Watching Georges Franju's "Eyes Without a Face" at the Hiroshima City Cinematheque.
Monday, November 4, 2019
1960, France, 88 minutes, Black and White, Digital
Director: Georges Franju
Original Story: Jean Redon
Screenplay: Boileau-Narcejac, Jean Redon, Claude Sautet
Cinematography: Eugen Schüfftan
Music: Maurice Jarre
Cast: Pierre Brasseur, Alida Valli, Édith Scob, Juliette Mayniel, Béatrice Altariba, Alexandre Rignault
While wrapped in a cult atmosphere, it is a very easy-to-understand film. Although the mystery is presented early on in the opening scene of a car driving through the rain at night, each element is laid out in stages, making it easy to deduce what kind of story it is. The mother driving the car, who has presumably succeeded in swapping a face, is accompanied by eerie and humorous music, which proves to be a brilliant effect later in the scene where they welcome the third woman.
Immediately after the opening, a conversation scene using a mirror hints at the meaning of the woman with the hidden face who was sunk in the river, and a lecture by the doctor on human tissue transplantation provides further foundation. As the elements that shape the story are explained one after another in this manner, the daughter, whom everyone predicts is still alive, appears. The hidden face, which had consistently piqued the audience's interest from the title, finally appears on screen, and another important piece of music that persists throughout the film begins to play. The atmosphere of the work changes completely in this scene. On the face wearing a thin mask that clings to the skin, only the eyes, which seem to be the pinnacle of beauty, are alive, and everything is drawn into the wonder of those features. Even if everyone was focused on the unbearable, ruined face, no one would have expected such a beautiful goddess to appear. Subjective preferences aside, have you ever seen such a magnificent face on a living person? It is an ultimate form that one will never forget for the rest of their life.
That face begins to move along with the graceful and melancholic melody of a woodwind instrument, likely an English horn, and wanders through the large mansion. Solving the mystery is meaningless, and no other perspective is needed; one realizes that the mother who kidnaps people and the father who peels off faces to graft onto his daughter are merely sacrifices to restore the daughter's beautiful face. The cruel and gruesome surgery scenes and the scene where she is attacked by dogs are also phenomenally directed. The way the film is shot, with ambient sounds echoing strangely, and the quiet, bizarre atmosphere of the black-and-white footage are excellent. Yet, the masked face, the face that has gained skin, the face with joy and confusion frozen in place, the face that cries and begs to die as the skin necrotizes again, the face calling her fiancé—all of them are too beautiful. This film makes you feel that it is fine to commit crimes for the sake of eyes without a face—that is, for the expression of the eyes alone. With a bony, slender body, a back with excellent lines, a long neck, and a dress with a high collar, it is perfected with a beauty that makes you want to gladly offer everything.
The painting of a woman with a white dove on her hand, which was glanced at for a moment during the film, is tied together at the end. What is the metaphor for the dog used in experiments for skin grafting and the white dove quietly staying in its birdcage? It brings to mind a painting by Puvis de Chavannes of a woman in a long skirt holding a carrier pigeon. Why did she destroy with her own hands the parents who kept committing crimes for the sake of her face? That cruel figure is a pure crystal, and perhaps she understood the meaning of it all with the innocence of a child.
Within the white, hardened mask, the eyes were so expressive of her heart. With that enchanting music and the white dove, she walks out into the night. It was a rare film, different from the beauty of Russian cult cinema. I feel honored to have been able to see it.