I saw an advanced screening of "Perfume" at a local revamped theatre with Christmas vouchers. When I told my parents of my plans before leaving they, having read the book, gave me a look which read "Good Luck". Around three minutes in, I concluded that I probably needed it. My main mistake in retrospect was, I think, that I chose to interpret the deliberate stark contrast between the film's title (Perfume) and subtitle (The Story Of A Murderer) as tacky. In truth, it's more or less the entire film in a nutshell: a promise of beauty facilitating hideous dark action, and this realization could have saved me some bewilderment and, I won't lie, horror. It also could have brought my appreciation of the film forth a lot sooner.
Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Ben Whishaw) is a gutter birth in 1600's Paris and he is raised by a rather indifferent orphanage until he is turned over to a brutal tannery owner. He is also one of the most extraordinarily gifted "personages of his time", narrator John Hurt informs us. His gift is unique, and is more or less the fuel for the existential fire that burns, almost without much thought as to whether the audience quite understands, throughout the film: he has an unfathomably strong and accurate sense of smell. To give you an idea, this guy can smell underwater, through glass and over twenty or so miles. He can also instinctivey recreate any perfume he smells, even in trace amounts.
This gift of his draws him to work in the perfume shop of Has-Been perfumer Giuseppe Baldini (Dustin Hoffman), but when he catches a whiff of a beautiful red haired girl selling plums on the streets, the film's true nature, and his defining obsession begins he wants to learn to preserve the scent of beauty.
I won't go into any more detail, suffice it to say what I'm sure you all know anyway, which is that this obsession of John-Baptiste's leads him singularly and irrevocably down a path of darkness and murder. It's a path on which the light that began it - the dream, if you will - soon becomes obscured to the audience until what we see is no more a 'gifted personage', nor a 'murderer', but a madman.
And here "Perfume" joins the ranks of the all time great filmic portrayals of mad people it declines to relate to them, it refuses to excuse them, but it offers something of an explanation, presents something in the way of their mindset so that we are put off just enough to wonder if there might ever have been hope for the lost cause we're watching. In this case, it's the amazing representation of smell tracking shots across landscapes and through intimate spaces, a swelling and yearning string-based sound track and rather remarkable acting from Whishaw. These things all, for most part, manage to give the impression of a man who, although sociopathic, hasn't set out to cause harm, only to find cathartic relief. The film's grandiose treatment of the least film-friendly of the five senses creates a sort of awe in the audience that leaves us actually able to conceive of just what Scent means to John-Baptiste even if we're still not sure what it all really means in the grander sense.
That's where the picture is a bit of a let-down and, incidentally, a lot like another of this year's ambitious art house attempts, "Babel". It's clear there's supposed to be an epic relevance to the whole thing, it's just not clear what it is. There are, as mentioned, fierce existential themes (highlighted by a scene in which Jean-Baptiste realizes he has no scent of his own and perceives it as an invalidation of his earthly existence). There's also surplus evidence to suggest we're seeing a study of dark human desire, necessity and obsessive nature. And, perhaps most confounding, unmistakable religious overtones (I doubt many will forget the 'execution' scene as long as they live) that may have, in a film less certain of itself, sought to excuse the actions of its protagonist. It does not seek to do this at all, however, and by the end most will be wondering what exactly was being sought all this time.
Remember once again, as those of us who haven't read the book must, that it is indeed an adaptation and it becomes probable that "Perfume" seeks to do nothing more than interestingly, inventively and (I imagine) faithfully bring Patrick Süskind's novel to the screen, do disturbing justice to its dark central character and put us inside his perception of the world. Say what you will, you probably won't see a film this unique again anytime soon. What on Earth Süskind was thinking, or what he was trying to say is, I think, quite another matter.
Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Ben Whishaw) is a gutter birth in 1600's Paris and he is raised by a rather indifferent orphanage until he is turned over to a brutal tannery owner. He is also one of the most extraordinarily gifted "personages of his time", narrator John Hurt informs us. His gift is unique, and is more or less the fuel for the existential fire that burns, almost without much thought as to whether the audience quite understands, throughout the film: he has an unfathomably strong and accurate sense of smell. To give you an idea, this guy can smell underwater, through glass and over twenty or so miles. He can also instinctivey recreate any perfume he smells, even in trace amounts.
This gift of his draws him to work in the perfume shop of Has-Been perfumer Giuseppe Baldini (Dustin Hoffman), but when he catches a whiff of a beautiful red haired girl selling plums on the streets, the film's true nature, and his defining obsession begins he wants to learn to preserve the scent of beauty.
I won't go into any more detail, suffice it to say what I'm sure you all know anyway, which is that this obsession of John-Baptiste's leads him singularly and irrevocably down a path of darkness and murder. It's a path on which the light that began it - the dream, if you will - soon becomes obscured to the audience until what we see is no more a 'gifted personage', nor a 'murderer', but a madman.
And here "Perfume" joins the ranks of the all time great filmic portrayals of mad people it declines to relate to them, it refuses to excuse them, but it offers something of an explanation, presents something in the way of their mindset so that we are put off just enough to wonder if there might ever have been hope for the lost cause we're watching. In this case, it's the amazing representation of smell tracking shots across landscapes and through intimate spaces, a swelling and yearning string-based sound track and rather remarkable acting from Whishaw. These things all, for most part, manage to give the impression of a man who, although sociopathic, hasn't set out to cause harm, only to find cathartic relief. The film's grandiose treatment of the least film-friendly of the five senses creates a sort of awe in the audience that leaves us actually able to conceive of just what Scent means to John-Baptiste even if we're still not sure what it all really means in the grander sense.
That's where the picture is a bit of a let-down and, incidentally, a lot like another of this year's ambitious art house attempts, "Babel". It's clear there's supposed to be an epic relevance to the whole thing, it's just not clear what it is. There are, as mentioned, fierce existential themes (highlighted by a scene in which Jean-Baptiste realizes he has no scent of his own and perceives it as an invalidation of his earthly existence). There's also surplus evidence to suggest we're seeing a study of dark human desire, necessity and obsessive nature. And, perhaps most confounding, unmistakable religious overtones (I doubt many will forget the 'execution' scene as long as they live) that may have, in a film less certain of itself, sought to excuse the actions of its protagonist. It does not seek to do this at all, however, and by the end most will be wondering what exactly was being sought all this time.
Remember once again, as those of us who haven't read the book must, that it is indeed an adaptation and it becomes probable that "Perfume" seeks to do nothing more than interestingly, inventively and (I imagine) faithfully bring Patrick Süskind's novel to the screen, do disturbing justice to its dark central character and put us inside his perception of the world. Say what you will, you probably won't see a film this unique again anytime soon. What on Earth Süskind was thinking, or what he was trying to say is, I think, quite another matter.