India Song: Marguerite Duras

I don't usually get angry at movies, but Marguerite Duras' India Song made me irrationally furious. I don't think I have seen a film so contemptuous of its audience since Apichatpong Weerasethakul's Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010). India Song is opaque simply on principle. It claims to be a meditation on upper class ennui and alienation, but instead of trying to engage with an audience, Duras created a cruel joke masquerading as an endurance test. The film follows the wife of a 1930s French ambassador to India who dives into the depths of promiscuity to ease her unbearable boredom. This could make for an intriguing film, but Duras presents us with stale tracking shots that move at a glacier's pace. Even worse, they are accompanied by voice-overs of the characters reciting vague and cryptic "poetical" nonsense. We are treated with punishingly long takes of characters sitting or lying down on the ground perfectly still. One scene that could have been fascinating involves a small handful of dignitaries who move around an empty ballroom while the sounds of a lavish party can be heard. It's a powerful metaphor for how they are completely alone even while immersed in robust social atmospheres. But it goes on for at least 20 minutes without anything happening. India Song isn't just a failed piece of art, it is intellectual masturbation.

1/10