(4/5)

Tthere are a few plot devices that are almost guaranteed to make me like a movie. One is time travel. This film doesn’t have that. However, it does have the second one, which is a story that focuses on the power of storytelling itself, or on the use of storytelling to either accomplish a major goal or deal with some emotional trauma, especially if there are some suitably fantastical visuals to go along with it. Thus, Bibliothèque Pascal joins The Fall and The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus among a group of films that I enjoyed more than they probably deserve, simply because they tapped all my enjoyment buttons. Though in some ways, Bibliothèque Pascal actually manages to hold the third act together a little better than some of those films do. (I’d include Pan’s Labyrinth in this group as well, except I think it deserves every bit of love I have for it.) Note: There are perhaps some spoilers as I discuss a contrast of styles and an homage near the end of the film, but like most stories about storytelling, the journey is what matters, not the end.

In Bibliothèque Pascal‘s drably realistic framing story, Mona is in a social worker’s office, trying to convince him to restore custody of her young daughter to her. To explain the situation that led to her losing custody, she launches into a highly surreal, colorful, beautiful, and horrific story of her odyssey through the underbelly of Europe (starting in her home country of Hungary) and into a British brothel themed around literary fantasies. This story is what we see for the majority of the film, and it is pretty dazzling and imaginative, everything heightened into Fellini or Almodovar-esque flamboyance, yet with a disturbing edge that hints at the real story underneath.

A beach scene where she meets her daughter’s father is particularly Fellini-like, with folk dancing and tracking shots and bright colors – oh, and with the introduction of her lover as he pops his head out from under the sand, where he’s been hiding from the police. It’s a startling and funny moment, but even this relationship is far from carefree; four years later she’s caring for her child alone, performing puppet shows out of an elaborate and completely awesome moveable set/tent/clothing thing. But before long various events force her into traveling to England and becoming part of this outlandish brothel.

A few words about this place. We see fantasies based on Joan of Arc (the Shaw version, not the historical one), Othello‘s Desdemona, Dorian Gray, and others, reinterpreted into a highly sexualized, yet coldly impersonal, set of scenes that people pay to act out. The design is very stark and avant-garde, which makes a great visual contrast to the bright colors and flowing costumes in the Hungary-set sections. As someone with a literature background, I found the out-of-context use of word-for-word scenes from these works, delivered in monotone by people who don’t even understand what they’re saying, to be a fascinating plot point. I’m not sure what, if anything, the director is trying to say about literature or pornography here, but it was definitely attention-grabbing.

Mona goes on to give a fantastical version of her escape from the place and return to Hungary to reunite with her child, but when we return to the flat, real world of the government office, the official is understandably having none of it. So she gives the mundane, real-life version of it, which is remarkably similar in actual events, but yet utterly different, in an unwavering close-up on her face – a shot very like Bergman uses in Winter’s Light or Persona. I’m name-dropping a lot of big guys here, but I don’t really mean to imply that Bibliothèque Pascal is on the same level with any of them; it’s derivative of them for sure, and I’m not sure it has a lot to offer that’s wholly original. The idea of using storytelling to try to protect yourself from horrors in your life is far from new, and has been done more powerfully elsewhere, but like I said, that particular plot device is one that I love, and it was enough to make this film highly enjoyable to me. Well, I won’t say the brothel scenes were exactly enjoyable to me, and there were a few conversations between Mona and brothel owner Pascal that weren’t nearly as deep as they thought they were, but I appreciated some of the juxtapositions the director made in that section.

Not a perfect film, and though I liked the stark contrast of how the mundane version of the story was told compared with the imaginative version I’m not ultimately sure telling it both ways so explicitly was necessary. And there are definitely parts that are a bit on the indulgent side. But the visuals are gorgeous if not totally original, and there are enough interesting things and ideas happening to keep me fully engaged. And despite the dark and often twisted subject matter, the film has a surprising sense of fun throughout, led by the whimsical jazz score – another layer of the storytelling Mona uses to insulate herself.

Directed by Szabolcs Hajdu
Screenplay: Szabolcs Hajdu
Cinematography: András Nagy
Cast: Orsolya Török-Illyés, Oana Pellea, Andi Vasluianu, Shamgar Amram, Mihai Constantin, Lujza Hajdu
IMDb
LA Film Fest Guide