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Force
Majeure is precise yet humanistic, aesthetically beautiful
yet emotionally searing, much in the vein of filmmakers ranging from Michael
Haneke to Stanley Kubrick. Les Arcs – a ski resort in an isolated area of
France – is the overwhelming and frigid backdrop to Tomas and Ebbas’ inner
turmoils. A question is raised: What type of people are we in severest of
circumstances? Bourgeoisie morals are on the line here because our greatest
comforts will turn out to be our greatest sources of anxiety in Force Majeure. Vacation – we learn as
the film unfolds – is a placeholder for complacency. Ostlund is asking at what
point does love become passive and does “family” – as a concept - become a
stifling fixture that oppresses our inner natures. No viewer – I don’t care who
you are - will leave the theater and not reconsider to what lengths they would
go to protect the ones they love.
Here’s an ordinary
vacation, an ordinary family, taking time off from work to spend a week skiing
in the beautiful Alpine slopes. But it’s all artificially rendered, constructed
for the sake of the vacationers. In the beginning, we’re treated to how exactly
these slops are made skiable for the tenants of the resort. The cinematography
is at once breathtaking and calculated in the same way that a Wes Anderson
movie can feel – and yes, I couldn’t stop making comparisons to Grand Budapest
Hotel mainly because it’s also taking place in a resort in the isolated French
Alps. Two different movies, of course. The difference is that, for Anderson, setting
and character are synonymous and humor is commonplace. Ostlund is an aesthete
in a stricter and more confining sense, pitting the dramas of Ebba and Tomas
against an even greater drama – that of man versus nature.
And nature is something
both internal and external. For Tomas, his natural instinct is to run away from
his children and wife in the face of danger. Visually perfect and utterly
breathtaking, the scene where the avalanche cascades towards them speaks to our
inability to not only curb nature’s unpredictability but our own actions as
well. Tomas runs away from his family, even as he comments that the avalanche
is “controlled” and not going to hurt them. When this is proven to be false,
Ebba is the parent who sticks it through – not Tomas.
The drama on the film
hinges around this issue. The story – after this moment – chronicles how a man
can come to terms with his inner nature and how a relationship can survive such
a painful realization. My favorite scenes were when Ebba spills all her
anxieties and fears about Tomas to another couple who they’re having dinner and
wine with. And another excellent scene is where Tomas cannot stop crying and
his family huddles around him to show him comfort despite his flaws.
Exquisitely acted by our leads Johannes
Bah Kuhnke and Lisa Loven Kongsli, each of these scenes – and, arguably the
movie – are structured around self-realization in some way or another. When
Ebba shows the video of Tomas running away, he is faced with his cowardice and
it tears into him like a spade piercing a hardened heart. He can’t deny it any
longer – and the mere fact that he was so insistent on denying his action makes
him an even shittier husband, revealing a further rupture. These scenes never
feel melodramatic and judgment is never passed – instead, we’re the observing
characters in the way scientists observe natural phenomenon – with patience and
resilience to make complex and well-considered observations. The irony is that
the film’s moral questions argue against such considered and thoughtfulness
because people – like nature – are enigmas.
But don’t worry – this movie
is often funny, deflating the seriousness without losing its handle on the
central tone. I applaud the writing for delving into the absurdities as it
allows us to invest more into their humanity – a favorite of mine is when the
janitor is watching them from above, smoking his cigarette and they implore him
to leave. Later on, they’re fighting outside the room once more to escape their
children’s eyes and ears and then they get locked out – and, yes, they need him
to get in. And even the scenes I cited – with their intense dramatic rectitude –
are quite comical as well. The other couple – awkwardly watching this other
couple come unhinged – don’t know how to quite react to such seriousness. It’s
odd, uncomfortable, and oh-too-serious so, when they leave, they burst out into
laughter. Just one example out of many of the film’s capability of balancing
drama and comedy without hitting its viewers over the head. Let’s not forget
Vivaldi’s Four Seasons as an ironic counterpoint – it is high-drama at its
most ordinary, bursting out suddenly like an avalanche even in the most seemingly-ordinary moments.
The film juxtaposes these
scenes of intense humanism with those of pronounced aestheticism, and this is
where the problems begin. The naturalism of the unfolding plot complements
Ostlund’s eye for the slopes, the mountains, the artificial snow, etc. But I
felt the balance he was going for – the thematic purpose of his filmmaking
choices – diluted rather than contributed to the dramatic momentum. The
experience becomes more cerebral than experiential. He wasn’t able to
synthesize the pursuit of artistic beauty and searing drama in a way that kept
me fully engaged. At times, I kept saying to myself, “This is a great movie”
rather than feeling the weight of the film’s ideas. Think to when we’re
watching Tomas and his friend snow down the mountain – it’s pretty long, and I
stopped being entranced by the artificial beauty quite quickly. Yes, he’s
yelling like a wolf to express his inner-rage. But it wasn’t compelling.
And how about when Tomas
was drinking beer with his friend and the whole-mix up takes place. I get that
it’s trying to show another side of this man as he contemplates a life separate
from his family, a life as a man drifting from one relationship to another. It’s
also meant to be comedic relief. But, once again, I simply didn’t care that
much about the humor or the point being made about his character. And nature
shots, sometimes but not all the time, when they weren’t outstanding me with
their beauty, felt unnecessarily over-drawn. What I’m getting at is that
Ostlund was in his head sometimes, and I never fully committed to his vision
even as I admired and respected it.
The ending encapsulates how
I internalized Force Majeure. They’re
on a bus and the driver is incompetent, almost driving these people off a
cliff. And if you’ve ever gone down a mountain on a bus – I have – and you’re
far up, you know that Ostlund does an excellent job of evoking those paranoid
and stomach-churning sensations. Ebba is having a meltdown, and forces the
driver to let her, Tomas and the children off. Other people join her and the
bus drives swiftly on. They’re left to go down the road, and we get an ending
shot of all of them walking. Of course, the viewer is meant to extract thematic
significance from this final moment: I think Ostlund is trying to paint a
portrait of individuals, once feeling like they were powerless, claiming
control despite the fact we know it’s illusory. But really, I was over it by
this point, feeling the drama and ideas of the movie diluted too much by
Ostlund’s aesthetic inclinations.
The film’s narrative is
drawn out over six days – with “Day 1,” “Day 2,” “Day 3” displayed as the action
unfolds – to remind us how long and how short vacations can be when they’re
bad. And this vacation really isn’t fun: it’s frigid, suffocating and confined.
Tomas and Ebba are always looking for ways to leave their family, have “me-time,” to escape what they essentially view as a flimsy marriage, drawn together through
their bourgeoisie affections rather than an intense love. That’s how I felt
watching this movie: it was a long, 2-hour vacation, stuffy at moments, certainly
engaging at other times, obligated to appreciate at others despite boredom, an
experience I ultimately wouldn’t have minded leaving a little earlier despite
its clear strengths.
Grade: B
David's rave review can be accessed here.