Climax (2018)

Directed by: Gaspar Noé | 95 minutes | drama, horror | Actors: Sofia Boutella, Romain Guillermic, Souheila Yacoub, Kiddy Smile, Claude-Emmanuelle Gajan-Maull, Giselle Palmer, Taylor Kastle, Thea Carla Schott, Sharleen Temple, Lea Vlamos, Alaia Alsafir, Kendall Mugler, Lakdhar Dridi, Adrien Sissoko, Mama Bathily, Alou Sidibé, Ashley Biscette, Mounia Nassangar, Tiphanie Au, Sarah Belala, Alexandre Moreau, Naab, Strauss Serpent, Vince Galliot Cumant

With the provocatively titled ‘Climax’, Gaspar Noé shows how a group of dancers ends up in a daze after a night full of drink and drugs. The staging and cinematography immediately allude to fictional aspects. We start with an image of a woman tossing and turning in the snow, leaving behind traces of blood; then follows a full title role, as is normally shown at the end of the film, and the dancers address the viewer as if in an audition. Then comes the opening title role.

Meta-aspects of fictionality, to rub in that, in addition to the human mind, film reality is also layered. Pretentiousness belongs to the artist, and sometimes he overdoes it. Anyway, it is a good introduction to the viewer of what and who we will see later. And what’s wrong with alienation, everyday reality is already normal enough. Which brings us back to the beginning: a couple of dancers, retro dance (‘Pump up the Volume’), a rehearsal room. Even reminds a bit of Baz Luhrmann, although he usually shows the commercial gogme that provocateur Noé lacks.

As long as the actors believe in the maker’s idea, and the idea of ​​a night full of literal and figurative trance, a young group of performance artists can do quite well with that. Noé has a subtle eye for the androgynous, almost spiritualizing character of the nocturnal intoxication, in which people sensory merge or dissolve. Sexuality is, after all, a form of energy for the human species rather than a cold act; although many are capable of the latter, the beholder of Noé’s classic ‘Irréversible’ knows.

There isn’t much talk in ‘Climax’, and that’s a good thing, because the cast is not composed of dramatically gifted people, but rather a series of expressive bodies. Conversation gets boring quickly, especially at night. Noé could have cut something there. Just like in some dance scenes, but they still serve as a gradual build-up to oblivion. After all, the dance session turns into a party. Perhaps even too quickly, so that the stylized fever dream from the first scene degenerates all too easily into a spastic bacchanal. Noé likes to sober up the viewer, it is rarely striking, except for the beautiful epilogue: the hangover as a work of art, as stylized as the opening scene.