Written by: Roman Polanski & Gerard Brach (screenplay), and David Stone (adaptation and additional dialogue)
Directed by: Roman Polanski
Starring: Catherine Denevue, John Fraser, and Yvonne Furneaux
It strikes me that Polanski’s second film is a misnomer--it really ought to be called Repression, shouldn’t it? Oh, I suppose Catherine Deneuve’s character is repulsed by the thought of sex (or just men in general), but the repression is so thick that Freud couldn’t cut through it with a straight razor--though she might well cut right through him with one. Then again, it’s probably not my place to question a cinematic genius, so Repulsion it is.
Devenue is Carole, a young, gorgeous Belgian girl who works as a manicurist; she lives with her sister in a flat in London, and she’s got all sorts of hang-ups. She’s emotionally distant (she’s practically on the moon), shy, and terminally awkward around men. In fact, she seems to be unhealthily distrustful of them, to the point of disgust. When her sister leaves for vacation, she’s left alone with her thoughts--which are just about the worst thing she could be stuck with. After holing up in the apartment, she begins to hallucinate and have strange delusions about men breaking in and raping her. As you might imagine, it doesn’t bode well for the men who actually do cross her path as she continues to lose her mind.
The words “paranoia” and “claustrophobia” rightfully get tossed around a lot when discussing Polanski, and those words apply to Repulsion in spades. It is of course situated in an apartment, which he so famously made a terrifying setting three times over (Rosemary’s Baby and The Tenant are the other two instances). However, a more acute word here would be “invasive.” The film’s opening shot is an extreme close up of Deneuve’s eye; these are sometimes referred to the windows of the soul, but we never come close to that. But we do peek into just about everything else, as the camera constantly hovers on Carole--we follow her movements through the streets and eventually her apartment building, where Polanski practically undresses her with his lens. Though we’re the voyeurs, I think we somehow subconsciously come to identify with Carole’s fears of letting people in, both emotionally and physically. That paranoia of unwanted observation runs throughout Repulsion--there’s a great scene where Carole and her would-be beau (John Fraiser) hold a conversation in a doorway as another tenant eerily looms in the background, watching.
She’s a fascinating character to observe, no doubt due to the disconnect between her appearance and her neurosis. A stunning bombshell, you’d think she’d be voracious in the presence of men; she looks like a true heartbreaker, but it soon becomes clear there’s something very wrong with her. From her fidgety habits (hair chewing and nail biting) to her vacant stare, she exudes “issues” stemming from some sort of deep-rooted trauma. Deneuve is remarkably frail and carries the film on her back by crafting such a compelling figure out of such an enigma; we learn very little about her (though an unsettling family portrait from her childhood provides a huge clue), and there’s a cold, emotional disconnect between her and the audience, at least from a narrative perspective. But somehow, her breakdown is gut-wrenching and disturbing to watch because we sense it’s all out of her control.
Her biggest problem is that she just can’t get away from all the sex in her life. The woman above her seems to get plowed on a nightly basis, and even a TV program she’s watching features penetrative imagery. And that’s not to mention all the phallic symbols that keep popping up, such as a postcard bearing the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and, of course, the straight razor which she eventually co-opts as her own instrument of mutilation. Psychosexuality is an interesting subject and one that’s been mined pretty often (Repulsion seems obviously influenced by Psycho), but Polanski’s examination is especially fraught with suspense. The imagined rape scenes are particularly disturbing in their haunting silence; we see Carole scream, but cannot hear her, which is perhaps emblematic of her plight as a whole. Throughout the film, she barely ever registers above a whisper even though she seems to be constantly repressing a cry for help. Instead, she stifles that cry and lashes out with violence in a couple of horrifyingly brutal scenes.
But the build-up to those hysterical, blood-soaked crescendos is textbook suspense. Much of the first 40 minutes remind me of a Bergman film with its meditative, almost detached approach that’s marked by a hushed quality (interestingly enough, Bergman did explore similar territory a year later with Persona). There’s a true “fly-on-the-wall” quality as we simply watch these people wade through the minutia of their days, and the employment of ambient noise is interesting. An almost constant din of buzzing flies and ticking clocks accompanies many scenes, which might mirror Carole’s psyche. It’s seemingly an obvious compliment to the various images of fragmentation seen throughout the film, such as cracks in the street and in the apartment walls. Other bizarre, frightening imagery (such as hands emerging from the walls to grope her) further reveal how tenuously Carole is gripping to reality. Much of Polanski’s technique is just good old fashioned horror stuff (much of it again comes out of the Hitchcock playbook): misdirection, sudden jolts (one involves a mirror, and it’s one of the great jumps you’ll ever have), and musical cues. The latter is actually a little unconventional, as the score is quite jazzy at times (giallo-like, actually), with the percussion rattling up to manic heights when it’s supposed to.
One of the enduring images of Repulsion is the skinned rabbit that Carole leaves out to rot in her apartment (that she isn’t repulsed by this speaks volumes about her, I think). That seems like a visual metaphor for the whole thing, really, as she’s being symbolically stripped away as Polanski’s gaze seers right into her shattered mind. This is one of the great tales of madness ever committed to the screen, especially in terms of pure artistry. Beautifully photographed in black and white and featuring some appropriately suffocating compositions, Repulsion makes going crazy a sort of gorgeous thing.
The prowess exhibited here is just sharp and serves as a fine example of a director brimming with confidence and a thorough vision. Despite all the psychosexual subtext, Polanski’s film cuts with the directness and swiftness of that straight arrow. I think there’s also something to be said about how he never lets us off the hook, too, because many of Carole’s fears are validated by the lecherous men populating the film; in many ways, we mostly do sit as outside observers and watch this girl spiral into a rabbit hole of insanity. If not for the intensely intimate nature of the film, I’d say it represents some notion of feminist awakening; here is a girl that’s physically trapped and isolated who ends up lashing out. Maybe the title is meant to extend to us, too--maybe we’re supposed to be a little bit repulsed by the world that’s driven her to such neurosis.
Along with the typical platitudes of “claustrophobic” and “paranoiac,” you can throw in “hypnotic,” “alluring,” and “riveting.” All apply here, as Polanski spins a mesmerizing yarn that uncoils faster than Carole’s id once it does begin to unwind. It definitely earns its Criterion status; the company gives you both DVD and Blu-ray options, both of which feature a healthy amount of special features to back-up an excellent A/V presentation. They include liner notes, a documentary entitled A British Horror film, some vintage promo work, two trailers, and a commentary with Polanski and Deneuve. In the pantheon of psychological thrillers, this one is nearly unparalleled and should already be on your shelf. Essential!
