The Woman in the Fifth
Directed by Pawel Pawlikowski
Written by Pawel Pawlikowski
Written by Pawel Pawlikowski
with Ethan Hawke, Kristen Scott Thomas, Samir Guesmi
2011
Pawel Pawlikowski’s new film might not be as clever as it looks, but it’s a creepy, fantastically well-shot psychological mystery that still manages to get under your skin. It concerns a man called Tom Ricks (Ethan Hawke), a university lecturer who also has one successful novel under his belt. At the film’s opening he is migrating to Paris in order to be closer to his estranged wife and, more importantly, their daughter. When he gets to their apartment, however, his wife refuses to let him stay, citing an exclusion order, and claiming he is ‘not normal’. A dark past is thus revealed, and subsequently built upon as he embarks on a quest to become reacquainted with his daughter. The film flits in and out of his imagination, and the lines between the real world and the inside of his head are blurred, in an examination of the artistic impulse and its relationship with the shadows of the subconscious.
In terms of meaning, The Woman in the Fifth is nothing new. Countless films (and, over the centuries, books, songs and plays etc.) have drawn a direct line between creativity and mental abnormality, to the point where it is often considered a necessity for a true artist to be a little screwed-up. Only last year, Lars Von Trier covered similar ground with the higher-profile Melancholia, in which Kirsten Dunst’s morose artistic temperament ruined her wedding but equipped her with an appropriate degree of detachment to deal with an apocalypse. But whereas Melancholia was awkwardly self-conscious and grandiose, The Woman in the Fifth succeeds through remembering what the “sub” in “subtext” means, and concentrating on drawing the character rather than making any grand statements.
As Ricks, Ethan Hawke is just right: a bundle of nerves, haggard and awkward, but with an air of mysterious preoccupation that believably fascinates the other characters, and a surprisingly sweet-natured side that’s only visible towards his daughter. No-one else in the film really makes an impression (with the exception of Samir Guesmi as an unpredictable hotelier), but that’s OK, because everything’s so focused on Ricks. The real star is Pawlikowski’s camera: it’s an astonishingly visually striking film, albeit in quite a subtle way, with the cinematography mimicking the segmented and wandering mental state of the main character. Every frame has more going on within than the majority of films do in their entire running time, as people and objects emerge from and move behind obstructions in the line of sight, or in and out of a steadily maintained focal plane. It makes the most mundane urban vistas and interiors fascinating to watch, as if Pawlikowski is forcing you to see through the eyes of an artist, synthesising a sense of wonder towards the everyday.
While I found the film to strike the right note between depth and drive, I can imagine some finding it oppressively allegorical. I found the symbolism sufficiently wrapped in sub plots to make me care about what would happen next: what will be uncovered about Ricks’ past? will he salvage his relationships? what’s going on in the next room at the shady job he takes to pay the rent? But it is ultimately inconclusive, narratively at least (although not in terms of his character arc). And while it obviously isn’t meant to explain itself completely and has no need to, there are one or two points when just a little more explanation would have helped the overall effect. Without giving too much away: hallucinations are fine, but highly specific ones about things in the past he could have had no contact with need a bit more support. Maybe I missed something. Overall, however, this is a superbly told tale of a man slowly but surely coming to terms with and embracing his true nature.
Tom
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