Louis Malle
Il danno

THE REVIEW

One of the core tenets of Christianity invites us to "love thy neighbor as thyself." A daunting task, but without going to the other extreme of hating our fellow humans, what about a love so all-encompassing that it causes harm to oneself and others? The French have coined an effective definition, "amor fou" (which I have never experienced in my life), precisely to describe the frenzy in loving feelings, to the point of losing one's head over another person. But it is well known that trying to rationalize a phenomenon like libido is impossible, and we can only accept it for what it is at the moment it manifests, hoping that the consequences are not harmful.

It's no coincidence that French director Louis Malle (one of the best of the "Nouvelle Vague") drew inspiration from the novel "Damage" by author Josephine Hart to create the 1992 film of the same name, which starts from the premise that "those who have been damaged are dangerous because they know they can survive." From here unfolds a narrative plot that, following slow but sinuous and enveloping rhythms of an erotic thriller, captures the viewer's attention. Certainly, the premise is classic, namely a dangerous adulterous sexual relationship, but the directorial execution is of high caliber. The protagonist is Stephen Fleming (an influential and rising English politician portrayed adeptly by Jeremy Irons), of whom it could well be said he is "a well-respected man," as described in an old song by the Kinks. Everything would go well for him and his impeccable English family if not for the day his son Martyn introduces him to the woman he intends to marry. This Anna Barton (played by Juliette Binoche) is the typical French femme fatale who, in previous years, had been a victim of damage from which she survived, hardening her already shrewd spirit. But, alas, the passion between Stephen Fleming and the seductive Anna Barton erupts suddenly, and if the famous Paolo and Francesca needed only a fateful book to fall in love, for these two, a mere introduction at a party suffices. With these premises, it's a vain illusion to foresee a happy ending. Indeed, what is more bitter is what Stephen himself realizes years later after the mishaps, when he has built another life elsewhere. He sees, by chance, his now-ex-lover from afar while she is passing through an airport. Holding a child in her arms, she appears so anonymous that it suggests the doubt that, in the end, perhaps she wasn't worth loving so madly as in the past.

The film's strength lies in the dialectic between opposite poles such as tradition and transgression, bourgeois respectability on one side (just look at the polished interiors of the Fleming family's apartments) and an erotic charge ready to explode between the two protagonists. Here, Jeremy Irons' performance is, as usual, textbook, slightly less so Juliette Binoche's more aloof portrayal, but here an aesthetic stereotype of British origin comes into play, for which everything stemming from the European continent can be murky and tempting. This also demonstrates the unpredictability of everything that falls within the sphere of eros. Exactly for this reason, it must be accepted and lived; understanding it is impossible, and it's just as well to apply the Latin saying "carpe diem."