Cast: Sandrine Kiberlain, Vincent Lindon, Francois Berleand, Francine Berge, Leo Le Bevillon
Director: Benoît Jacquot
Producers: Georges Benayoun, Philippe Carcassonne
Screenplay: Jérôme Beaujour, Benoît Jacquot
Cinematography: Romain Winding
U.S. Distributor: Zeitgeist Films
In French with subtitles
Although French director Benoit Jacquot has made more than a half-dozen feature films, Seventh Heaven is only his second to be released theatrically in the United States. A Single Girl, his astounding previous effort, hypnotized audiences by taking them through the real-time travails of a pregnant young woman on her first day of work at a hotel. The subject matter may not sound all that exciting, but the film was a revelation of both actress Virginie Ledoyan's talent and director Jacquot's ability to explore a character through both visual and narrative means.
For Seventh Heaven, Jacquot has chosen the captivating Sandrine Kiberlain (Beaumarchais the Scoundrel) to play Mathilde, his lead character. As was true of Ledoyan in A Single Girl, the director makes liberal use of the closeup as a means of conveying emotion and establishing Mathilde's mental state. Kiberlain has wonderfully expressive features and an unforced manner of acting that makes Jacquot's job easier. He uses his actress' strengths to their greatest advantage.
Seventh Heaven introduces us to Mathilde and Nico (Vincent Lindon, Kiberlain's real-life partner), a dysfunctional couple. She is not well. In addition to having kleptomaniac tendencies, she is prone to fainting spells. She wanders around with a distracted, dazed expression on her face. Her husband, who is involved in a sexual relationship with his assistant at work, cares for Mathilde as he would for a child. When he sleeps with her, he appears pleased by her passivity and lack of passion. Then Mathilde meets a mysterious hypnotist (Francois Berleand), who puts her under his influence, regresses her back to childhood, and cures her malaise. Suddenly, she is emotionally, mentally, and sexually whole. The next time she and Nico have sex, she experiences an orgasm. Oddly, this disturbs him, because his simple, well-defined home life has now been turned upside down.
At first glance, it seems that Jacquot may be going in one of two directions: exploring the power and potential for abuse inherent in hypnotism, or examining the impact of repressed memories. In reality, however, these are only red herrings – minor ideas in a tapestry whose main focus is the shifting dynamics of a marriage. Before her awakening, Mathilde is trapped in a sterile union. Her husband is more of a caregiver than a friend or a lover. He is content with the arrangement, which makes her more like a pet or a servant than an equal. She cooks his meals, cleans the house, and helps care for their child. They do not engage in lengthy conversations and their sexual relationship is limited to a few minutes of rigorous activity in the dark while he satisfies himself. Once Mathilde has shaken off her emotional lethargy, Nico feels threatened and frightened. He does not know this woman, and he isn't sure that he wants to. His most since desire is for things to go back to the way they were.
Jacquot divides the film neatly into two parts. The first half focuses almost entirely on Mathilde. Nico is a supporting character, only occasionally seen. The second half reverses their roles, placing Nico in front of the camera for nearly every frame. The transition occurs in the scene when Mathilde experiences her first orgasm during sex with her husband, and he suffers a powerful sense of shock about what has just happened. Taken as a whole, Seventh Heaven presents the complete story of how Mathilde's transformation rearranges the landscape of her marriage.
Jacquot is a meticulous director who relies heavily upon the performances of his actors. During one sequence in the hypnotist's office, when Mathilde is relating a childhood memory, Jacquot keeps the camera on her face, rather than yielding to the temptation of inserting a flashback. Were Kiberlain less accomplished, this could have been an unfortunate move, but the actress is capable of handling the approach. Jacquot also uses a few minor photographic tricks to emphasize the thrust of his narrative. The film opens with a freeze-frame shot of an out-of-focus Mathilde. It closes with Nico groping in the dark. Yet, as confused as the characters' needs may sometimes be, the hand of the director is never anything less than sure, and his vision is always crystal clear.
© 1998 James Berardinelli