Gaspar Noé
Irréversible

THE REVIEW

Irréversible is not just a film, it is not a grotesque movie.

Irréversible is a photograph, (a punch) an experiment if you will.

Gaspar Noé doesn't just shock the viewer with some vulgar or particularly violent sequences; he shows the facets of the individual: raw emotions, pleasure.

The pleasure, according to him, is the true protagonist. But not carnal pleasure, I believe rather the pleasure of observing from afar the horror of reality.

Because Irréversible demands the horror, complete with monsters and dark settings, but not the kind that a normal cinephile is used to witnessing.

Extremely negative criticisms at the Cannes festival (despite the poster's boast), where most of the audience packed up with that sense of disgust that grips the stomach: goal achieved, dear Gaspar.

Criticisms for alleged homophobia in certain scenes, unfounded according to the opinion of the writer, with the nocturnal and gloomy scenario/fresco that accompanies the perversion shown in some powerful, dramatic, long, and considerably realistic representation of pleasure.

A chilling acting performance, by the few actors in the cast. Vincent Cassel (Marcus), accompanied by the sound of a heartbeat, discovers on the street the battered face of girlfriend Alex (Monica Bellucci) raising with the paramedics from the subway underpass of that hellish metro, accompanied by the timid Pierre (Albert Dupontel) just outside the devastated party the three previously attended. Drugs cloud his judgment capacity.

Anger, petty criminals, drag queen prostitutes, and blood.

Low-frequency sounds accompany about 60 minutes of the film, trying to provoke nausea, anxiety, and fear in you (aforementioned experiment).

The camera: certainly a fundamental element for the succession of emotions aroused, from the very first confused minutes where the cast names and presentations are abruptly introduced.

The soundtrack, entrusted to Thomas Bangalter (Daft Punk), is a mix of experimental EDM that immerses in the outlined nocturnal world.

This cinéma du corps you can choose to love or hate. But when the colors, shadows, and fragmentary dynamics force you to keep your face glued to the screen (a true abduction), the Stockholm syndrome strikes, and les jeux sont fait.

Mere pornography masquerading as art? Perhaps, but pornography does not leave you feeling so dirty inside. Delve in and form your own opinion.

The mind is irreversible, and its mechanics are deplorable. Accept it.