a schedule and a payroll. Her boss, Ludo (Philippe Rebbot), tracks her down. He's downright frightening in his oily, overly cheery presence as he invites her (read: forces her) to come back to his home, his headquarters, to a party of sorts that actually becomes more of an arena for Ludo to reinforce his power over everyone there. It all looks hedonistic and fun but there's a menacing tone oozing out of his every word and gesture, and out of every activity he coerces his "guests" to engage in.
Mira remains unconvinced and disinterested and still expresses this wordlessly. The genius of Nobody's Violence is that Côté relies so heavily on his actor to convey her loathing of all that she witnesses here. The film becomes a character study. Corriveau's understated acting makes her enchanting and her every move begins to take on an added tension that drives this film.
Ludo senses he's losing her, as does the audience. This is the point at which we question this whole endeavour. Is this what these people wanted or were they so desperate to end their suffering that they fell under the spell of this con man like she did?
Of course, Denis Côté offers no easy answers to any of the questions he raises in this film. As usual, he provides a layered vision that will inspire robust, thoughtful consideration. Nobody's Violence is a triumphant vision that I suspect will keep the audience firmly in their seats.