Well, that was a trip.
Holy Motors follows the multiple lives of Monsieur Oscar (Denis Lavant). A businessman, a beggar woman, a motion-capture performer, a deranged, cannibalistic, exhibitionist leprechaun named Monsieur Merde (in case it’s not clear, that life particularly disturbed me), an iron-fisted father of a teenage girl, an accordionist, an assassin, a dying man, and a family man…to chimpanzees. I’m purposefully omitting his life as a friend or lover to a woman played by Kylie Minogue because I interpreted their scene as a liminal space, which I will explore more later.
Within the first half hour of the screening, I resonated with the Wave magazine model: frozen. Though I would not have remained as calm or complicit in being abducted and draped in a burqa-like shroud, I was trapped in my seat, forced to watch it all unfold.
Oscar traveled from appointment to appointment in a white stretch limousine, his cocoon and dressing room. During the first couple moments of pause and preparation, he appeared relatively emotionless. However, he grew increasingly manic and volatile as the day(s) progressed.
When asked “what makes you carry on, Oscar?” he simply replied, “the beauty of the act.” While this may be true, the act where he assassinates a banker and then proceeds to, essentially, act as a mortuary cosmetologist, looked alarmingly unscripted, so-to-speak.
All of Oscar’s acts end in death—whether he or another person physically dies, or because the life he’s inhabiting, along with those around him, ceases to hold narrative relevance…then cue Céline (Édith Scob) arriving with the limo. Still, I did not view the decision to cast his own likeness onto the banker—and then stab himself in the same spot—as part of the act. Despite finding “beauty” in it, he is, understandably, fatigued by his job. This improvisation was a subconscious attempt to confuse Céline into picking up the banker instead of him.
Back in the limo, Oscar is noticeably shaken up—a stark contrast to the immediate disassociation characteristic of his previous curtain calls. I am unsure what the onset of this spiral was, but I can only imagine that the physical and emotional depth necessary to complete each act is exhausting, and can gradually erode one’s sense of agency over their own life. The lines between Oscar’s own identity and those of his other lives have blurred beyond recognition.
The most important moment in the film is Oscar’s interaction with Minogue. I actually found that the inclusion of her song Can’t Get You out of My Head did a better job at capturing the theme of duplicitousness than her live performance of Who Were We?—too on-the-nose. I mean, just read the former song’s lyrics: “I just can’t get you out of my head/ Boy, it’s more than a dare to think about/ There’s a dark secret in me/ Don’t leave me locked in your heart/ Set me free.” These can subtly be attributed to the motions of harboring the fears, desires, and general anxieties inherent in adopting a new identity. Oscar’s method acting gives Daniel Day-Lewis a run for his money. Oscar, huh.
Minogue is also an actor living nine, or fifty-seven, lives. After their limos nearly collide (it’s almost as if they are no longer under supervision), they slip away into a surreal space filled with mannequin-like corpses—the location of Minogue’s next act. To me, this felt like the first time Oscar was outside the limo, appearing, presumably, as himself. The two bonded over their shared disdain for work. Therefore, when she pursues her act—which, unsurprisingly, ends in suicide—Oscar screams. He is horrified not by the gore, but by seeing someone who, despite just validating his inner conflict, still succumbed to external responsibilities.
Crying in the limo—yes, he has officially broken character/his general stoicism—Oscar approaches his final act. To my delight, the viewers are not given as detailed a picture of this final act—we cannot hear what he is telling the chimpanzees because of how amped up the music is. This rupture of rhythm suggests that Oscar is either taking a pause or sullenly surrendering to his fate. In which case, the tears represent the painful realization that his dream of breaking free from this cycle is, indeed, a pipe dream.
Wow, Colin!
This is a very interesting and unique take on Holy Motors. Since the film is so obscure, it is really interesting to see everyone’s different interpretations of it. Your theory about Oscar attempting to confuse Céline into picking up the banker instead of him is intriguing. I actually interpreted this scene differently, however, but that’s the beauty of this film. In my opinion, I believed that Oscar and all the other actors have many clones around the city. For example, the man who Oscar shoots at the restaurant looks identical to the way he did at the beginning of the film. Therefore, these actors can “die” as their different characters without anyone really caring or noticing. They are meant to stay anonymous to eliminate all their emotions and dehumanize them. When Jean jumps off the building, she isn’t Jean any longer – she is Eva Grace. If my theory is correct, then another identical actor could just replace her, without anyone knowing or caring (other than Oscar) about her death.
