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At Noon, the Stars are Invisible


Aspects of Claire Denis’ Stars at Noon, which won the Grand Prix at Cannes this year, reminded me a lot of White Material, one of Denis’ best films in which the world of a French expatriate (played magnificently by Isabelle Huppert) in an African country is set against major violent political turmoil. The movies share the premise of a woman, whether by stubbornness or estrangement, stuck in a foreign country at a time of great institutional upheaval which comes to have a deep effect on them. And there are also crossover themes (albeit notably reduced in one) on colonialism and culture. But in spite of the violence being less immediate to the life of the protagonist in Stars at Noon, it seems a far more despondent movie -its’ lead character has less agency, nothing seems to go right for her, and the whole situation is one of just constant misery and desperation for escape, in spite of a handful of moments of relief.
Denis has made movies with such a dour bent; I think to her last film and English-language debut, High Life. But there’s something vital missing to Stars at Noon, incurious and dismally drawn -an otherwise strong story with elements of an espionage drama as it explores a tentative romance that turns into a dangerous series of choices. It’s based on a book by Denis Johnson, somewhat experimental in that none of its’ characters have given names. The film allows for a couple. Trish (Margaret Qualley) is an American journalist who has been trapped in Nicaragua since publishing an article highly critical of the governing regime. Their possession of her passport as well congestion due to COVID-19 has left her in the position of turning to sex work for American money to earn her own way home. She meets an English client Daniel (Joe Alwyn) who claims to work for an oil company, and begins a more passionate affair with him.
Originally the backdrop of the story was the Nicaraguan Revolution, contemporary to when Johnson wrote the book in the mid-80s. It makes sense that Denis would move it up to the present -the pandemic crisis in conjunction with the various corruptions and Human Rights abuses of the Ortega administration fit the tone just as well. The translation fits, even if some of the attitudes and themes are dated. The film takes a pretty dim view on Trish’s prostitution, aligning it directly with the general degradation of life in pandemic-wrecked Managua. There’s a shabbiness to the streets, the motel rooms, the locales that feels disingenuous, or at the very least derivative in their filth. Trish’s sex is her commodity, every showcase of which is leeringly judgemental; she is hounded by one former customer, a cop played by Danny Ramirez, and another man, an apparent travel agent who insists he can recover her passport, seems pretty sketchy in his intentions towards her as well. Only with Daniel does she not feel exploited or taken advantage of, though it is very much a distinction without a difference -because she doesn’t really know him, and as authorities close in around him, she grapples with him not being trustworthy either.
Trish is written with an ever so slight amount of disdain that seems independent of the strife of her situation. She is presumptuous, arrogant, in over her head in all things -her explosive political scribes were apparently written for a simple travel magazine (one of the best scenes is the reveal of this in a clash over Zoom with her former editor, played by of all people, John C. Reilly). Her characterization in general walks a tightrope between the wry commentary of a white woman out of her depth in a foreign culture and the unfortunate demeaning shades of a subtle misogyny to how her choices and attitude are framed. Salvaging this from the latter in some significant way though is Margaret Qualley’s performance -certainly the best I’ve seen in my admittedly limited exposure to her work. She gets that frustrated fear and depression so intimately, relays a kind of need for connection that tempers her sex work and which appears not to be inherent to the script. And as the situation with Daniel escalates, she shows the cracks in her will with astounding nuance. It’s such a shame that this doesn’t hold true for her love story.
Denis considers the movie romantic, perhaps even erotic in some of its’ more illicit underpinnings and the hints of danger that permeate the relationship. Yet she keeps their emotional intimacy undeveloped, draws their sex in a way that though immediate and in detailed definitions, is staunchly distant from the audience.  We never quite get the reasonings for this continued tryst, but that’s okay, plenty of good movies allow for a mystique in attraction that needs no rationality to justify. But in those cases, the successful ones, the actors can translate that. There is a significant lack of chemistry between Qualley and Alwyn here, and most of it can be lain at Alwyn’s feet -a handsome actor who has reliably failed to impress much in anything since The Favourite. His mystery here only comes off as a distinct lack of personality and he doesn’t sell well at all any particular interest in Trish. The script certainly doesn’t favour him either, he’s intentionally short on dimension, but given the levels Qualley is pitching her performance at it only amplifies how weak Alwyn is by comparison -and how incompatible they are as a leading couple.
Towards the end, Benny Safdie pops up as a duplicitously charismatic FBI agent, a late addition to the film who could have been a compelling face to the danger earlier on. There is generally more momentum in the last act, even while it still feels directionless as pertaining to Trish’s story. Never is there much sense she has hope of escape -at every turn the political situation or her financial situation deals her a crushing blow -it’s almost a Sisyphean endeavour. It’s already a claustrophobic movie, so after a time, the audience too begins to feel that entrapment.
Denis directs the movie in a very grounded fashion, so unlike something like High Life, White Material -even Beau Travail. It’s quite minimalist, the lighting often dim, the cinematography a bit shaky as it appears to go for something of a documentary aesthetic. Obviously, she does nothing to make Nicaragua look all that good, and while a part of her dreary atmosphere may be a justification, it is too much so to move with any power. Her perception of Stars at Noon is not what comes across; it achieves only as much as Qualley personally puts into it. Around her, there is little worth the sustained burden.

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