Repulsion (1965)

 

 Repulsion (1965)

Who has primary creative control over a film has shifted in different eras. Generally, but not always, it’s the Producers, but there has always been a desire that the Director should be first and foremost, which we call “Auteur Theory.” It is rooted in the earliest days of cinema, when there was generally no difference between Producer and Director, but most strongly inspired by Director Alfred Hitchcock’s break with Producer David O. Selznick in 1940-1945; the term was coined by Director François Truffaut in 1954; it more fully recognized in Hollywood following the triumph of Comedian turned Director Jerry Lewis’ ‘The Bellboy” in 1960; it became the prevailing fad in Hollywood throughout the late ‘60s and the whole of the ‘70s because of people like Woody Allen, Steven Kubick, and Roman Polanski; it then died an ignominious death with Michael Cimino’s “Heaven’s Gate” in 1980, a Critical and Financial Disaster which effectively ended the independence of United Artists, the USA’s most important independent studio.

 

It’s ideal created much of the greatest cinema that this country and the world has ever seen, and is still pined for, and perhaps more now than ever, as we are now awash in sequels and franchises with increasingly diminished creative returns.

 

But the Auteurs were often also assholes. Truffaut was a champion of a self-serving “Doctrine of Seduction” which was often used to justify Sexual Licentious by Directors (Truffaut included) in the name of art. Hitchcock, Lewis, and Kubrick were notorious for Abusive Behaviors during productions. Cimino was guilty of multiple acts on shocking Animal Cruelty just to get a shot. But as bad as those charges were, none held a candle to Allen and Polanski, both compellingly accused as Child Sexual Predators, and Polanski actually convicted of Child Rape, but neither endured severe Professional Consequences for their Crimes.

 

An ugly irony here is that Allen and Polanski were, of those I’ve listed, the two who also displayed the greatest gifts for female Characterization. I can only conclude that their understanding of women was part of their Predatory Skill Set.

 

“Repulsion” comes from Polanski, it was his second feature, first made in English, and though a European production, and would bring about his entrée to Hollywood. It’s remembered as the first of the unofficial “Apartment Trilogy,” three Psychological Thrillers set mostly in a single apartment space, all addressing the special isolations and vulnerabilities of Urban Living. Two concern vulnerable females, the third a man losing his sexual identity as he mentally deteriorates. The other two are “Rosemary’s Baby” (1968) and “The Tennent” (1976).

 

“Repulsion” and “The Tennent” are the most similar, charting their Protagonist’s slip into insanity. Both wallowed in their claustrophobic intensity: They are tales of self-abuse, and in this one, self-abuse by a fragile woman who seemed to have spent her whole life target of abuse by others until her mind turned on itself.

 

In this film, Polanski’s camera chooses to take two perspectives, first the (fictionally) Objective, where we see Carole Ledoux (played by Catherine Deneuve, and suffix of Carole's last name "...doux" translated means soft or sweet) from the outside, as the world sees her: She is stunningly beautiful, more than a little childlike, and painfully withdrawn. Gradually the camera increasingly shifts into the Subjective, as we see the world more from Carole’s perspective, and this shift becomes increasingly prominent as she succumbs to Nightmarish Hallucinations.

 

But the Objective and Subjective are never really separate: The opening shot was an extreme close-up of her eye; moments before the film ends, as the camera surrenders the Subjective for the last time, there’s a similar shot, though not quite as close. The very last line of the original script (which was not exactly what was ultimately shot) reads, “her beautiful and proud, implacably vague child’s eye, where madness had already gained the day.”

 

From the very beginning we see Carole’s contempt for men, and all of them appear to be cads, crass, pushy, and some are dangerously predatory. The film’s more Objective eye observes the “male gaze” (coined by Critic John Beger) with deep cynicism.

 

That opening image is worth linger on. The close-up of Carole’s eye that the opening titles slides across and around, rotating and wrapping around the iris to the sounds of a two-note drumbeat, among the darkest passages in Composer’s, Chico Hamilton’s, score. Then Polanski’s Directing credit comes in different from the rest of the text, moving to cut across the eye horizontally and knife-like, an obvious reference to Luis Bunuel’s Surrealistic Short Film, “An Andalusian Dog” (1929), featuring an actual razor cutting an actual eye-ball, and nearly a century later, that still one of the most disturbing images in the whole history of cinema.

 

Carole is mostly more expressive when the camera’s eye is more Objective, we see her express repulsion and curiosity. When the camera shifts to Carole’s inner world, her face mostly shows resignation, indifference, even absence. Dialogue is used with restraint in scenes wherein Carol is forced to interact with others (this was only half a creative choice, Actress Deneuve spoke minimal English) but disappears almost entirely when she’s left alone. It’s actually hard to write a film with long stretches without dialogue, even Silent Films relied on Intertitles, and come the Sound Era, films often have Characters talk to themselves when unaccompanied, or employ a narration. Carol’s silence in these Subjective scenes is a more deliberate and a deft move, because she seems silent even to herself. Her Inner Life is her main Oppressor because she never looks at herself and asks about what she’s self-inflicting.

