As an American, I recognize that the vast majority of films I see are produced here in the U.S., and the fact that Hollywood is such a film superpower exacerbates that disparity. But there’s a wide world out there full of talented filmmakers, and as a lover of cinema, I don’t want to handicap myself by neglecting to see what other cultures are creating. As such, I’ve made an effort in recent months to catch up on some of the best non-English language films that the world has to offer. I’m starting this new series to dissect some of the foreign films that I have greatly enjoyed, and hopefully I can help you discover some hidden gems that aren’t as well-known in America.
Today we’re exploring Raw, the debut of fledgling French filmmaker Julia Ducournau. Raw is a horror film that follows Justine, a young vegetarian student who is entering her first semester at a private veterinary college. She undergoes excessive hazing from her classmates, meets interesting people, and discovers something sinister about herself: she has an intense craving for flesh. *SPOILERS AHEAD!*
Nonverbal Development
One thing that Ducournau does so well in Raw is developing her characters through tangential means, rather than outright saying what they think aloud. Film is a visual medium, after all, and it’s so much more effective when we’re able to deduce personal thoughts and dilemmas from nonverbal cues. If you’ve read my blog before, you know that I HATE when a film overexplains things through dialogue and really appreciate filmmakers who know how to do more with less (like in You Were Never Really Here, Leave No Trace, and Moonlight). Justine is a character with lots of problems, both internal and external, and Ducournau endears us to her without needing a single line of on-the-nose dialogue.
Justine undergoes a significant transformation throughout the film, not only in her discovery of cannibalism, but in her self-confidence. She begins as a timid, insecure girl and slowly becomes a self-assured woman once she learns to go after what she wants. So much of this is conveyed through body language; actress Garance Marillier did a fantastic job conveying Justine’s disposition early on through slumped shoulders, contained walking gait, and fearful eye movement. But as Justine undergoes a metamorphosis of sorts, Marillier matches with more assured movements and confident poses. It reminds me very much of Natalie Portman’s character and performance in Black Swan, in that she is a shy and self-conscious girl who must learn to inhabit a sexual and free persona.
Because of the coy way in which Ducournau reveals information to the audience, there is a significant amount of hidden motivation in the film. We don’t fully understand the motives of characters like Justine’s sister or parents until much later, which leads to some fascinating moments of mystery. The film’s opening sequence shows a mysterious figure causing a car crash in the middle of nowhere, and later we learn that it is actually Justine’s sister, hoping for a deadly collision so she can feast on the body of the victims. One of the key elements of tension and irony involves Justine attempting to hide her urges from her sister, who knows all along what her sister’s true nature is and is just watching, waiting for her to realize it herself. That’s the kind of thing that will make re-watches of the film that much more compelling: playing with the ignorance of the audience to deliver a nuanced, multi-layered performance.
Hidden Meaning
Ducournau has not explicitly stated what her film’s underlying message is, leaving it open to interpretation. However, there are several prevailing theories about what greater statement is being made with Raw, primarily as it pertains to social commentary on promiscuity and identity.
Raw is a highly sexual film. It takes place at a college, where hormones run wild and young, horny teens have at each other frequently. And yet our protagonist, Justine, is a virgin…her sexual experience parallels that of her consumption of meat (non-existent). Justine’s sexuality is reflected in her vegetarianism early on: we see how her parents impose their vegan philosophy on her (a metaphor for conservative repression of natural urges) and how her older sister peer-pressures her into eating meat for the first time (everyone’s doing it, it’s not a big deal, etc.). Her childhood repression is challenged from the very beginning, both with meat and with sex. And symbolically, they are one and the same: Ducournau uses cannibalism to blur the lines between literal hunger and sexual craving. As Justine’s urges get stronger, she seeks out men to fuck and literally eat.
