Swann Song

BOY MEETS GIRL. He falls madly in love, wasting time and money on his object of desire, Girl retreats. It's the same old story, told this time with more talent. In the venerable tradition of films like Endless Love, Volker Schlondorf's latest is a tale of obsession. But where Zeferelli's version was a superficial skimming of a very good novel. Schlondorf's adaptation renders Marcel Proust some justice.

Just what kind of man would fall in love with a woman he knows he doesn't love? A masochist perhaps. Yet Swann's personality isn't reduced to such a simple formula. He is a Jewish assimile whose family's conversion to Christianity is fuel for the gossips of 19th century Paris. He is a talented dilettante always working on an unseen book, an aesthete always surrounded by beautiful objects. Yet any possible cinematic beauty is subdued in Swann's apartments. His rooms look musty, they invite select rays of sun; in short, his enviroment reflects his thoughts.

By contrast, Odette de Crecy (Ornella Mutti), has what might tactfully be called 'tacky taste'. She is, moreover, a demimondaine-little more than a prostitute on the social scale--to her snobbish patroness, the Duchess de Guermantes (Fanny Ardant).

At first, Swann is unstirred by Odette's sensuousness--until she appeals to his aesthetic tastes. He is reminded of Botticelli's painting of Zipporah, and the resemblance grips his imagination. Obsessed, Swann jeopardizes his own position among the aristocracy to pursue the young woman.

But all of this means little to Odette, who is indifferent to Botticelli and weary of Swann's possessiveness. She resists being owned, unless of course it can be used to some advantage.

Schlondorf handles the evolution of the romance skillfully, by using the associations of present to past in Swann's mind. A carriage ride hurtles his thoughts to a passionate tryst with Odette in the same carriage. The technique is confusing at first, since Schlondorf forswears the traditional wavering picture and weepy music school of flashback, but highly effective once the viewer becomes accustomed to the abrupt shifts from past to present.

The substance of the romance is thus intimated through Swann's memory, and a series of visual clues. As the patterns become apparent, Swann smelling an orchid cradled between Odette's breasts, for example, takes on heavy sexual significance; the code words 'doing an orchid' mean making love for the pair. At this stage of the game, Odette is "always available."

Yet within what seems a short span of time, Swann must plead for Odette's affections. He pursues her as the rejects him in favor of the wealthy bourgeoise, Madame Verdurin (Marie-Christine Barrault). In desperation, Swann searches Odette's room for elusive voices. He torments himself with details of her lesbian attachments. Foreboding music adds to the tension. Swann's frustrations build to such a pitch that a crash seems inevitable.

There is a twist to this oft-told tale. Swann, who avoids love because he is afraid of suffering, steps out of the role set by his clique. Odette longs to play a part denied to the demimondaine; "should I play the piano or be tender?" She asks the anguished Swann. Yet Swann is wracked by his own questions; he sees no future with Odette, but can not bring himself to break with her. He remains mired in a belief that love is a "sickness" he cannot cure until it has done its damage.

SCHLONDORF gives an almost relentlessly depressing view of relations between the sexes. Neither Swann nor Odette seem to transcend their own emotional needs when together. Curiously, though, Schlondorf ignores some avenues that might have shed light on such sexual politics. He spends very little time, for example, on the homosexual relationship between Baron de Charlus (Alain Delon) and a young Jew-potentially fertile ground for some parallels.

For the most part, however, Schlondorf's direction is skillful filmmaking as well as a compelling adaptation of Proust's novel of the same name. He focusses the camera carefully and uses voiceovers sparingly to reveal Swann's thoughts.

He also ensured artistic success by relying on the talents of Jeremy Irons, best known as Charles Ryder in the PBS production of Brideshead Revisited. Playing a neurotic isn't easy, but playing him in another language is a real test of skill. To be sure, in the version released in France, Irons' voice was dubbed in, but the American version displays Irons speaking a remarkably fluent French. His accent only adds to Swann's vaguely foreign origins.

Perhaps Schlondorf's greatest accomplishment is his decision to incorporate Proust's epilogue to Swann in Love(not originally included in the story itself) into his film adaptation. The material shows Swann three decades later in life, when the devastating effects of an illness--and his choices--are apparent. Against the background of the new 20th century--epitomized by Odette's rise from risque to respectable--Swann is a decaying relic. Irons gives Swann the appropriate nerve-wracking intensity of a man out of time, whose tastes belong to another era. Through Irons' skillful portrayal and Schlondorf's careful direction. Swann in Love takes us into a mind with few glimmers and little relief from the suffering it inflicts upon itself.