 

It’s strongly suggested that she was a victim of Childhood Sexual Abuse at the hands of her father, something her sister Helen (Yvonne Furneaux) was either spared from, or processed differently (Helen seems better adjusted, but is in a dubious affair with a married man). What is most striking is that Carol is always sympathetic to the audience, even as she descends into Monsterousness. That sympathy comes from Actress Deneuve’s strong performance, there was extreme restraint demanded in the role, which always threatens the performance to be reduced to mannequin-like, but Deneuve always emphasis Carole vulnerable qualities with seemingly unconscious gestures, chewing her lip, spastic scratching, swiping about her face as if swatting away invisible insects. But there’s no denying though Deneuve’s exceptional beauty out-shown her skill; her beauty made Carole’s Madness more palatable.

 

Polanski not only Directed, but co-Wrote the script, along with Gérard Brach with more material added later by David Stone. So, much of this Empathy comes from a man who would be convicted of Child Rape only twelve years later. Critic Kim Morgan concluded, “Roman Polanski knows women because he understands men. He knows both sexes because he understands the games both genders play, either consciously or instinctively. He understands the perversions formed from such relations and translates them into visions that are erotic, disturbing, humorous and, most important, allegorical in their potency.”

 

Perhaps the two best-drawn female Characters of Polanski’s career were Carol, in this film, and Rosemary Woodhouse (Mia Farrow), in “Rosemary’s Baby.” They are different, Carol is spacing-out from the first scene (the first words spoken are but a Salon Customer asking her if she’s fallen asleep), while Rosemary has some assertiveness that is constantly being derailed by outside pressures. But they had a lot of similarities as well, noted by Critic Molly Haskell the "image of the anesthetized woman, the beautiful, inarticulate, and possibly even murderous somnambulate." Among the external forces impressed on Rosemary was that she was drugged, and Polanski drugged the little girl he Raped. In the third Apartment Film, “The Tenant,” Character Trelkovsky (played by Polanski himself) descends into a sort-of Transgender Psychosis and lands out paralyzed and trapped in a hospital bed. Haskell continues, "the titillations of torture are stronger than the bonds of empathy."

 

Carol is only marginally employed, working as a Manicurist for a high-end Salon, and only barely holding on to that job because of her lack of focus. She despises Helen’s boyfriend Michael (Ian Hendry) and with good reason, he walks through the apartment he really doesn’t live in like he owns the place and is deliberately inconsiderate. He says, patronizingly, “So, this is the beautiful younger sister,” and pinches her cheek; she pulls away. He places his toothbrush and razor in her cup, but when Carol tosses them, all that accomplishes is receiving a scolding from Helen. Behind Carole’s back, Michael says to Helen, “I don't think Cinderella likes me ... She's a bit strung-up, isn't she? She should see a doctor.”

 

Carol has a suitor, Colin (John Fraser) whom she obviously doesn’t want. At first, he comes off merely as a sap, but by the end of their second scene together it is obvious that he’s actually a bully without a bully’s self-assertion. He whines, “You’re an hour late. I’ve been waiting” and recognizing her excuse is inadequate, adds sarcastically, “Well, next time you forget, maybe you’ll let me know.” He tries to kiss her, she evades. He tries again, succeeds, but then she runs off and aggressively wipes her lips. Why doesn’t Colin drop the whole thing? Because Carol is the only attractive woman weak enough that he believes he can dominate.

 

This is the film’s saddest observation, those in need won’t get help if they lack even the basics of Social Functionality. A better man would recognize he wasn’t welcome and walk away if for no other reason than self-respect, so Carol’s isolation would be unaltered. Carol seems born to either Die Alone or be Victimized, because anyone better than Colin simply wouldn’t have time to try to do her any real good.

 

Even before her downward spiral really begins, Carol displays an obsessive fixation on cracks: A beauty mask on a patron at a salon that must be cracked to be removed, one on the sidewalk that distracts Carole from a conversation, and in plastered walls of her apartment. These maybe premonitions that her extraordinary beauty, which she is clearly fearful of, will fade. Does she fear the ugliness of old age? Or does she want it to hurry up so the people will finally leave her alone?

 

The downward spiral begins when Helen and Michael go away for a 12-day holiday trip. The emptiness of the apartment starts to play on Carole’s mind, there’s enraged call from Michael’s wife (actress was uncredited), increasing Harassment from the landlord (Patrick Wymark), and she becomes unable to function at work. The cracks become central, beneath them she sees what appear to be organic masses, then hands reach out of the cracks and grope her (the latter a reference to Director Jean Cocteau's "Beauty and the Beast" (1946)). The shadows of the dingy apartment grow larger and deeper, and with the light retreating there are Shadow Men, who clearly don’t really exist, leaping out of dark corners to Gang Rape her, soundlessly, the soundtrack only captures a ticking clock as she struggles.

