Claire Denis's "Post-colonial" Films and Desiring Bodies

Claire Denis's "Post-colonial" Films and Desiring Bodies Susan Hayward WITHIN HER SMALL REPERTORY OF HLMS, Claire Denis has made four which in some way focus on issues raised by the legacy of colonialism and post-colonialism. These films are Chocolat (1988), S'en fout la mort (1990), J'ai pas sommeil (1993) and Beau travail (1999). The lens in these films primarily focuses on the male body. Although this body is predominantly a black one, the white body is not excluded by Denis as a tool of investigation into colonialism, post-coloniality and desire. This photographed body is in beautiful physical condition, exquisitely contained within a skin that shines. However, this body is also one that stands astride, or is torn between, desire and loss. Its psyche is not, therefore, exquisitely contained but is held in a state of trauma that appears to find no voice and which manifests itself through a passive aggression or a violence that is initially external to, and subsequently turned against, the self. What unites Denis's four films, then, is this body that yearns for an ending which at its most extreme takes the form of death, or at the very least self-mutilation or self-erasure. Dislocation and madness—These remarkable bodies—remarkable because they are the chosen vehicle of investigation—have names. First, there is Protée/Proteus, an ancient Greek god's name given to the house-servant in Chocolat—a name selected by the French colonizer Marc Dalens (an administrative officer) who has brought his family to live with him in the Cameroon while he busies himself building roads that lead we know not where. Proteus, Protée's namesake, is the old man of the sea, the protector of Poseidon/Neptune 's flock of seals, the man of many metamorphoses who eventually becomes so wearied he gives them up to reveal the future. Protée occupies all these positions in Denis's film—he protects (the colonial) mother and daughter during Marc's absence; he speaks many languages. However, when finally rebuffed and rejected by the colonizing family, he wearily turns away—though not before he has mutilated (through burning) both his hand and that of the daughter, leaving their hands scarred in a way that signifies lack. Their palms, which should have their futures written upon them, are erased of all lines. Second, there is Jocelyn in S'en fout la mort. Jocelyn is a West Indian who has come to France (we are led to understand illegally) in an attempt to make quick money through training roosters for illegal cockfights. The name is as Vol. XLII, No. 3 39 L'Esprit Créateur soft in its own sound as the man it denominates, although what he practices to survive is intolerably violent. Yet his name in its very Frenchness makes no reference to the black body that carries it—it erases him just as the racism which he encounters denies him a place. Unable to cope within this (postcolonial ) world that rejects him, he wearies of life and gives up—no futures there either, therefore. Third, there is Camille in J'ai pas sommeil. Camille is a black Parisian who is gay and also a serial killer. The name is androgynous, arguably fitting this black body that comfortably holds its femininity and masculinity together. The name (like Jocelyn's) is also soft and recalls the consumptive heroine of La Dame aux camélias—indeed at one point, Camille cross-dresses as just such a beautiful woman—and his murders are conducted with a sweetness and a stealthy softness. But what his first name does not fit is his rapacious appetite for serial murder (he murders fragile old ladies for their quite pathetic belongings). Eventually, like Jocelyn before him, he will weary of what he does and get arrested, shut away for life—no futures there. Finally, there is Galoup, the white sergeant-major of Beau travail. He too has a rapacious appetite for violence. And here at last the name fits—his wolflike teeth pointedly reminding us of the second syllable of his name (loup/wolf) as does his almost too muscular body which in...