Here’s a bold statement: the film industry often overlooks the very projects that challenge us to think differently. And this is where Marianne, a one-woman film starring the legendary Isabelle Huppert, steps into the spotlight—or rather, stumbles into a conversation that’s as contentious as it is thought-provoking. As I reflect on my two decades at Variety, where I’ve penned over 2,000 reviews, I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for the films that slipped through the cracks. Unlike most critics with clear-cut assignments, my mission has been to cover as many films as humanly possible, from Hollywood blockbusters to obscure indie gems. But some, like Marianne, linger on what I call my ‘guilt list’—films I simply didn’t have time to review.
But here’s where it gets controversial: Marianne isn’t just any overlooked film. Directed by Michael Rozek, a late-blooming filmmaker with a revolutionary vision, it’s a project that dares to question what’s ‘real’ in cinema. Starring Huppert—my all-time favorite actress—the film is essentially a monologue, shot in long takes with a wobbly camera, where she reads from a script that feels more like a manifesto than a narrative. Huppert, elegant as ever, delivers Rozek’s words with gravitas, but her non-native English and awkward pauses create a disconnect. It’s as if she’s reacting to the text rather than embodying it, leaving the audience wondering: Is this Marianne’s voice, or just a recitation?
And this is the part most people miss: Rozek’s ambition isn’t just to make a film; it’s to challenge the very essence of storytelling. He argues that plots, stories, and even reality TV are constructed illusions. ‘Wake up! Be real!’ Huppert screams at one point, addressing both the camera and, seemingly, the film industry itself. But who is Rozek really chiding? Is it the audiences, the distributors, or the ‘suits’ who prioritize escapism over raw, unfiltered emotion? His frustration is palpable, but his approach feels pedantic, leaving even die-hard Huppert fans like me struggling to stay engaged.
Here’s the kicker: Rozek believes cinema should help us confront our pain, not numb it. It’s a noble idea, but does it hold up? While films like Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast or Tim Burton’s best work achieve emotional communion through stylized storytelling, Marianne falls short. It’s a film that wants to be revolutionary but ends up feeling naive. With a budget of $350,000 and little chance of financial success, it’s hard not to wonder if Rozek is screaming into the void.
But let’s not dismiss his intentions entirely. Cinema, at its best, captures life in a reflection—a mirror to our souls. Marianne attempts this, particularly in its allusions to mortality and ‘real life.’ Yet, it fails to deliver the cathartic epiphany it promises. Instead of offering a fresh insight, it feels like a Holden Caulfield-esque rant against phoniness. What if, at any moment, Huppert had turned to the audience and said, ‘Turn it off. Go live’? Now that would’ve been revolutionary.
So, here’s my question to you: Does Marianne succeed as a revolutionary act, or is it a well-intentioned misstep? And more importantly, what does it mean for a film to ‘get real’ in an industry that thrives on illusion? Let’s discuss—I’m all ears.
