Don't Look Now (Nicolas Roeg, 1973)

"Don't Look Now" is a film I fell in love with from the first scene. It's got all the rare qualities that make a film a heart-felt experience. A personal story, danger, the subconscious as a driving force, a believable relationship, weakness, obsession and, above all, something impossible to fake: the filmmaker's passion. Nicolas Roeg's film is thrilling and hypnotic, frame by frame, with an unusual visual intuition that surely came from his own experience as a DoP. It is far from being a conventional horror; although an adaptation of Daphne du Maurier's short story, many great elements were added, like the unprecedented intimacy shown on screen of a married couple, with such tenderness and elegance it forms the quintessential filmic experience. The structure of the story is discontinuous, full of dellusions which sometimes become corporeal, threatening the lives of the characters. The score by Pino Donaggio is unforgettable, accompanying us through the English countryside, the streets of Venice, the interiors of churches and restaurants and the warmth of the hotel, a decadent space about to close due to the low season lurking.

"Don't Look Now" tells the story of a couple, John (Donald Sutherland) and Laura (Julie Christie) who are grieving after their young daughter's sudden drowning. They travel to Venice, where John carries out restoration works in San Nicolo's church. The city constitues a needed change of scenery, a chance to gain some distance from the tragedy. However, the influence of the water, which is everywhere, doesn't contribute to their sanity. Neither does the appearance of the odd English sisters that take Laura under their wing, assuring her that they have seen her daughter and that she is happy in heaven. They become a threat to John, who fears for his wife's mental health, but in this film, as in real life perhaps, there are paths  they will follow inevitably.

The first scene already sets the tone of the deep rooted drama about to follow. We are in the family home in England. John and Laura, inside, are examining slides and reading. Their two children, outside, playing around the pond. Suddenly, a red stain appears in the slide John is looking at: a sign. He knows a tragedy has happened and runs to the garden, but it is too late. 

Another remarkable moment is the well-known sex scene, so special for a number of reasons. Firstly, we've got the daring male and female nakedness, unlikely at the time. Secondly, there is the human side, a very convincing intimacy that is shown throughout in the tone of voice they interact with, their looks of patience, of concern, of understanding, that the audience has grown used to and, probably, fond of. Donald and Julie constructed a very private connection with its climax in this sex scene, which was likely to be the first time they made love after losing their daughter. And lastly, there is the editing, which combines close-ups of their movement in bed with the details of their dressing up for dinner, buttoning jackets, putting the watch on, the mirror as a witness. As a whole, it is a love sequence filmed with mature eyes and pieced together with such devotion, that any film lover will cherish it as a lasting inspiration.

The cinematography is an aspect that I can't help but focus on in any film I watch because I believe that what the director chooses to show on camera, the perspective, angle, framing, tailor the impression the whole work has upon the viewer. In "Don't Look Now", the camera scorts John and Laura throughout their odissey and highlights their ups and downs with instictive movements, zooms and voyeuristic shots, often through mirrors, that Nicolas Roeg always defended as the essence of film. "I’ve always thought there was something very marvellous and magical about mirrors, and that they are connected to memory as well." ⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫/⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