Dazzling and Thrilling. 3 1/2 out of 4.

The 1980’s was a time when style superseded substance; music, fashion, television and film all seemed more concerned about the way they looked- which is does not mean they had nothing to say.  Granted, while some mediums of pop culture in this era were superficial, others used visuals to tell the story, but most were a little of both, and unabashedly so.

The “cinema du look” movement in France was a response to the French New Wave, in which filmmakers like Jean-Jacques Beineix, Luc Besson and Leos Carax favored experimenting with visual spectacle rather than with a film’s narrative.  The result was the creative use of primary colors, lighting and mise en scene to create a world that spoke for itself.  Amongst the first cinema du look films was Beineix’s Diva, which was made at the beginning of the decade and set the bar for the rest of the movement.

Diva begins with Jules (Frederic Andrei), a young delivery boy, attending an opera concert starring Cynthia Dawkins (Wilhelmenia Wiggins Fernandez), a diva who refuses to be recorded.  Jules manages to record the concert, but not for the sake of profit; an avid fan of opera, Jules simply wants to listen and experience the music on his own accord.  When Jules unknowingly receives a tape revealing the identity of a sex and drugs trafficker, Jules finds himself pursued by cops, thugs, and a pair of mysterious Taiwanese gentlemen.  Assuming this pursuit is a result of his illegal recording, Jules hides away in the back alleys and subways of Paris, comes across a pair of quirky fellow art lovers, and forms a touching relationship with his diva.

When one hears a terms like “style over substance,” or “spectacle over narrative,” most probably imagine a style of filmmaking akin to Michael Bay or Zack Snyder, whose allegiance to visuals over content manifests themselves as explosions and graphic novel recreations.  After watching a film like Diva one will realize that there is a considerable difference between spectacle over narrative, and spectacle over content.

Diva is an intensely beautiful film; each and every frame looks like a work of Romantic art, full of life, expression and vibrant colors.  So much of the film- the clothes, the vehicles, the buildings- is covered in primary colors.  The opening scene appropriately sets the color palette for the whole of the film, features Jules riding a yellow scooter, and wearing a red helmet and blue coat.  Furthermore, nearly every scene is lit in a way that makes these colors glow at all times.  Beineix’s use of color for the sake of spectacle is bold and unapologetic, but it is in no way sloppy or frivolous.

Beineix’s use of architecture is just as bold; virtually every setting in the film looks as though it could be an art deco exhibit.  Cinema du look often focused on sensitive, isolated youths who found their place in the underground, and Beineix’s romantic, new wave vision of the Parisian underground facilitates this overall tone perfectly.  Although the film’s underground look may appear a little too pop from time to time, it still manages to be undeniably enchanting.

Fortunately, Diva’s story does not suffer for the sake of spectacle, which may appear at odds for cinema du look’s “style over substance” philosophy.  While the film’s aesthetic beauty is the main attraction, Diva manages to display a multi-faceted and surprisingly thrilling story that justifies Beineix’s artistic preoccupations.  Granted, the transition between the first few acts are a bit abrupt, but they surprisingly come together just in time for the climax.  Beineix also does a great job casting the right actors for their respective roles; Fernandez was a real opera singer and sang her own songs in the film, and Andrei is perfect as the sweet, wide-eyed protagonist who just wants to listen to his favorite diva.  Yet it is Richard Bohringer who steals the show as the quietly eccentric Mr. Gorodish, who at times is a little too quirky (in one scene he is cooking breakfast wearing a snorkeling mask.  Just ‘cause.), but proves to be an intriguing man of action in the later half of the film.

At one point of Diva, the titular character discusses her approach to the music industry, saying, “Business should adapt to art, not the other way around.”  It is rare for a film with such reliance on the visual to also incorporate a real story.  Beneath Diva’s exterior lies a clear statement about the nature of art, and yet, though it does come close to becoming a bit silly now and then, it manages to have enough control over itself to avoid being too pretentious or involved (in other words, French).  Diva takes the Aesthetic philosophy of  “art for art’s sake” to heart by avoiding statements or preaching or politics; it is, simply, and engaging work of beauty.

