Titane
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
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In a year (or two) of unpredictabilities, Titane continues to leave some of the biggest impacts in the cinematic calendar. Its Palme d’Or win at Cannes is now attached to an awards season faux pas: Spike Lee misunderstanding the call for the “first award” as the “first place award”, as he prematurely announced the biggest win of the night as soon as it started (whatever, Spike Lee has earned this pass). It ended up being the most popular film at TIFF’s Midnight Madness screenings. Now, Julia Ducournau — only the second female filmmaker to win the best directing award at Cannes (please do better, Cannes) — is seeing the widespread result of her latest feature being released in theatres. Well, 2021 has seen its fair share of polarizing releases (The Green Knight, Last Night in Soho, and even — to an extent — Dune, to name a few), but Titane couldn’t encapsulate the overall tone of the year any better. Here is a filmmaker who is clearly uncompromised and performing at her very best, whilst providing a scathing look at society’s relentless gaze (and giving warmth to the many audiences that this film was made for).
Ducournau is a modern day David Cronenberg, but instead of the latter’s fixation on the sicknesses of humanity, the former wishes to find the hope within our worst, particularly to best provide some commentary on real experiences in her own way. Titane isn’t a clear depiction of one particular side of sexual fluidity or gender identity, but rather an entire array of both with a twist of body horror for some of the film’s final says. Agathe Rousselle commits to one of the most intense and difficult performances of recent memory, and I honestly can’t imagine many people who could have done nearly as well in her place. Rousselle is Alexia: a survivor of a car accident from when she was a child, who has metal within her body now (post-crash surgery). She has grown up to be a serial killer, until one of her latest murderous excursions doesn’t go well (with someone fleeing the scene unharmed to call for help). Alexia now must disguise herself, and she opts to become Adrien: a child that went missing decades prior. She tapes her body up, breaks her nose, and becomes a whole new person.
Agathe Rousselle delivers one of the strongest performances of 2021.
The subplot is that Adrien is now pregnant, and this is where Titane’s more fantastical horror elements come from. Adrien developed an intimacy with cars post crash, and I’ll just leave it at that (I don’t want to spoil too much). Point is that Ducournau found an imaginative way to represent the sensation of body dysphoria through the avenue of body horror, and this plays into someone with a new gender identity, their pregnancy, and so many other factors. If anything, I obviously don’t want to give away too much from one of 2021’s most unpredictable films, but I also can honestly say that Ducournau has pulled off an impossible achievement that so many other directors can’t pull off: an ambiguity that allows viewers to discern their own explanations on a film that’s not just symbolic but also this analytical. You’re never led astray from the general vicinity of Ducournau’s visual essay, but you’re still allowed to wander about and come up with your own conclusion of what exactly is being stated metaphorically.
Either way, Titane is a rousing success. I’ve been happy to see that a lot of the horror films of the 2010’s have had a lot of brains to them, and so does Titane; it does possess a lot of heart additionally, placing it in a bit of its own category in 2021. By the climax (which I wouldn’t dare spoil), I was shaking, both from the insanely challenging imagery, and the bittersweet nature of the finale; once again a massive image where Ducournau throws so much at you at once, and you really do need some time to figure out how exactly you feel about what you’ve just finished. It has been a few days, and I’m still trying to process Titane, but that’s part of the reason why I love it so much. An additional element I absolutely adore about Titane is how Ducournau approaches the film’s LGBTQA+ themes, especially its focus on transgender identity and acceptance. Whilst providing an artistic horror statement on transgenderism, Ducournau never once uses the identities of millions as a major plot device, shocking revelation, or in any way that major characters present major scorn or judgemental hate towards Adrien. It’s nice to see such a nuanced-yet-sincere form of representation, especially in a genre that is accustomed to using cliches, stereotypes and bigotry to shock audiences.
Titane is as beautiful as it is challenging.
Without question, Cannes got it right. Titane is easily one of the strongest films of 2021. As art, it is breathtaking yet harrowing. As a story, it’s as inventive as cinema can be in this day and age. As a statement, Julia Ducournau is bound to be heard, and what she has to say is incredibly textured, sensitive-yet-poignant, and impactful. Titane will have a legacy just from its post-viewing response alone: people are bound to need to talk about what they have just witnessed and make emotional sense out of this film full of so many mixed feelings. At its happiest, it’s bleak. At its saddest or darkest, there’s glimpses of gorgeous filmmaking. In the same way that many things converge in Titane, Titane itself is really hard to describe since it truly is a singular experience. I can’t imagine that more conventional awards shows would dare come near Titane (although they damn well should), but it doesn’t matter. Outside of Cannes, Titane and Julia Ducournau transcend anything that such ceremonies could ever provide. It will still wind up on many best-of lists at the end of the year (as it should). It has the capability to only grow stronger with time, and I predict that it will.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.