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Anatomy of a Fall

 The true crime stories that really fascinate me are all unsolved: Did Michael Peterson push his wife down a set of stairs? In the DC townhouse murders, did all three roommates participate (or was Victor unaware of what occurred)? Where is the American medical student Brian Shaffer?


It's the phenomenon of lying that captivates me. Seeing two eyes on camera, when the eyes seem to say, I have additional facts, and I won't disclose them. Are you correct in this interpretation of the eyes? Are you correct *sometimes* and not all the time? If you believe the person is lying, is your suspicion-about-actual-events somewhat close to the truth? Or is the truth a *third* scenario, different from the lie, and also different from the story you, the viewer, have constructed in your head?

I know the true crime genre is under fire right now, but I will always, always have an appetite for a real-world, unsolved mystery.

By contrast, I have very little tolerance for ambiguity in a work of fiction. I am old-fashioned. I believe that the writer of fiction is playing God, and she should always try to be as clear as possible. Lay your cards on the table. When there is a gimmick ("I won't share all that I know!"), I immediately suspect that the writer doesn't have faith in her own story, and she is hoping that the gimmick will be a kind of distraction, a way of manipulating the viewer.

So I find "Doubt" irritating, and I find "Anatomy of a Fall" irritating. Writers, don't dick around with your viewers. Just try to be straightforward; tell the story.

All that said, I loved the two central characters in "Anatomy of a Fall." Sandra is a modestly successful writer (a less celebrated kind of Annie Ernaux), and she has made a bad marital choice. She tries to compensate with affairs, but her husband digs deep and finds out, and even if he seems to "move on," he can't help but resurrect the memory by playing loud steel-drum recordings of a song called "PIMP." (The noise is a way of antagonizing the spouse, and also a way of evoking thoughts of the word "whore.") Sandra should escape, but she doesn't, and the casualty of her weakness is her own child. This kid is clearly suffering a form of abuse, every day, but what can he do? In an unforgettable scene, he acts out, by poisoning his own dog. He is performing a type of experiment, which has a certain little-kid logic. (You could imagine your own child making this mistake.) At the same time, he is sending a message to his mother: "I'm your little dog, and you have poisoned me."

I was haunted by both performers, even if I had problems with the script. For Sandra Huller: two thumbs up.
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