“Passages” Review: Too Much Love, Not Enough Heart
A wry, cringe-inducing car crash in motion, aspiring director Tomas travels Parisian streets in search of a partner, and himself, in Ira Sach’s Passages.
Tomas is an artist, an unsuccessful one, but who needs to know that? All that matters is that dancing extra #2 can walk down those damn stairs with pin-point accuracy, in the exact manner that Tomas doesn’t just request, but ruthlessly demands. Much like the rest of the script, the opening scene is a demonstration of storytelling efficiency: Tomas acts as the nightmare director floundering for air, drowning in the sea of his own film. All the while, the unbearable pressure of a watchful cast and crew weighs heavy. Tomas projects confidence, anger and determination to mask a quiet, broken, desperate interior. Tomas is as interesting a character as any, and is illustrative of Passages at its best. However, the film simultaneously stumbles where it otherwise confidently struts forward in its supporting characters. With a subtle but impactful cinematic style to uplift these somewhat hallow shells, Passages comes close to striking a deeply resonant emotional climax where it otherwise could have soared.
As stated, the film opens on an impressive note. In the matter of a few scenes audience’s are already introduced to three points of the love triangle that frames this film: Tomas, the dictatorial director, Martin, Tomas’ dependent and somewhat enabling husband, and Agathe, aspiring actress who audiences saw break up with her partner. The characters are immediately established, yet open to be explored with stellar performances and a subtextually rich script. In fact, Passages most seductive moments aren’t those one would expect. Sex scenes and other traditional displays of intimacy are presented as cold and unmoving. Often times, characters in their most vulnerable moments, either emotionally or sexually, hide from the camera. Sensual music is replaced by the animalistic breaths of a loveless couple. The scenes themselves remain uncut for minutes on end, forcing the viewer into the same uncomfortable dynamic these characters occupy. On the other hand, two strangers meeting in a static two shot is made palpably sensuous with performances as convincing as these, and a camera as patient as this. Like the script, the cinematography can be subtle but poignant, heightening characters in terms of depth where they are otherwise lacking.
Ultimately, Tomas and Agathe realize their connection is inevitable when they sleep together after the film’s wrap party. The audience is never made clear how open Tomas and Martin’s relationship is, which is informative when Tomas returns to Martin expecting celebration and interest instead of the natural reaction. This conflict confounds as the self-obsessed artist tries to maintain his perfect world, one where he can be the celebrated and demented director in a relationship with anyone and everyone he pleases. As Tomas and Agathe grow closer, Martin finds a new, sophisticated author of a partner, and the situation only grows in complexity alongside Tomas’ insecurity. Tomas’ bashes the author’s work at every chance, pretends not to notice Martin’s new partner, and ultimately crumbles from the weight of his own false confidence. The film continues to work in cycles: argue, make up, reflect, explode. Tomas walks in on Martin with his new man. Martin begs for Tomas to leave. Tomas and Agathe have an explosive dinner with the parents. When taken in isolation, these moments seem dramatic, but perhaps normal in a given relationship. However, presented here, all of these emotionally traumatizing experiences happen within the same hour and a half. The disaster makes for a well paced, engaging narrative that demonstrates the toxic insecurity that comes from an ill-defined identity.
Because Tomas is a man trapped inside himself. Multiple emotional monologues give Tomas, the narcissist so self-involved it’s to believe his perfect head fits in the same room as everyone else’s, a sliver of humanity. However, a needle in a haystack is all that’s necessary to give Tomas a nuance that made him the perfect leading man for a dynamic this complicated. Sadly, this cannot be said about Tomas’ victims. Agathe in particular suffers from a lacking screen presence, and in a film thematically and narratively interested in how relationships converge with identity, this writing weakness is a particularly damaging one for Passages. Some of the films most striking moments, or should I say would-be striking, left me genuinely sad that I wasn’t feeling the emotions I knew Sachs was trying to convey. Looking at Agathe, I understood her pain, but I never felt it, I never felt her as much as I did Tomas. This relationship was one-sided in more ways than one.
However, Passages never feels dishonest, shallow, or uninterested in its subjects. The film paints as honest a picture as possible of this relationship, the lingering camera practically drooling over the suffering. Audiences are invited into the uncomfortable, messy love life of Tomas, Agathe, and Martin, and while unevenly feeling like Tomas’ story, Passages is undoubtedly one many will find heart and hurt in.