Irène by Alain Cavalier

Even fifteen hours after watching this film, I am still wondering about its message. A film that at times fascinated me and at others tested me to the limits of my patience. A difficult portrait; weak, human, tense and unbearable most of the time. A portrait of one woman but, beyond that, of the man who tries to resuscitate her by scouring all the places she visited with his camera. A testimonial document made by an author who has reached maturity, which points to the closing of a cycle. One might even ask if his filmography coming to an end: Is Alain Cavalier already at peace? Has he succeeded in the fight against the ghosts of his past? Or perhaps it’s the opposite: Is he now condemned, after this movie, to keep in his brain the everlasting images of a lonely and obsessed man who cannot live anymore?

Cavalier strips himself bare, opens his diary to the world, and looks at his own reflection in the mirror. Focusing on every detail around him, he gets closer and closer to the one he observes, hallucinating through desperation and decadence. And he remembers, remembers, remembers this enigmatic woman, trying to understand her complex personality. Feeling responsible for her and wishing, throughout this exercise in therapy, to let her also rest in peace.

Andrea Franco