What drives us? What makes us carry on, if not the beauty of the act itself?
What Holy Motors Means to Us
Less a film and more a series of mini art installations, Leos Carax’s Holy Motors is a film unlike anything else out there. Finding something truly original is a real rarity in a world where every possible story has been told repeatedly. Even its detractors, who think it’s pretentious nonsense with no real meaning, must admit it’s unique nonsense. There have been cinematic art installations before this (Matthew Barney’s Cremaster series is the definition of self-indulgent) and there will be WTF films released before and after this, but when it comes to WTF art installations, Carax made the definitive version.
We follow 24 hours in the life of a man (Denis Lavant, in an unbelievably great performance) moving from life to life, like an actor performing roles. In each of these interwoven lives, the being possesses an entirely distinct identity. Each one is more bizarre than the last. Sometimes he’s a young man, sometimes he’s an old man and sometimes he’s not even a man. The meaning behind the identities is never revealed. Why is he doing this? What does it all mean? I have no idea but I’m left thinking about the Chaplin quote, “We think too much and feel too little.”
-Sailor Monsoon
I don’t usually love things that I don’t get. Most of the time I find things that are intentionally ambiguous to be annoying. Maybe my taste is shit. Or maybe it’s just hard to make things that are…artsy or whatever you would call it. But every now and then I encounter a book or movie that defies my ability to understand it–and I end up loving it anyway.
For that reason, Holy Motors is difficult to write about. What’s it about? What does it mean? I can give you the summary from Wikipedia, but that’s not really what we’re talking about. What is Holy Motors trying to say? What’s it getting at? And the simplest answer to that for my part is that I have no idea. I think it’s trying to get at something, though. And there’s just enough there to get the gears of my brain turning. There are enough hints dropped visually and narratively to get me thinking and wondering. And I think that’s where Holy Motors wins me over. As Hampton Fancher (original screenwriter on Blade Runner) said on the question of Rick Deckard’s humanity (paraphrasing): The question is more interesting than the answer.
-Dhalgren
A Love Letter to Cinema
Upon first watching any movie, I try my best to simply enjoy it for what it is without trying to figure anything out, read deeper into its meaning, or guess where it is going. I don’t always succeed, but this approach has helped me elevate my personal viewing experience for most films without adding my own agenda, especially when it comes to art house, abstract, and thought-provoking films. I have also found that going in completely blind for a first watch can help because any preconceived notions or having my mindset slanted one way could skew my expectations. This is exactly what I did upon my first watch of Leos Carax’s Holy Motors and I loved every minute of it even though I didn’t understand a damn thing that was happening in front of my face.
After digesting it and after multiple watches it became clear this was simply a love letter to the art of cinema and the people who act out this art. The film pays homage to various genres and styles, from silent films to musicals, weaving a tapestry that acknowledges cinema’s transformative power. We see Monsieur Oscar played wonderfully by Denis Levant slip in and out of multiple characters and an array of scenes with no rhyme or reason. Whether he’s a deranged troll disrupting a fashion shoot or a dying man bidding farewell to his niece, Lavant embodies every character with a distinct energy. Each character and scene is elevated because Carax’s visual storytelling is rich and evocative, blending dreamlike imagery with the mundane to create a world that is at once familiar and otherworldly. His use of long takes, dynamic camera movements, and surreal set pieces heightens the film’s sense of wonder and unease.
Identity and Performance
At its core, Holy Motors is a reflection on identity, performance, and the nature of cinema itself. As we follow Monsieur Oscar, we see that he is a chameleonic figure who embarks on a surreal journey across Paris, fulfilling assignments that require him to inhabit a series of vastly different persona. Through Oscar’s transformations, Carax examines the performative aspects of everyday life and the masks we wear in various roles. It begs the question, is identity merely a collection of performances, and if so, what lies beneath? The film offers no easy answers, instead inviting the audience to reflect on the interplay between reality and the artificial.
The limousines are also worthy of note in this, especially by the end of the film. For most of the film, we see the older more clunky limos as a simple vessel to get Oscar from one assignment to another while he prepares for each role. But the last scene lets us in on the fact multiple limos are driving around different performers similar to Oscar as they end up park in a huge garage together. Not to give anything away if you haven’t seen the film but we learn that the limos are more than meets the eye.
My interpretation of the limos is they add to Carax’s narrative of identity and performance as we learn of their diminishing purpose in a world that no longer values them. This conversation can be seen as a metaphor for the fading relevance of older forms of cinema and performance art in a rapidly changing digital age. The limousines, much like Monsieur Oscar, are relics of a bygone era, grappling with their place in a world that seems to have moved on.
As well, the limousines also symbolize the journey of life. Just as Oscar’s day unfolds episodically, with the car moving him from one scenario to the next, life is a series of roles, transitions, and destinations. The limo acts as a bridge between these chapters, much like the roles we play in different phases of our lives.
Breaking Down Oscar’s Roles
Denis Levant gives a tour de force performance embodying multiple personas that are uniquely different from each other. These roles span a variety of genres and tones, each offering unique thematic insights. Here’s a breakdown of the key roles he plays and my interpretation of each role:
The Businessman
Oscar begins his day as a wealthy man leaving his home to board the limousine. This initial role establishes the mundane, structured exterior of his life, contrasting with the surreal and chaotic personas he adopts later.
The Beggar Woman
Dressed as an elderly woman, Oscar sits on a sidewalk, begging for change. A commentary on invisibility and societal neglect, this role highlights the human tendency to overlook those in need.
The Motion-Capture Performer
Oscar dons a skintight suit and performs acrobatic movements in a motion-capture studio, leading to an erotic CGI-rendered fantasy sequence. This segment contrasts the raw, physical labor of performance with the glossy, artificial end product, reflecting on the nature of digital art and transformation.
The Flower-Eating Troll
This is my favorite when Oscar emerges as a grotesque, unkempt creature, who disrupts a photo shoot, kidnaps a model played by the sexy Eva Mendes, and retreats to a sewer. This anarchic persona symbolizes the absurd and primal aspects of human nature, while also parodying societal notions of beauty and civility.
The Father
Oscar plays a father picking up his teenage daughter from a party and chastising her for her behavior. This role explores themes of familial expectations, guilt, and disappointment, grounding the film in a more relatable, human conflict.
The Assassin and His Victim
Oscar plays both a hitman and his doppelgänger victim in a violent and bizarre sequence. This dual role blurs the line between perpetrator and victim, identity and self-destruction.
The Dying Man
Portraying a man on his deathbed, Oscar is comforted by a grieving niece. This poignant scene highlights mortality and the emotional weight of final goodbyes, underscoring the performative nature of even our most intimate moments.
The Musical Interlude
In a sudden, dreamlike break, Oscar leads a band playing accordion music in a church. This exuberant sequence celebrates the spontaneity and communal joy of music and performance. This is my second favorite performance but the one I could watch over and over again by itself.
The Lover
Oscar meets a former lover in an abandoned building, culminating in a melancholic song about lost love. This sequence explores themes of regret and unfulfilled connection, with the building’s desolation mirroring the emptiness of their separation.
The Suburban Family Man
At the end of the day, Oscar arrives at a modest home where his “family” is revealed to be chimpanzees. This surreal twist questions the meaning of normalcy and the roles we inhabit in private versus public life.
What is your favorite performance Oscar gave? What is your interpretation of the limousines?