 

Though Composer Hamilton’s score is effective, equal parts dark and lyrical, the soundscape is more defined by exaggeration of environmental noises: The clocks ticking, the voices of the nuns and tolling bells from next door, Helen and Micael’s over-loud love-making from the other side of the thin bedroom walls, faucets dripping, a ringing telephone or doorbell, footsteps above or in the hall, even the sound of Carole’s own heartbeat. When environmental noises are allowed to become so prominent, the silences also scream louder. Mundanities become oppressive, reflecting Carole’s inability to suppress her increasingly irrational fears.

 

The script was inspired by Polanski and co-Screenwriter Brach’s observations of a friend who descended into Schizophrenia. Though they did no research into the Disorder beyond their observations, Psychologists later praised them in how accurately they charted Carole’s symptoms and decent.

 

Time is important, but it’s not the clocks that measure it, it is measured by Carol’s increasing lack of self-care over the 12-days of isolation. Raw potatoes begin to sprout and a dead rabbit bought home to be cooked is allow to rot and attract flies in the kitchen. The rabbit, of course, carries a lot of sexual symbolism, but of equal importance is that allowing that meal to rot indicates Carole has stopped eating properly. The squalor about her accumulates and soon the space seems beyond cleaning. The squalor was so convincing that Cinematographer Gil Taylor muttered during filming, "I hate doing this to a beautiful woman." Never-the-less, this is among the best B&W cinematography you will find, and came right at the end of B&W being relatively common in theatrical releases.

 

The apartment wasn’t location footage, only a meticulously constructed set. Art Director Seamus Flannery photographed the run-down apartments of several London women in similar economic circumstances as Carole and Helen to assure they got each detail convincingly. The studio setting much assisted in Cinematographer Taylor’s inventive camera use, switching from wide-angle lenses to close-ups in the same scene, both linked to the sense of claustrophobia. A wide-angle lens might seem contradictory in the evocation of claustrophobic, but to works. The apartment “feels” small, but was, in fact, over-large compared to the real-world apartments it was based on, and always appeared oppressive because Carole always seemed ever smaller within its walls.

 

Before it’s over, Carol has killed two men who arrive, unwanted, at her door. By then, the audience viewed both men contemptuously, but neither deserved their fates. She does nothing to clean up after her crimes or dispose of the bodies. Her sister’s return from holiday is quite a scene.

 

Production Houses focusing on Exploitation film often aspire to greater cinema, and since Exploitation is profitable, they often had the money to take the risk. As Exploitation film often focuses on dumb Horror, classier Psychological Horror usually seems the logical bridge, especially after the triumph of Alferd Hitchcock’s “Psycho” (1960). Polanski was also aware he could find financing for a Horror movie and gain some box-office clout. Co-Screenwriter said that they, “included bloodcurdling scenes that verged on horror film clichés. Any originality we achieved would have to come through in our telling of the story.”

 

Though then obvious path, it didn’t always work out. England’s Anglo-Amalgamated Productions took a gamble on Director Micael Powell’s “Peeping Tom” (also 1960), which is now seen as a Masterpiece but at the time blew up in everybody’s faces and destroyed the then-respected Powell’s career, while the same studio’s stupider and faker Psychological Horror “Cirus of Horrors” (once again, 1960) make a nice little bit of cash.

 

“Repulsion” was one of the cases where it paid off. Polanski (like Powell) was greatly admired, his previous shorts and first feature, “Knife in the Water” (1962), got Oscar recognition, but he struggled to find a studio for this script. Rejected by the respectable, he was embraced by the Softcore Porn house Compton Studios, feeling they got lucky in snagging a World-Renowned Director. In the end, they profited for their boldness. This is a surprise really, though “Psycho” is a triumph of Artistry and hugely entertaining, it not a serious film and its Psychological Analysis was shallow and dubious. This film is relentlessly downbeat and disturbing, more realistic despite the Hallucination/Fantasy sequences, and far-more Art House fare. One can see Hitchcock in “Repulsion,” well, in a lot Auteur fair, but the main influence seems to have been a far more serious film by a completely different Director. Polanski has said, “I remember: when I was twelve, fourteen, I liked atmospheres that came from . . . what do I know? Ultimately enclosed atmospheres, stifling . . . and [I] liked films like [Billy Wilder’s] The Lost Weekend [1945] …” That film concerns a desperate Alcoholic, played by Ray Milland, who self-isolates himself to Detox. He had to enduring Hell, including Nightmarish Hallucinations emerging from cracks in walls.

