Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession is one of the most unhinged horror movies I have ever seen. Even against some of the weirder things out there like Eraserhead or House, it is bewildering; a movie made from and consisting of a lot of extreme and troubled emotions (can you tell that this was made in the aftermath of a messy divorce?). It is chaotic, fluctuating between being distressing at times and downright comical –the actors pushed to every limit of their expressiveness and skill. And yet it is artful, passionate in some of the right ways, bold and creative, excruciating yet fascinating in its ambiguity and implications. There’s reason why it is such a cult favourite, and yet it makes complete sense why it failed to catch on in 1981.
In fairness, the American cut did chop off a third of the film’s runtime, resulting in what was by all accounts a dull and unwatchable wreck. Though the original itself is hardly mainstream-friendly and perhaps only marginally more coherent, driven by feeling and impulse far more than plot. It was the first and only English-language film from the controversial Polish director, working in France at the time after having effectively been banished from his home country for the charged political content of his movies. It’s something that shows up in the subtext of the movie, which would not be more overt in its politics otherwise if it weren’t for the detail of the movie being set and shot in West Berlin, with the Wall an often-present visual metaphor for the story of a couple in the throes of an intense divorce.
And let me say that Kramer vs. Kramer is tame compared to the breakdown illustrated here in the relationship between Mark (Sam Neill) and Anna (Isabelle Adjani), where tempers flare exponentially, actions quickly escalate to violence -to themselves and the environment as much as each other, and yet are tinged with immense desperation -especially on Mark’s part, at one point begging Anna to stay with him. The reason for the divorce is that Anna has found someone else, although she will not specify more than that. She breaks it to him at a public cafe, but that doesn’t stop the severely devastated Mark from rampaging through it after her -knocking over tables and upending silverware. Most of the first act of the movie is concerned with this vivid domestic strife, during which Adjani and especially Neill are made to act in the most outrageous fashion: broad shouting matches, self-harm with kitchen implements, high-octane expressions of rage-filled anguish. Their exchanges are baffling, even difficult to watch, and certainly speak to something more than simply what’s being conveyed on-screen. More even than the easy observation that it is some form of emotional venting by Żuławski in the wake of his own marriage breakdown -though that certainly is there and may reveal more about his psychology than he might like to come across. But also present is the metaphor of his relationship to Poland at that time, and especially the division of Germany itself as reinforced by the setting against which this all plays out. In this read, the conflict has very pessimistic connotations given the depth of that disconnect, and gets more complex as the movie goes along.
Because Possession is not just a harsh domestic drama, it is in some regard a monster movie as well. The point where everything changes being once we meet exactly what Anna has left Mark for. As he takes custody of their son Bob and gets close to the teacher who looks suspiciously like Anna, he has private investigators follow his ex-wife to her dilapidated new apartment where they discover the creature she has taken up with: a giant pulsating blob with tentacles. She very quickly turns to murder to keep her inhuman lover a secret, and that is where the horror movie begins.
The “possession” of the title seemingly refers to this creature’s implicit hold over Anna -and yet it’s still not so easy to define, as we eventually see by the creature’s true nature. This Kafka-esque abomination could stand in for a great many things, the least charitable read being in continuance of that divorce metaphor as the hostile force that tempts away an obedient wife, be it a person or a vocation or some other factor external to the husband’s world. And that is regardless of whether it’s meant to be taken literally, which arguably it is not. The tangible reality of this film is inconsistent, and with that some doubt can be cast over whether or not the tentacle creature is merely an extension of a troubled psychosis, by either Anna or Mark. And it’s worth noting our introduction to it from Anna’s point of view is as this almost inert, flaccid thing -yet Mark meets it in semi-anthropomorphic dimensions having sex with Anna. Which depiction of it is honest? Both? Neither? In any case it is a striking and formidable creation -one of the freakiest I’ve seen in ages.
