Cache

Michael Haneke
2005

Its been a fairly terrible year for art-house movies thus far, and as far as I'm concerned the only really exciting cinema (besides the excellent "Wassup Rockers") has been pure genre. Therefore, I find it somewhat ironic that Haneke's latest stateside fare has a pervasive genre feel to it. This horror-tinged meditation on guilt and victimization benefits from an excellent pared-down cast, and thoughtful, deliberate visual direction.

Fancy-pants intellectual talk show host Georges Laurent (played by gallic perennial Daniel Auteuil), his book publishing wife Anne (Juliette Binoche!) and pubescent son are intimidated and threatened by a series of videocassettes showing a fixed frame of the Laurent house, complete with all the comings and goings of the family. The ante is upped to creepsville when graphically violent kid's drawings start accompanying the tapes, as well as footage of Georges childhood home. Through these drawings, tapes, and his own anxious nightmares Georges is forced to confront his relationship with a pseudo-adopted brother from his salad days, now a sadsack schlub who vehemently denies any relation to the Laurent family's misery.

Despite being a darling of the global film community, Haneke doesn't always hit the mark. With the utterly superfluous "Code Unknown" and the irritating genital-mutilating sensationalism of "The Piano Teacher" I had pretty much given up on this ex-pat Wunderkraut. However, Haneke's auteurist tendencies do wonders for this film, which is in essence, an incredibly basic stock horror story. The technical aspects of the film are praise worthy: great photography and editing really drive the story and compound the introspective quality the performances take on.

Auteuil does a superb job of conveying anxiety and dread, and as the skeletons begin leaping from the proverbially closet they leave lasting impressions on Laurent's face throughout the film's latter half. A nervous, and confrontational Georges begins to emerge and his caustic denial of guilt shifts sympathy towards the targets of his frustation. Often, Georges' frustration with prime suspect Majid, and his own wife is ugly and disconcerting.

This mystery manages to be wildly captivating and suspenseful. A prolonged scene involving a rooster beheading perfectly embodies childhood trauma, and no amount of forewarning can prepare the viewer for the wickedly graphic razor setpiece. This latter example is an apex that answers no questions and leaves the film to its unresolved nature, an ultimately melancholy and unsatisfying proposition. The last few long shots, an elegiac coda, remind us all of our own unresolved guilts waiting for us beneath the bedsheets

Review by Brett A. Scieszka