 

God knows, Compton had no idea how to market this film, slapping it with terrible Tag-Lines like: “The nightmare world of a virgin's dreams becomes the screen's shocking reality!!” and “A delicate yet powerful balance of violence and sensuality in an unawakened girl.”

 

Categorization is always the bed-bug of any Criticism, without mutually agreed upon Categories, there can be on foundation for communication, but all Categorization is inevitably deficient. “Repulsion” is part of the New Wave movement, and there’s little debate that it was born in France because the influence of Director Truffaut’s films and his articulate Criticism. It influenced Polanski tremendously though he was in Communist Poland at the time. The movement was focused on making film a far more personal statement by the Director, rejecting of France’s increasing dull tradition of “Cinema of Quality.” The movement rejected all conventions, embraced iconoclasm and experimentation in technic is frame composition, pacing, editing, took on ignored or taboo subjects, and bluntly engaged the eras social and political upheavals of the era. In the New Wave, Existentialist Philosophy was hugely popular. 

 

“Repulsion” is considered the first of the “British New Wave,” which is problematic praise because it ignores the bold Radicalism of the immediately preceding “Kitchen Sink Realism,” but that movement was theater-based, adapted from, or influenced by the “Angry Young Men” Writers of the 1950s (I’m talking about films like “Look Back in Anger” (1958), “Saturday Night and Sunday Morning” (1960), “A Taste of Honey” (1961), “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner” (1962), and “This Sporting Life” (1963)). But “Repulsion,” more Director-focused, embraced of Expressionism and did alter the course of British cinema; without its success, weirder British New Wave films like “If…” (1968) probably never would’ve been possible. It comes as no surprise to me that the Horror genre provided the leverage to break more ground; very likely, “Peeping Tom” should’ve done what “Repulsion” accomplished, but one bombed and the other didn’t, and that’s just the way it goes.

 

The Kitchen Sink movement broke many, many, Taboos, but this one film broke more. It featured a rare female Murderess, a blunt demonstration of non-camp insanity, England’s first vocalized orgasm, and shocking Rape scenes.

 

It must have been nail-biting for the film’s Financers during production: Polanski’s perfectionism required this low-budget film more expensive than typical Exploitation fare, and then, as the shooting progressed, it even went over even that projected budget (£65,000 ballooned to £95,000). Producer Micael Klinger recalled witnessing Polanski shoot a simple frame of Deneuve's hand twenty-seven times.

 

It also earned Polanski a reputation of not being the nicest person on set. He was harsh on Actress Furneaux playing Character Helen which Klinger objected to. Polanski, "I know she's a nice girl. She's too bloody nice. She's supposed to be playing a bitch. Every day I have to make her into a bitch."

 

He was worse to Actress Deneuve. By the time Character Carole committed her first murder, she almost a somnambulate and for that moment, Polanski wanted more rage from Carole so he viciously taunted Deneuve. According to Polanski Biographer Barbara Leaming, Deneuve, "tried to control her rage, but Polanski continued to bait her. Then she exploded. He gave her the candlestick and she swung at him. The camera had been rolling, and now Polanski had the performance he wanted … The Deneuve the spectator sees on screen is not acting -- the violence is real, directed at Polanski."

 

Deneuve also came to regret a Playboy magazine spread that Polanski pressured her into to promote the film.

 

But later in life, Deneuve didn’t attack Polanski, “It’s funny because three of us were French: Roman, who despite being Polish spoke French all the time, Gérard Brach, and me. We really were the three musketeers . . . Yes, I felt very close to Roman. That’s the film I feel I helped make. The producers were used to producing porn. It was a small-budget film, and for them nothing of great consequence . . . The experience with Roman was very important to me.” It should be noted, she said that long after his Rape conviction.

 

Still, as I said, it was a hit, Polanski’s entrée to better studios and budgets. He already had an International reputation, but now the praise of his work reached astounding heights. Leading Critic Pauline Kael, who generally despised Experimental film, Auteur Theory, and often venomous towards Kubrick, both fell in love with this film and issued a warning, and the warning probably helped the film more than the praise, “It’s clinical Grand Guignol, and the camera fondles the horrors… Undeniably skillful and effective, all right-excruciatingly tense and frightening. But is it entertaining? You have to be a hard-core horror-movie lover to enjoy this one.”

 

Critic Kenneth Tynan, “‘Repulsion’ is ‘Psycho’ turned inside out. In Hitchcock’s film, we see a double murder through the eyes of the victims—in Polanski’s, our viewpoint is the killer’s.”

 

 

It seems like, retrospectively, Polanski was the film’s harshest critic, saying it, “is the shoddiest . . . technically well below the standard I try to achieve.”

 

Trailer:

REPULSION (1965) Trailer (youtube.com)