Annette Review
10/10
The format of musicals has remained mostly unchanged for decades. The stories are more varied and portray people of more diverse backgrounds, but the methods of delivering those stories is the same. Here’s the bit where they talk and here’s the bit where they sing. There’s not much you can do to deviate from that. The stories and characters are what can elevate modern musicals above the confines of the genre. Annette doesn’t revolutionize the language of film musicals, but it does embrace the form in a way that outshines most modern attempts. The film manages to commit fully to the absurdity of the concept, but it does so without resorting to cheap parody. It certainly veers into comical territory at times, but there is a sincerity to the story and characters that grounds the more over-the-top parts. Much like Sparks’ music outside the film, there is a tongue-in-cheek approach to the story. Ron and Russell Mael bring their unique touch to Annette’s songs.
The story of the film starts off simply at first. We are introduced to a stand-up comedian Henry, played by the always fantastic Adam Driver. He is an amalgamation of various shock comics from the past such as Andrew Dice Clay and Dane Cook. The audience loves his ridiculous antics on stage. He psyches himself up like a boxer then charges on stage with the energy of a mad preacher. His actual jokes are boorish and crude by design. He will drill into a joke with a never-ending gusto that veers into farcical. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was meant to find him genuinely funny or not. As a character he is earnest to a fault. He is passionate about his work and seemingly obsessed with death. This ties into the various terms comedians use to describe how they perform. Many of these terms are violent. If you do well, you kill, but if you do poorly you die on stage. You can also bomb, slay the crowd, murder them, etc. Henry takes these phrases a tad too literally. He is in love with the stunning opera singer Ann, played by the wonderful Marion Cotillard. She dies on stage as part of the show every time. Hers is a celebrated and glorious death. One that makes the crowd applaud rather than boo and mock.
Henry isn’t a bad guy, but his obsession is consuming his ability to connect with his wife. Ann does what she can to help him, but she is consumed by Henry’s devotion to his art. An audience member seeing him would think he is a fun, goofy guy who prances on stage like a doofus with joy. Instead, he is morose and somber, taking his work completely seriously. To the point of compromising the well-being of everyone around him. The film contrasts Henry ranting about death and mortality on stage, versus Ann performing in a dark and grand opera. They are essentially doing different versions of similar acts, but unlike Henry, she doesn’t let the work dominate her spirit. She excels on stage, but the shadow of the art doesn’t follow her home. As Henry’s provocative stage persona starts to lose its luster and his career sags, hers takes flight. This causes tension between the couple and their innocent puppet daughter Annette caught in the middle. Interestingly, at first the puppet was an amusing image, but as the film goes on, I became engrossed in the magic it conjures. The way the narrative goes, I don’t think using a real child would work as well as this more whimsical approach.
Their relationship forms the central focus of the story. One of their songs is literally called “We Love Each Other So Much.” The song is sincere and heartfelt, but with a hint of Sparks self-aware approach to songwriting. Having two people sing “We Love Each Other So Much” is absurd by default, but when it is delivered with real emotion it transcends comedy and becomes operatic. That is appropriate since a lot of opera is people singing their feelings to each other. That is no different than how the songs in Annette play out. There can be a fair amount of repetition in the lyrics, some may not like that, but for me it worked fantastically. It reinstates the feelings the characters are laying bare. In these moments we often think the same phrases in our heads as a kind of comforting mantra. In between the set piece musical moments, the rest of the dialogue is mostly sung or spoken to music. Driver and Cotillard have pleasant voices, not trained like the singers of old, but they fit their characters very well.
I’m going to avoid going into too much story detail. Part of the joy this film inspires is the strange places the narrative goes. I cannot imagine that anyone watching it will think “yeah, that’s exactly where I was expecting this film to go.” It gets bizarre at times, bordering on David Lynch-esque. Henry and Ann have a child named Annette. She is a puppet. I don’t mean that in a metaphorical way; she is literally a puppet in the film. You can see the strings throughout. This is a bold choice, but the filmmaker Leos Carax is a master at off-the wall filmmaking ideas. I’ve been a fan of his since seeing Lovers On The Bridge. What I love about his work is how colorful and vibrant it is.
Carax doesn’t churn out a studio picture every year; a film of his is a real event. Annette is not as unusual as his last film Holy Motors, but it is equally divisive. Many will be turned off by how surreal Annette can get. It commits fully to its vision. In an age of assembly line studio pictures, that is to be celebrated. I often feel very hit and miss on modern movie musicals. The ones that get the most praise tend to fall flat for me. La La Land was incredibly well made, but a hollow imitation rather than a loving tribute to the genre. Same with The Greatest Showman. They have the technical prowess and I totally understand why they are so beloved, but for me the music has no heart. There is nothing to make the songs distinct. They just toe the line without standing out. Annette to me is completely different. It doesn’t feel like a tribute band playing the hits without the soul to back it up. This film could only be made by Carax and Sparks.
