Part of the Picture: Reality Bites
REALITY BITES
AUG 9, 2008 - IT’S NEVER QUITE CLEAR, in François Truffaut’s The Story of Adele H, if the passions that burn in the eponymous heroine (Isabelle Adjani) are indeed, as she insists, fanned by the British officer, Lieutenant Albert Pinson (Bruce Robinson). The frightening intensity of her emotions surely cannot be the result of her adoration of a mere human being – and especially one as selfish and shallow and undeserving as Pinson, who, after a brief affair with Adele (while still in Guernsey, off the coast of Normandy), abandoned her and crossed over to the other end of the ocean. (“The year is 1863,” a voiceover informs us. “For two years now, the United States has been torn apart by a civil war. Since 1862, British troops have been stationed in the Canadian town of Halifax, the capital of Nova Scotia.”)
If it were just Pinson that Adele was after, when she left her father – Victor Hugo; hence the “H” of the title – in Guernsey and moved to Halifax, wouldn’t she have squealed with excitement and relief when she set eyes on him at Mr. Whistler’s bookstore? Why would she, instead, skulk about the store till he left, then walk in and enquire Mr. Whistler casually, “I thought I recognised the officer who just left. Wasn’t it Lieutenant Pinson?” Might she already know that the man wants nothing to do with her any more, and that’s why he cut himself off so suddenly and so cruelly? Might she be afraid, despite her romantic foolhardiness in crossing the seas for his sake, that a direct confrontation may result in an instant rejection that would leave her in no uncertainty about his true feelings for her?
It appears so. To run into him would be to run into reality, and Adele needs to hold on to the fiction she’s created for herself – that she’s the heroine of a tempestuous love story where Pinson’s the hero. So, in her ensuing conversation with Mr. Whistler, she’s entirely in character – not Adele H, the real person, but the Adele H of a febrile imagination. “Pardon me, Madam,” Mr. Whistler ventures, intrigued by her enquiry of a customer of his. “Miss,” Adele interrupts, for the heroine of her story isn’t married – not yet. “Miss,” Mr. Whistler continues, “May he be a relation of yours?” Adele nods. “Yes. He’s my sister’s brother-in-law. But I seldom see him. I’m not on good terms with my sister.”
She leaves the store with the reams of paper she’s bought to write on. She goes home, to the house of Mrs. Saunders (Sylvia Marriott), the kindly lady who’s offered her lodging, the old woman who thinks her tenant is “Miss Lewly,” for that’s how Adele introduced herself. (The fiction of her life, therefore, would be titled The Story of Adele L.) Mrs. Saunders asks Adele to join her for dinner, for her husband’s off to help out as a waiter at the Officer’s Club banquet. “Then my cousin should be there,” Adele exclaims. Mrs. Saunders is surprised that Adele should have a relative she’s never mentioned, but Adele clarifies, “I call him cousin, but we’re not really related.” And she charts a new course with her fiction. “We grew up together. He’s the son of our village clergyman. He’s been in love with me since we were children.”
Adele asks if Mr. Saunders would be kind enough to carry a letter to this cousin. She rushes to her room to compose her thoughts. And now, as she feverishly scratches pen across paper, Pinson transforms yet again – no longer the sister’s brother-in-law from Mr. Whistler’s store, no longer the cousin from Mrs. Saunders’s parlour, but now simply the object of Adele’s amorous worship. “Albert, my love… Since you’ve left, I’ve thought of you every day. I know you must be suffering as I am. I’ve received none of your letters, and I’m sure that mine never reached you. But today… I’m on the same side of the ocean as you are. Everything will begin anew. I know that soon your arms will be around me. I’m waiting for you. I love you.” It’s slowly becoming clear that Adele barely cares about Pinson, the man, any more. The only thing that interests her is the idea of Pinson, around whom she can spin her hopeless romantic fantasies.
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Your observations and interpretations of the movies that you discuss in the “Part of the Picture” articles are eye opening to say the least. Makes me want to rent the movie in question and see it again. To me that is the sign of an excellent reviewer.
Your intent in these columns is to mainly discuss foreign films (typically non-english). However, would it be possible to write your take on some of the Hindi / Tamil classics, say Mani Ratnam’s films?
Amazingly written. When I read this piece, I actually felt that I was watching the scenes…
Swami/Raj: Thank you very much. About other language films, it’s not possible in this colum (which is, as you say, only about non-English, foreign films). But I do try to talk about older films in my Between reviews column — as I did with Moondram Pirai once.
Do you think this was an homage-of-sorts to “Gone with the Wind” from Truffaut? Your description is very reminiscent of Scarlett and Ashley.
Deepauk M: No, I don’t think so. Scarlett — what an astonishing peformance, by the way — is ruthlessly self-centred, almost childishly so, and she behaves like this with everyone, from the Tarleton twins, at the beginning, to Ashley and even Rhett. But Adele has lost it, to an extent, because of this man’s leaving her. And besides, this is a true story.