HOW DOES IT MAKE YOU FEEL?

In the first part of Alain Resnais's Muriel, or the Time of Return (1963) the female protagonist, Hélene (Delphine Seyrig), prepares for the arrival of her former lover, Alphonse (Jean-Pierre Kérien), whom she hasn't seen since their painful break-up during the Second World War. She leads a busy life as an antiquarian, selling items directly from her apartment. She has an adult stepson, Bernard (Jean-Baptiste Thiérrée), who recently returned from the war in Algeria and now spends much of his time in the same apartment. Although Hélene invited him, Alphonse's visit does not seem particularly convenient – she is stressed by work, Bernard is slightly hostile to the idea of a visit, and there is clearly no space for Alphonse. Before Alphonse's arrival, Resnais communicates this lack of space with a cluttered set and a jagged montage. We begin with a commercial transaction between Hélene and a customer: a montage of body parts and objects, filmed in extreme close-ups, in quick editing rhythm. This opening gives the impression of a cubist composition that has only half the space it requires. Hans-Werner Henze's atonal soundtrack and Hélene's constant moving about further help to produce a nearly assaultive effect on the spectator. It is not surprising that on its release, critics (both positive and sceptical) agreed that it was a deeply unpleasant and disconcerting film (see Wilson 2006: 88).

Alphonse arrives, accompanied by his niece, thereby further exacerbating the already acute space problem. This extra presence is obviously intrusive, but it does distract slightly from Alphonse's disappointing character. He has lied to Hélene in the past, and he will continue to lie throughout the film. Not only has he decided to bring an adult niece to this meeting with his former lover, but this ‘niece’ also turns out to be his mistress. At first, he refuses to take off his oversized winter coat, remaining in an armchair with a drink that he has poured himself. Watching these opening scenes is suffocating – the discomfort of the characters transfers to the spectators who find themselves unable to relax, pay attention and ‘be with’ the characters.