The Soft Skin: La Peau Douce

 

Pensez à moi.

Françoise DorlŽac and Jean Desailly in François Truffaut’s The Soft Skin (1964). Courtesy Janus Film.

Pierre Lachenay glances over at a closed curtain that reveals the stewardess, changing her shoes just before the plane lands in Lisbon. His attention towards her feet is out of the ordinary and is marked by the creepiness of an older, married man. The stewardess in question, is a young girl with a delicate face—thin, tall with bountiful, light brown hair that falls over her shoulders. As Pierre departs, the stewardess tells him to wait. It was the 1960s and Pan Am airlines was all the rage, and if you were a famous writer like Mr. Lachenay, photographers waited outside the plane to take your photo alongside a delightful stewardess. They both pose and nothing more. We are led to believe these two will go their separate ways. There are no clues at the onset of the film that reveal Mr. Lachenay’s unhappiness with family life.

He arrives at the hotel with a lack of interest towards the room. The director, François Truffaut, doesn’t spend too much time depicting Mr. Lachenay ‘s lecture on the subject of the French novelist Honoré Balzac. Balzac was a realist believing, “that details alone will henceforth determine the merit of works.” Many of his characters were described through the objects and the environments that surrounded them.

Strangely enough the camera gives more time to Mr. Lachenay’s curious glances at a familiar girl in the elevator. It’s the stewardess from the plane, standing next to the co-pilot. They exchange glances, but Mr. Lachenay doesn’t say a word. The co-pilot leaves and we are left with a heavy air, dramatized by silence and tension. The stewardess drops her room key, and Mr. Lachenay takes notice of the room number, then she gets off on the 8^th floor. He stays in the elevator as she walks quickly to her room, and we are granted a view of her flighty steps and soft calves, walking away on black heels. She looks back quickly and keeps walking to her room.

Mr. Lachenay returns to his room on the third floor confounded, wishing he had spoken to the girl. Left with the image of her walking away, he decides to call her. The screen centers on the rotary dial, as his finger moves each number deliberately, and he tells the receptionist to transfer the call to the room in question.

He meets the stewardess that same night; they go for a dinner date and begin a tame affair. He sees her often, even inviting her on a last-minute road trip. “I like you in a skirt,” Mr. Lachenay tells Nicole (Françoise Dorléac), the stewardess who is now comfortably wearing jeans, and sitting on the passenger seat.

The black and white film is a stark reality, seducing the viewer into a lustful affair. Actor, Jean Desailly (Mr. Lachenay) has a way of conveying emotions that the audience can easily absorb. On the surface he has a caring demeanor about his family, but is occupied with his feelings for Nicole. We can sense the creepiness behind his obsession for her. Nicole is a romantic girl who wants sincere love, not the lustful embrace of a married man.

“I’ve discovered life wasn’t what I expected lately,” she says these words softly, as Mr. Lachenay hints that she’ll be taking the role of step-mother for his daughter, Sabine. All this appears to be rushed. He has a few scenes with Sabine, including one where he plays a flighty song for her. The song is really meant for his current mood of infatuation for Nicole.

The movie is stylistically beautiful, suspenseful and sensual, but the plot itself is simple. Man cheats and momentarily becomes obsessed with a divine stewardess, which leads to his demise. He never loved Nicole, but instead has a lascivious, predatory attitude towards her. Nicole is a young, flighty, emotionally girl, and Mr. Lachenay, a manipulative, dismissive writer, who only cares about a statuesque mistress but doesn’t truly love Nicole or the loss of his family life.

“Why don’t you say you love me?” Nicole asks, to which Mr. Lachenay replies that he’s tired and stressed out. “Don’t forget to think about me,” she tells him, as she leaves his car one night.

Of his wife, Franca, we don’t know too much, but she stands like a goddess with black puffy hair and black eyeliner. She wants nothing more than his return; she would easily forgive him, but there’s an emerging anger directed at the opulence of male betrayal.

Ex Machina’s sensitive robot: More human than us?

Alicia Vikander plays a  female robot, named Ava.

Ex Machina’s femme robot, Ava, is captivating and thoughtful. Could it be, she’s more human than we are?

At the onset of the film we meet Caleb, a young coder, somewhat naive though witty. He uses the language of a seasoned programmer to form elaborate conclusions yet ignores basic human instinct. After winning a competition he gets flown to a secluded research facility in the middle of a forest. His sole job—give the Turing Test to a functional humanoid with Artificial Intelligence, named Ava.

The creator of this humanoid is Nathan, a straight forward, CEO-genius-programmer, with an appetite for alcohol and secrecy. He’s not interested in the technicality of the test like his guest, Caleb, instead tries to discover human frailties. Nathan has carefully orchestrated a plan for Caleb, but on the surface calls himself “a friend.” The interactions between Caleb and Nathan are amusing to watch, since one is without malice, functioning structurally, and the other is functioning instinctively as a snake.

Upon meeting Ava, Caleb — and I imagine everyone else in the audience, was pleasantly captivated. Ava has the ethereal face of a young girl, skin on her hands and feet but the rest of her body is that of a cyborg. She moves delicately across with soft agility and purpose. As she turns or walks her interior wires make noises . The fluidity of her words are alluring, chosen carefully for the viewer. I get the feeling she’s just toying with us all.

Photo: http://www.digitalspy.com

The concept of Alex Garland’ s film is thrilling. Watching a human investigate a robot and vice versa is transcendent, similarly the questions that ensue between Caleb and Nathan. Does Ava know she’s playing chess or is she just following the rules? Does she have feelings? Do you need human interaction to determine consciousness?

It forces us to question our own understanding of what it means to be human: a kind of study into our own psyche within the walls of a futuristic research facility controlled by buttons and a central computer. It’s one of those eerie and claustrophobic places you can’t freely move from room to room.

Nathan showing Caleb “the brain” of a robot. Photo: http://www.images.exmachinafilm.com

Garland’s film is not without misses. Formulaic dialogue runs rampant in the beginning. Though some reviews claim  the whole film falls into a predictable laundry bin. I wouldn’t go that far. The tale of a single man meeting a sexy femme bot is a gimmick at face value, and problematic for an accurate Turing Test, since the tester has a clear bias.  The dynamic between Caleb and Ava is tricky, often running into irksome territory.  There are other scenes in this laundry bin, but I leave those for you to decipher (since I don’t want spoil all the fun).

As the movie progresses it becomes suspenseful, gaining speed once Nathan reveals the outer edges of his mind, as well as Ava’s. The film overall is studied, analytical and profound at times. I wonder if this movie isn’t so much a test for the robot, but for the humans involved in performing the test. We are walking around with consciousness after all, and it’s our responsibility to curve our unruly emotions and be objective.

Walking out of the theater after watching Ex Machina, I had the kind of thoughts you get when looking in front a mirror. Who am I? A robot with fake skin walking around, or a real person with feelings and morals?