Malik El Djebena (Tahar Rahim) is a nineteen-year-old Beur (formal term for an Arab immigrant in France) living on the streets of France when he is arrested and given a six-year sentence.  He has no family, no friends in or outside of prison and is illiterate.  Needless to say, he has all the odds stacked against him.

Soon, Malik is approached by the reigning Corsican gang within the prison (the Corsicans are to France as the Sicilians are to Italy) to kill Reyeb, another Arab inmate with vital information concerning some of their outside criminal activities.  Though reluctant to do so, Malik follows through with the task, and in return receives protection and low-level status, while still being treated like a dog by Cosriscan crime boss Cesar Luciani ( a wonderfully vicious Niels Arestrup).  From there, Malik learns to read, makes his own connections inside and outside of prison, and within his sentence, slowly becomes a reigning boss in his own makeshift crime family.

The film itself is a whopping two and a half hours, but director Jacques Audiard keeps Malik’s rise through the ranks of prison and the criminal world are engaging and unpredictable.  The atmosphere of prison is bleak enough to clash with the film’s main theme of rising to power, and the expected horrors of prison life still carry enough of an impact to shock us.

What sets this film apart from other crime films is how Audiard uses violence.  We expect people to get beaten in showers or stabbed in the mess halls, but Audiard keeps the violence to a minimum.  That kind of absence of the unexpected puts us in Malik’s place in that any horrible thing can happen at a moment’s notice.  When the violence happens though, it isn’t flashy or stylish, but savage and real; it resonates a kind of terror films of this nature seldom achieve.

Of course, credit must go to Tahar Rahim, who never fails to keep Malik a sympathetic character.  Whereas we watched Michael Corleone become a cold-hearted monster in The Godfather, Malik manages to maintain a kind of   innocence and vulnerability, regardless of his actions.  Although motivated by the classics (greed, success, and, later, respect), Malik’s acts of violence are more like acts of survival than Machiavellian tactics, and his attitude towards violence is never glorified satisfaction, and always have lasting effects on his conscience.

Malik’s rise from illiterate newbie to legit crime boss may sound like a stretch, but Audiard shows this path, not as a quick scheme of big moments, but as a slow succession of opportunity and choice.  Malik’s accumulation of power is impressive, but not so much that it’s unbelievable; one friend turns into a sizeable crew, one business deal turns into a profitable relationship and so forth.  Furthermore, Malik’s own personal growth is parallel to his professional one, as he learns to read, teaches himself the Corsican language (which is different from traditional French), and proves to be quick on his feet when it comes to handling a situation that doesn’t go according to plan.

One thing that may make this film difficult for American audiences to understand is the different European crime organizations.  For Europeans, the various Arab and Corsican mafias are as familiar to them as the Irish and Italian mafias are to us.  Because the film isn’t an American guide to Euro thugs, we are thrown into the intricate web of French organized crime while figuring out who’s who.  Although this makes particular plot points a bit difficult to follow, it doesn’t drown out the story.

A Prophet is described as someone who has contact with the outside world, often God or angels of sorts, and communicates the messages of said celestial beings to mere mortals.  This person is often celebrated, respected and revered as a result.  Although Malik is haunted by a ghostly Reyeb and has a single prophetic dream that grants him a mystical reputation with a particular gangster, the film’s title is not rooted in the supernatural.  Much of Malik’s power comes with the connections he forms with others while on leave (a conditional “parole for a day” arrangement within the prison system).  While charged to run errands and perform tasks for the Corsicans, Malik forms his own business deals and partners.  Like a prophet, Malik’s communication with the outside world brings him respect and power inside the sobering, penitent “real” world of prison.

Un Prophete is a wonderfully engaging gangster movie done with a light touch.  The film balances it’s violent subject matter with seamless storytelling, and as a result, the drugs, beatings, criminal politics and murder never once take away from the center of the story, which is simply one man’s transformation as a nobody into a very notable somebody.

Overall, 5 out of 5. Fantastique