In a way, the film is about Justine learning how to break her inhibitions and anxieties. If the film is taken at face value as a metaphor for sex, she is experiencing the most extreme version of self-doubt possible. She knows that her parents would disapprove of her choices and feels guilty about them, despite how good it feels for her to indulge in her urges. She gets physically ill after her first consumption of meat, and is horrified to discover that she wants more. The next time she tries it, she convinces her roommate to drive miles away with her so she can devour convenience-store deli meat in private. That’s the ultimate in self-consciousness right there. A humiliating viral video emerges in which a delirious Justine attacks a dead corpse in the morgue, similar to a video smuggled out of a party depicting some sexual promiscuity of a girl. A sort of climax of the film comes when Justine attacks her sister in public and they both take bites from each other’s arms…the first time Justine indulges her vice in public. It’s a cathartic moment, like she’s finally allowing other people to see who she really is (in a perverse sort of way).
There’s also a theme of self-discovery underneath everything. This is a coming-of-age story, after all, and our story begins with Justine leaving the nest of her parents’ home for the first time. Her story, in part, is about finding one’s own identity for yourself instead of defining it by other people’s expectations. Is she a contained, cautious person like her parents want her to be, or the untamed, primal force of sexual indulgence that her older sister represents? Other characters around her reinforce this idea; for instance, her roommate is a gay man (and a lapsed Muslim), whose self-identity is challenged when Justine comes on to him, hungry for his flesh. Justine’s sister is either a good or a bad influence on her, depending on your perspective: she encourages Justine to pursue her desires and to stop denying her natural urges. Her sister has already completed the process and found confidence in her own identity, and now wants Justine to undergo the process herself. Are her methods extreme, encouraging her cannibalism? Perhaps, but there’s something endearing about fostering self-confidence in the people you care about, a story we’ve seen countless times before in film.
Visual Flair
Because this is a screenwriting blog, I often gloss over the other aspects of film like directing, lighting and cinematography, but I can’t do that here because it’s one of the main selling points of Raw. For a first-time filmmaker, Julia Ducournau really knows what she’s doing with the camera and delivers a phenomenal piece of visual media that never gets tiresome.
For much of the film, the camera is framed wide, allowing us to take in the world of this university Justine has arrived at. This matches the tone of discovery as young Justine experiences the wider world for the first time, away from the suffocating claustrophobia of her parents. However, this only amplifies moments of tightness when Justine begins to undergo her transformation. The camera can be invasive at times, spying on Justine in the shower or under the covers, in moments where Justine feels the weight of the judgment of others pressing upon her. Much like Justine, the audience isn’t given a chance to breathe easy in moments of distress.
The color schemes of Raw are gorgeous, playing with high contrast and bright, popping visuals. Being a film about cannibalism, the color red is obviously prevalent and blood is ever-present in the film. But Ducournau uses all of the primary colors at her disposal, blending them or contrasting them as necessary to draw the eye. One notable sequence involves Justine going to a party, having blue paint thrown on her, then thrown into a bathroom with a yellow boy and told not to come out until they’re both green. This kind of provocative symbolism pervades the entire film and highlights the extremities of Justine’s emotions under intense peer pressure.
Even the editing adds to the emotional weight of the film. Ducournau likes to use long takes and minimal cuts, forcing the audience to remain in a moment longer than is comfortable. When Justine feels trapped at a rave party, we follow her for minutes on end, seeking an exit, overwhelmed by the excess. When she eats a severed finger in a particularly disturbing moment, we are not allowed to look away; we must stay and watch her consume the entire thing. And when Ducournau does decide to cut short, it’s more impactful; a car crash is far more horrifying when we are sitting and watching a peaceful landscape for a prolonged period, then a sudden cut jars us, much like the driver who swerves into a tree. Every aspect of the filming process is designed for maximum impact on the audience, and while there might not be any supernatural elements to the horror, it’s a horror film nonetheless, seeking to unseat the audience.
Conclusion
Some of the symbolism may be on-the-nose, but for a first-time filmmaker, Julia Ducournau’s Raw is an incredible piece of art. Eye-popping cinematography, strong and relatable characters, and a clever (if not entirely original) metaphor that should be thought-provoking for most. If you can stomach some incredibly disturbing images, but consider yourself a lover of cinema like I do, Raw is a must-see. Check it out on Netflix today!
VERDICT: A
What are some of YOUR favorite foreign-language films of the past decade or so? What should I cover next Friday?
-Austin Daniel
All image rights belong to Focus Features.
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