via Atlas Film
By Daniel Greenwood
This review contains spoilers.
In what is only his third film, Director Julian Schnabel manages to forge the wit of an Amelie-esque French mainstream cinema with all the woe of an American indie movie. Schnabel’s employment of novel techniques like the initial point-of-view shot, from the right-eye of Jean-Do (Mathieu Amalric), help to keep The Diving Bell and the Butterfly moving at a pace that is both enticing and entertaining. Jean-Do is surrounded by enough tempestuous characters, invoking as much of a stir in him to make his paralysis seem purely physical, momentarily forgettable. But it is his injuries that dominate the film - in the memory sequences where Jean-Do is fit and well, and in the sad faces peering into his remaining eye.
The film begins in a hospital, the focus of the camera fluctuating, a mistiness slowly disappearing from the lens to reveal beady-eyed doctors. Jean-Do’s voice can be heard by his cinematic audience, but not by the characters in the film. Jean-Do answers each of the doctor’s questions and is bemused when he doesn’t receive a response. The doctor tells him he’s suffered a stroke and has ‘locked-in’ syndrome. There is no cure, nor is the condition understood. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly’s remarkable instance is the fact that Jean-Do manages to ‘write’ a sort of memoir while suffering ‘locked-in syndrome’. With the aid of a speech therapist (Marie-Josée Crozea - dead-ringer for Naomi Watts) Jean-Do is taught to use a system whereby someone reads to him a list of letters in order of commonest use and he blinks upon hearing the letter he wants. Each word is built painstakingly, letter-by-letter. In his life before the stroke, Jean-Do is the editor of Elle magazine. He’s a womaniser, but also a father of three children and husband to an estranged wife, Céline (Emmanuelle Seigner).
Peter Bradshaw of the Guardian said The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is one of the only films he’s removed his glasses and sobbed to, publicly. Bradshaw was talking about the end of the film, a sad moment, yes, but it’s ruined by a song that rocks out in the credits. If only Schnabel had gone all out French art-house here and really indulged in a classical French piece. For me, the most potent image in this film is of Jean-Do lying in the hospital bed, visited by Laurent (Isaach De Bankolé) who reads to him. The two friends have fallen asleep and Lauren is sitting close-by with his feet resting on the side of the bed. There’s something quite innocent about this image. If this isn’t the most emotive scene then Jean-Do’s father’s first call to his son after the stroke is.
It’s not all woe-begone, however. The real allure of Shnabel’s film is it’s sense of humour. Soon after Jean-Do wakes he’s already cheekily peering into the cleavage of the beautiful doctors who introduce themselves to him as their speech therapists. Much of what keeps Jean-Do ticking is the sight of a woman, and often it’s to see them pent-up and teeming. His wife Céline is constantly annoyed, disturbed by what seems to be her inability to make up her mind over her estranged, sick husband. She’s hurt because he left her for someone else, and Jean-Do’s assertion that she’s ‘the mother of my children, not my wife’ adds to the tension between them.
This very witty and thoughtful film achieves in making the point that the human condition is very frail. The scenes that reminisce over Jean-Do’s days as a healthy middle-aged man act to underline how quickly things can change. But The Diving Bell and the Butterfly makes another point in Jean-Do’s wit, the craving he has for life, his love for his children (he feels an insatiable guilt over them) and the brilliant women who exist around him in his paralysis. It’s that life is precious, but a sense of humour is the most important thing. Death is inevitable, but happiness isn’t.
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