RepulsionSomething is off about Carol Ledoux; she spends stray moments staring off into the distance, she has more than a healthy amount of social anxiety, and as we discover, there is something more lurking beneath the beautiful blonde exterior. Roman Polanski's Repulsion follows Carol (Catherine Deneuve) from her job at a beauty salon giving manicures, to her apartment life with her sister, Helen (Yvonne Furneaux), to her awkward interactions with her would-be suitor, Colin (John Fraser). But Carol is removed even from her own life, wandering in a fog from the start, and like the rotting carcass of the erstwhile rabbit dinner, gradually deteriorating from there.
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"The nightmare world of a virgin's dreams becomes the screen's shocking reality!!" The tagline for Repulsion plays up the sense of exploitation and repressed sexuality--an old trick to provoke grindhouse filmgoers--but the film is a psychological thriller which deals more in the social and sexual anxiety of Carol, who shares more in common with victims of abuse than a woman who is subconsciously craves sex. In Carol's world, she is surrounded by men who treat her as an object in differing ways, because she is beautiful, and because she is aloof, which might be something of a temptation--or a challenge--for them. While Colin's affection seems genuine and innocent enough, he doesn't really gauge Carol's feelings, and his advances are poorly timed and chosen. When he bursts into the already deteriorating apartment (and comfort zone) of Carol, this violation--naive as it is--was the worst thing he could do. Carol's sister has a lover, Michael (Ian Hendry), who is conceited and a bit of a jerk. When Carol spurns his attention, he responds to Helen that Carol should see a doctor...Helen's reaction is more defensive than shocked, as though this was a reaction she might have expected, but preferred not to hear. The picture we see of Carol as a child is one that speaks volumes, even when Carol speaks very little. The young girl stares off into the distance, as Carol has done several times before, suggesting something was amiss even then. Alternately, it could be viewed that she is staring with some kind of contempt at the man in the picture, intimating that there was some kind of sexual abuse at that age, and this abuse has scarred her deeply, as evidenced by the trail of carnage she leaves. And just as the film has opened with the deep look into the eye--the windows of the soul which are surprisingly closed--so too is that accusatory stare at the end.
Even Carol's best attempts to assimilate with the surrounding city of London and civilization is weak at best for the Belgian emigre, and more and more--in the absence of her sister's guiding hand while she and Michael are on vacation in Italy--she begins to retreat into their apartment, wandering throughout it, aimless and as if sleepwalking. Even the most remote of sounds begin to haunt Carol, and small noises accentuate the sounds of silence in her sanctum--dripping water, ticking clocks, even the neighboring church bells signal the presence of a psychotic episode, be it a delusion or when pressed, a violent defense of her lair. When the landlord (Patrick Wymark) finally comes to claim the rent, he aggressively forces himself onto Carol, and her response is swift and bloody, but also absent of any emotion other than, well, repulsion. But prior to this event, even viewing a stranger out of a window combined with the grating sounds of her sister and her lover's late-night sessions in the adjoining room conjures up a rape fantasy in Carol, deftly executed without sound to highlight that it is her paranoia which overtakes her, and not a real assailant. Carol's apartment begins to appear as the manifestation of her psyche and her fears about masculinity and of being violated. The spaces become vast and dank, with moist and fleshy walls which grope at her. The walls also begin to crack with a thunderous roar, and Carol begins to perform strange actions involving an undershirt of Michael's left behind from the night before their trip abroad. Carol is easily distracted, filling tubs with water, or forgetting entirely about leaving food out. But what is more interesting is that we often see that things which she forms a kind of attachment to get moved around without our awareness of it until it has already been relocated. For example, Michael's straight razor ends up on the plate with the rabbit--and we can surmise to what end it was put--but that kind of absent-minded placement means that we will never fully realize what is going on in Carol's head, or how she truly feels about men and the world around her. She is as a bird of prey: beautiful and cautious, but deadly when provoked.
Recommended for: Fans of a psychological thriller which is also in part a psychological study of a young woman suffering from a kind of trauma regarding men and sexuality; also, an early work for one of cinema's masters of the genre.
Even Carol's best attempts to assimilate with the surrounding city of London and civilization is weak at best for the Belgian emigre, and more and more--in the absence of her sister's guiding hand while she and Michael are on vacation in Italy--she begins to retreat into their apartment, wandering throughout it, aimless and as if sleepwalking. Even the most remote of sounds begin to haunt Carol, and small noises accentuate the sounds of silence in her sanctum--dripping water, ticking clocks, even the neighboring church bells signal the presence of a psychotic episode, be it a delusion or when pressed, a violent defense of her lair. When the landlord (Patrick Wymark) finally comes to claim the rent, he aggressively forces himself onto Carol, and her response is swift and bloody, but also absent of any emotion other than, well, repulsion. But prior to this event, even viewing a stranger out of a window combined with the grating sounds of her sister and her lover's late-night sessions in the adjoining room conjures up a rape fantasy in Carol, deftly executed without sound to highlight that it is her paranoia which overtakes her, and not a real assailant. Carol's apartment begins to appear as the manifestation of her psyche and her fears about masculinity and of being violated. The spaces become vast and dank, with moist and fleshy walls which grope at her. The walls also begin to crack with a thunderous roar, and Carol begins to perform strange actions involving an undershirt of Michael's left behind from the night before their trip abroad. Carol is easily distracted, filling tubs with water, or forgetting entirely about leaving food out. But what is more interesting is that we often see that things which she forms a kind of attachment to get moved around without our awareness of it until it has already been relocated. For example, Michael's straight razor ends up on the plate with the rabbit--and we can surmise to what end it was put--but that kind of absent-minded placement means that we will never fully realize what is going on in Carol's head, or how she truly feels about men and the world around her. She is as a bird of prey: beautiful and cautious, but deadly when provoked.
Recommended for: Fans of a psychological thriller which is also in part a psychological study of a young woman suffering from a kind of trauma regarding men and sexuality; also, an early work for one of cinema's masters of the genre.