Angel

Natasha Percy | 25 November 2007

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Angel
Dendy
Rated M

Have your ever eaten something so sickly sweet you thought your throat might swell shut as you swallowed it? Some might equate this experience with eating fairy floss or toffee apples - I must say the cream cheese icing on carrot cake always does it to me.

Francois Ozon’s new film, Angel, could have a similar effect. Calling this film OTT (‘over the top’ for those not familiar with the term) could be an understatement. It’s flamboyant and frivolous – albeit with some dark overtones – and the costumes and characters are almost too much. Think melodrama, with lots and lots and lots of frills.

The film tells the story of Angel (Romola Garai), a young and ambitious girl convinced she has a future as a famous authoress awaiting her, even at the tender age of 16. Surprisingly her dreams are realised very early on. Almost in the twinkling of an eye she gets the house, she gets the career, she gets the clothes, she gets the guy.

Angel is an unusual heroine – there is little to like about this ambitious, obnoxious and unfashionable woman, who unabashedly pursues everything she wants. It is only when the shine goes off the chiffon and the crinoline starts to crinkle, that our hearts might start to thaw towards her.

As I sink into my seat at the movies, popcorn in hand, I must admit I’ve come to expect I’ll be introduced to a heroine with her fair share of faults, but a woman I will also identify with, sympathise with or admire. Instead I met on screen a girl the Supernanny would be sending to the naughty corner faster than she could wave that finger.

Even in her darkest hours, the ridiculous fantasy world she creates and her self-centred opulence could have a drying effect on your well of sympathy. In fact, Ozon’s film presents a watered-down version of many of the characters presented in the novel by Elizabeth Taylor. Even then, however, it’s almost unbelievable to think that Angel is as arrogant as she is, her husband Esmé as transparently unfaithful, and his sister, Angel’s assistant, Nora, as pathetically reliant. And yet they are.

Ozon’s other works include Swimming Pool and 8 Women - those who have seen 8 Women will recognise some lesbian themes in this film. A relatively unknown English cast – with the exception of Sam Neill and Charlotte Rampling – brings these characters to life. Romola Garai at times seems to overact, but this adds to the exaggerated effect that we get from the music, scenery and costumes. Michael Fassbender with his casanova eyes, plays a convincing Esmé, showing us a dashing yet tormented man, whose philandering and defiant heart stands in direct contrast to his sister Nora (Lucy Russell), a weak and overtly loyal assistant.

As Angel’s publisher and his wife, Sam Neill and Charlotte Rampling are on the outside looking in on Angel’s extraordinary life – her publisher is taken in by Angel’s giftedness and charm, while his wife reflects a disapproval of Angel’s manner with which many in the audience can probably identify.

This film with its Pollyanna-like beginning is a rags-to-riches tale which is does indeed whisk you away to another world, but it’s a world that has too much saccharine for the palate – it is gawkishly extravagant, and when the reality of war slaps this world in the face, the cracks that have been there all along start to appear.

But here is where one of the film’s most startling messages lies. Many films reflect the difficulty we can face when the reality of our lives fails to match our dreams. This film goes further in displaying the damaging effect our dreams can have when they’re foisted onto the people closest to us.

This provokes a couple of interesting questions. What do we do when our dreams come true? In many famous novels and films, the characters earn our respect before they are given their wish, by enduring hardship or heartache, or simply by waiting – and we are heartily happy for them when they receive their reward.

Perhaps it is Angel’s meteoric rise to fame and double dose of confidence that makes her slow to realise how out-of-fashion her clothes, interior decorations and ideas become, and how out-of-touch she is with the issues the real people around her – even her own husband – are facing.

One gets the idea that, even in their happy times, Angel doesn’t really understand Esme, but loves an imaginary version of him. When he walks into her morning and declares he is going war, her horror and rage convey a desire to control him, a desire that refuses to accept and understand the real Esme.

This becomes especially tragic when he staggers home a shadow of his former self, and his pain and torment go unrecognised. Her response to his unimaginable experience of war is “none of that matters now”. The darker and weaker parts of his character are airbrushed out of her view of him, and for all her commitment and generosity to him, she is married to her own picture rather than the real subject.

She suffers because of this as well. In explaining away her mother’s apparent mediocrity and her husband’s waywardness and depression, she denies their true character and struggles. This separates her from a full appreciation of her mother’s love and the true fire of her husband’s heart.

To what extent are we guilty of this ourselves? How willing are we to truly love the people in our lives with the realities they bring with them? To what extent do we try to block out their weaknesses, illnesses, social awkwardness or painful histories because they don’t fit with the life we want to see? And could this be a sign that we are unwilling to see life for what it really is, trusting that God will give us the wisdom, guidance and peace we need to deal with it?

Could there be people in our lives who are suffering alone because we will not leave the safety of the surface to truly understand the problems that lie beneath? In our own weakness, the problems of others can seem overwhelming. But the need for us to open our eyes and our arms to those who hurt is especially pertinent when we consider Jesus, who had known the riches of heaven and yet was not perturbed by an outcast at a well with a shady marital past, a woman with an illness that made her an social pariah, a man berated by society for being a financial cheat. Jesus did not shy away from the reality of human brokenness – will we?

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