Object sexuality, the romantic attraction to inanimate objects, is hardly the most conventional subject for cinematic exploration, but 2021 has seen the release of two films that shine a light on this taboo desire. While Zoé Wittock’s Jumbo takes a sweet, tender approach to its love story between a young woman and a fairground ride, Julia Ducournau’s Palme d’Or-winning Titane crashes into Cronenberg-esque body horror at full speed. It’s an unsurprising direction for the French filmmaker, who flexed her horror muscles with cannibalistic coming-of-age drama Raw five years earlier, but that film was just a hint at where her audaciously warped sense of storytelling would take audiences. And the twists and turns of Titane make for a darkly thrilling yet weirdly poignant vehicle for her wildest ideas.
Newcomer Agathe Rousselle is our protagonist Alexia, an erotic dancer and car model wearing the spiral scar of a surgically implanted titanium plate, caused by a childhood car crash, with pride. Rousselle is perfectly cast as a woman of few words, her stern look and androgynous features creating an air of foreboding as cinematographer Ruben Impens’ camera follows her weaving path through a motor show and rises up to capture her rhythmic writhing on a vintage Cadillac in front of lusting male onlookers. It’s foreplay teasing a sexual covenant to, er, come in the most bonkers and boisterous fashion, but this vehicular intercourse comes after Alexia has dispatched an aggressive male fan using a hairpin that should be added to the movie-weapon hall of fame. An exuberant killing spree follows that is laced with a dark sense of humour, forcing Alexia to go on the run, where she adopts the identity of Adrien, a boy who went missing a decade earlier.
Titane becomes a grossly entertaining vehicle for Julia Ducournau's brand of weird
This introduces a tonal shift, with the arrival of Vincent (Vincent Lindon), the super-manly fire-chief father of the missing boy, who welcomes Alexia as his own without question. This decision is certainly dubious, but adds to the tension and intrigue. Even with a newly shaved head, a self-inflicted broken nose, and the painful binding of her boobs and growing baby bump (yes, she’s pregnant from her one-car stand!), how long can Alexia’s disguise last?
These new stakes provide a deeper examination of identity, grief, isolation, trauma, paternity and the lies we are willing to tell ourselves for self-preservation. The unsettling bond of father and ‘son’ is visually strengthened by the shared experience of their bodies betraying them: Vincent’s to age and Alexia’s to this mechanical foetus ready to burst right through her skin. The wince-inducing make-up and special effects show her body being physically ravaged by the stress of this deception, which reinforces the sheer madness, suspicion and turmoil that powers this story towards its gruesome completion. The narrative lines in the second act aren’t quite so seamless; the pace meanders in the middle and the story takes a while to find its footing again after even more absurd plot elements are thrown in. But Ducournau fills this world with such vivid sound, horror and colour that Titane becomes a grossly entertaining vehicle for her brand of weird. Strap in for a bumpy ride.