I also found the inclusion of Kylie Minogue’s character, Jean, very fascinating. I also believe that the film’s use of her song “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” at the apartment party was intentional. Since “Kylie Minogue” exists in this world, the same world as Jean, she could very well be another character that Jean is playing. This brings up many questions regarding what is and isn’t “real” in the world of the film. Although there is a lot of ambiguity regarding the answer, I do believe that Oscar’s scene with Jean is actually real. The two characters do not seem to be “acting” during this scene, and their emotions towards each other seem genuine. The actors in this world lack any true human interaction (it is all a facade), so this was probably a very emotional 20 minutes for the both of them. Although Jean was assigned to die, he has to continue living in this simulation of a world. The fact that Oscar choses to continue his work as an actor, although given the option to stop, reminds me of the Matrix. He knows more than the average “blue pill” citizen, and wants to continue taking the “red pill”, even if it hurts.
Hi Colin,
I completely relate to your reaction to Holy Motors—it really was a trip. The film is such a bizarre journey, and I found myself similarly stuck in my seat, just trying to process what was happening with Oscar’s constantly shifting identities. I think you nailed it when you mentioned the film’s “beauty of the act”—it’s as if Oscar is addicted to the performance, but also seems to be deeply weary of it, especially as the day (or days?) go on. His emotional breakdown after the assassination and the way he tries to sabotage his final appointment with the banker felt like a moment of exhaustion, both physical and emotional.
That whole scene with Kylie Minogue is one of the most moving moments in the film for me, too. It’s surreal to see them bond over their shared dissatisfaction with their roles, and her suicide afterwards really emphasizes the sense of despair that pervades the film.
The final act with the chimpanzees felt like a culmination of Oscar’s internal struggle. The abrupt shift in the music, as you mentioned, signals that this is a moment of surrender, where Oscar has to face the truth that he’ll never escape the roles he’s playing. It’s a powerful and devastating way to end the film—forcing the viewer to confront the idea that no matter how much we may want to break free from the roles society, or we ourselves impose on us, it’s not always possible.
This film is definetly a puzzle, but it’s one that keeps you thinking long after the credits roll. I’m excited to hear more interpretations from the class on Thursday and I have a feeling we’ll all leave with different takes on what the film is really about!
Hello Colin,
I loved your interesting insights on the movie!
I deeply agree with you on your thoughts of the film, especially where you talked about the acting. Oscar’s identity keeps on changing throughout the film, and because of this, I was so confused and almost had a bit of trouble processing what was going on on the screen. Eventually that confusion kept me rooted into my seat, though.
When you noted that all of Oscar’s lives ended in death, regardless of the person dying being himself or other people, that got me into some deep thinking. Is there a meaning behind it? A meaning, relating to the life and “the beauty of acting” that life contains?
The film itself is a very challenging journey, but I think it was ultimately a question and answer about “the real and virtual” world. Whenever Oscar’s actual life and his “acted” lives intersect, we get a little closer to the answer to this question between reality and a movie.
Hey Colin,
I loved your post and thought you made many interesting points. One thing you mentioned in your post that I also noticed when watching the film was when the man entered the limo and seemingly accused Oscar of growing tired of his job. I sympathize with Oscar greatly because he seemingly runs around every day playing new roles on a clearly tight schedule; however, something else I noticed that I think relates to Oscar’s fatigue is when he grows sad after finding out he’s not going to the forest. To me, I viewed the forest as an escape from Oscar’s highly artificial and tiring life. The forest symbolizes freedom and directly juxtaposes his highly urban life. Because of Oscar’s longing for the forest, I think that provides more insight into his feelings for his job. I assume Oscar has been working for a while; he’s built up wealth to afford his house and support his kids, and this film could be a critique of capitalism and neverending work.
Perhaps Carax is trying to personify eternal work through Oscar. He is constantly finishing “assignments” and on a tight schedule to perform all his acts. Additionally, each of these acts blurs the line between labor, identity, and purpose, ultimately illustrating the dehumanizing effects of perpetual work.
Overall, I, too, was interested in the “What makes you carry on, Oscar?” question, which reveals Oscar’s longing for an escape as Carax is critiquing human tendencies to work beyond purpose and identity.