Blood appears so vivid against the dankness of the dark and disintegrating flat, as it did against the pale, diluted look of Anna and Mark’s more conventional home. It’s an effect that makes the film feel gorier than it is and is used very specifically by Żuławski as well to emphasize Anna’s deteriorating mental state in line with the movie’s other heightened sensibilities. There emerges too an erotic subtext to the violence, for Anna and eventually Mark as well -it is a release of tension, of emotion. When they eventually have sex in the aftermath of disposing a body it recasts the violence of their earlier interactions in a new light -there’s something deeply toxic that Żuławski is working through in tying violence and passion so closely together here, as compelling as it is uncomfortable. The most violent part of the movie is somewhat the apex of this, Żuławski’s dramatic way of reckoning with feminine trauma. It is a flashback in which Anna recounts to Mark the circumstances of a miscarriage she suffered in an abandoned subway station. The scene goes on for several minutes, often in unbroken takes, wherein Adjani evokes extreme hysteria -running, screaming, weeping, and convulsing around as her character expels blood and bile. It is in every sense of the word, excessive; to the point one could not be faulted for calling it torture -Adjani performed two excruciating takes, the film’s shoot more broadly traumatized her for years. And it is difficult to take the sequence in the context that it was not unlikely another instance of Żuławski enacting cinematic revenge on his ex-wife, with Adjani caught in the middle. The shock and thematic potency of it all is effective though, in lieu of a process so abhorrent and unnecessary.
Neill doesn’t have to deal with sequences like that, certainly not in the latter half of the film where Mark does endeavour in some way to move on. But he too falls under a bewitched influence and becomes gradually more crazed and impulsive, killing the one man who escaped Anna’s rampage of murder and dismemberment, Heinrich (Heinz Bennent), a weirdly intrusive lover of Anna’s who’d beaten Mark up earlier in the movie yet still tried endearing himself as a friend. It’s what leads to the manhunt in the end that culminates with Mark being cornered by Anna and the creature, now evolved into an obedient doppelgänger of Mark. The film ends with the original Mark and Anna violently killed by police, while the doppelgänger makes his way to Mark’s home and the teacher Helen, while the neglected Bob drowns himself in the bathtub in fear of this interloper, and sirens and explosions all of a sudden blare outside.
There is a lot to parse in all of the radical choices that come about in the film’s last five minutes. Given that Anna had essentially grown Mark’s replacement as an ideal version of him, it becomes easy to connect that to Helen, the second Anna, as a duplicate herself or even the original -with Anna the copy -Helen’s eyes sparkle in the film’s final shot as she tries to keep the Mark duplicate from entering the apartment. In less literal terms, it’s clear that Mark and Anna each sought alternative versions of each other -he was drawn to Helen for her resemblance after all, but paired with a less complicated demeanour. There is perhaps more self-examination in this on Żuławski’s part, in analysing his own marital breakdown, but also a comment on relationships more broadly -how they may aspire for something that cannot be attained, or aren’t meant to. There is a dark side to the perfectly moulded partner. It could also be his metaphor for what his country expected of him, and there he is at the end demanding entry and being denied as chaos ensues. And then there’s the horrifying fate of Bob in response to it all, a visceral symbol of innocence caught in the crossfire of any such conflict big or small. The choice to suggest apocalypse is also so fascinating, not least given the time and setting where it was a not uncommon dread. It opaquely intertwines relationship conflict with the geopolitical and the existential -no doubt how it may feel to Żuławski given the intensity he has already demonstrated.
In all of this interpretation it shouldn’t be lost how grim and terrifying this ending, and the movie itself, still ultimately is. Żuławski is brazen in his artistic choices -far from the implications, the surreality to the atmosphere is unnerving, that sex scene is horrific, those final moments haunting. The weird chaos to the storytelling is mirrored in the way the film is shot and edited, often with a mere Steadicam and single takes. It is engrossing and beguiling, for as dissonant as it all is. Possession is deranged and in a very captivating, provocative way -Lynchian but in overdrive. And it’s no wonder the acclaim has grown so much with time. It’s the kind of movie that leaves an indelible impression and invites discourse -for good or bad. The making of the film was a harrowing experience for most involved, and that’s very much what is preserved on screen. The horror of relationships incarnate in the most vivid and insane of ways.
Support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/JordanBosch
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/Jordan_D_Bosch
Letterboxd: https://letterboxd.com/jbosch
Comments
Post a Comment