The Lover: Desire, Cinema, and the Weight of Expectation
As early as the 1990s, the French Cineastes enthusiasticlly awaited Jean-Jacques Annaud’s take on the thema of ‘The Lover.’ The book on which the film is based is a controversial piece of work by the accomplished author Marguerite Duras, and as a work of creative exploration, it promises all the attributes of heat, scandal, and artistry. Surely, the topless photos of Duras as a china doll are more than enough of a teaser to get the imagination stirring. The excitement before the film release has also been attributed to wine-and-cheese gabbing on the way the film will be structured, as well the casting of the boldest actors to play the more than scandalous characters.
A Promise of Bold Storytelling
Both in Europe and in other parts of the world, audiences were captivated by the notion of a motion picture which came close to the boundaries of art and sensuality. In France, Duras’s book was already a work of great fame. Still, the translation of the poetry of her romance into film was a distinctly risky undertaking. There were rumors as to the casting – who could possibly portray the French schoolgirl, and, more importantly, who could capture the balance of frailty and dominance in the Chinese lover?
What made the excitement more intense was the international dimension of the undertaking. This was not going to be a European art-house film; it was going to have the marketing of a Hollywood blockbuster, and Annaud was known for having directed big-budget epics like The Name of The Rose and Quest for Fire. For Indian audiences who heard of the film through film societies and imported magazines, the excitement was from a different angle. Here was a film which openly talked about underage sexuality, colonialism, and lust, all of which, in our own cinema, were delicately tiptoed around.
Screen Adaption
The Lover, released in 1992, depicts a predominantly lush but also to a great extent, suffocating world. The film centers on Jane March’s character, a French girl who is 15 living with a poor family in Saigon. On a ferry crossing the Mekong river, she encounters a rich Chinese businessman, Tony Leung Ka-fai. Their chemistry is palpable, and, in a short time, they become entrenched in a romantic sexual affair in the Chinese man’s private apartment as love is the only language they share.
The relationship itself is never only about love. In fact, it is deeply ingrained in the 1929 Indochina class and racial structures. The girl’s family, while dependent on the promise of wealth, enjoys the bonds with the Chinese lover while the Chinese family shuns the relationship due to the fear of loss of family honor. Their relationship is tender, but also infused with the social circumstances in which they find themselves.
The emotional arc is brutal: with the kind of daring innocence she possesses, the French girl goes on to experience the deepest, most dismal outcome of the affair and also, a sense of empowerment. The Chinese man, while still revealing his emotional vulnerability, is in most circumstances deeply entrenched despite traditional family structures and obligations. No other outcome can be reasonably predicted other than that both players in the affair are deeply marked.
Jane March: Thrown Into the Fire
Perhaps the boldest decision Annaud made was casting a 17-year-old, British, and completely untrained actress March Jane. For her, the role of March was a double-edged sword. She captured a unique blend of bashfulness and sultriness that was inappropriate and yet, was perfectly suited for the role. The fact that her character was experiencing the awakening of her sexual fantasies at a tender age, was all the more reason of her youth being a great asset for the role, as it made her portrayal all the more spine-chilling.
However, once the cameras stopped rolling, the actress was startled by the adulation. The tabloids dubbed her the ‘Sinner from Pinner’, exoticising the character and the actress and ultimately, portraying both as one and the same. Like the character she played, she was also a victim of fame, scrutiny and exploitation. The tabloid sensationalism and the public gaze took her by storm. The burden the film carried was a paradox, the very image of the actress and a stepping stone for her.
The Weight of Representation
Stepping into yet another risky and difficult role, the widely respected actor of Hong Kong cinema, Tony Leung Ka-fai also had the privilege of being the first Leung Tony character loose. Beyond simply a lover, his character was also a mark of cultural otherness. The character is rich, yet powerless, a man yet at the same time, de-masculated by the colonial biases of his gender. Leung managed to achieve this in a meticulously subtle manner relayed through the ideal blend of desire and melancholy.
However, the film did cost something for him as well. Some observers said the film orientalized his character—defining him less as a person and more as a fantasy in the mind of the French girl. In any case, in the years that followed, Leung’s career not only survived, but thrived as well, particularly in Asian cinema where his diverse body of work in heroic epics and intimate dramas gained him steadfast admiration.
What Worked and What Faltered
As for the material itself, The Lover film was a remarkable cinematic accomplishment. The baleful music in combination with the golden tones of the Saigon landscape and the claustrophobic interiors of the lovers’ apartment created an atmosphere that was both magically and tragically intoxicating. The amourish scenes, as Duras’s novels, were explicit. Annaud’s trademark polish was not reserved in, but rather put focus on, the explicitness and painterly compositions of the scenes with the aim of achieving art, not scandal.
Yet, viewers of Duras’s novel often argued that the film was probably the ‘mois’ of the book. Despite capturing the psychical aspects of the affair, the turmoil that was underneath was not that at the forefront for the audience. On the contrary, the French girl’s voice, so prevalent in the French version, was economically illustrated in vert screen. The outcome, like in the case of the book, was a film intended to be seen that, somewhat paradoxically, was distant to the emotions for the viewers.
The Buzz and the Backlash
Before the release, the audience anticipated a film that would provoke and shock; and after the release, many were still in shock, but were also divided. In France, some critics lauded it as pioneering, and dismissed it as soft porn with artistic intentions, while in the United States it was rated NC-17, which restricted its distribution, but enhanced its image as a censored genius.
In India, the film was never granted a formal theatrical release, but pirated VHS tapes made their way among college students and film lovers. For a lot of people, it was the first step into world cinema which was more discussed in whispers than openly. The taboo surrounding it made it even more attractive.
Secrets Behind the Camera
Very few people are aware of the turmoil that surrounded the making of The Lover. Jane March is said to have had a serious misunderstanding about the degree of nudity that was required, which also caused some friction with Annaud. There were some rumors that the director emotionally abused the young actress to get the kind of lack of defense needed, so that he could achieve the duplicity he so desired on the canvas. Much later, March talked about the torture that the shoot had been and how it had been something that she was too young to face.
One less famous detail is that Marguerite Duras herself did not like the adaptation of her work. She claimed the movie misunderstood her vision, turning the novel into a spectacle and ignoring the profound confession at its heart. She further intensified the existing controversy about the film by turning it into a cultural watershed on authorship, exploitation, and the periphery of art. Such was the impact of Duras’ disapprovals that the film was looked at as controversy on its own.
The Lingering Legacy.
More than thirty years after, the film is still remembered as one that tried to mix art with provocation. Its relentless promotion before the premiere suggested something big, its reviews claimed something else, and the stories behind the stories left the people involved with invisible scars.
The same was with Jane March, she was left with the role that was both defining and a curse. For Tony Leung Ka-fai, it served as the first step to the recognition that he was layered with a complex of international culture. And to the people that watched it, no matter the location, be it Paris, NYC, being on the romantic side was about the unbearable contradiction of desire, race and power.