John: That's a good question.
Laura: Ah, here it says that Lake Ontario curves more than 3 degrees from its Eastern end to its Western end. So frozen water really isn't flat.
John: Nothing is what it seems.
This brief exchange in the opening minutes of Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now comes about as close as is possible to understanding one of cinema’s most difficult films. The movie, equally an existential search for understanding, an examination of grief and coping with loss, and a study of faith and doubt, is one that constantly keeps a definitive explanation at arm’s length. With its myriad of visual motifs, fluid concept of time, and fragmented style of editing, it’s a movie that encourages audiences to interpret, while at the same time resists interpretation. The movie’s ending doesn’t make any grand proclamations of intent, instead providing the audience with more confusion. Roeg has gone on record as stating, “For me, the basic premise is that in life, nothing is what it seems.” Not to get too philosophical, but at its core, it’s a movie that reflects man’s internal struggle with his world – that constant need to understand or believe, despite not being able to fully do either. It’s about trusting what you know, not necessarily what is known. The fact that all of this is infused into a tragic ghost story makes it all the more wonderful.
The film, adapted from Daphne du Maurier’s short story of the same name, ends up being one of the most literate examples of moviemaking in film history. Everything about the film – the narrative, editing, setting, imagery, score, acting, etc. – is a means to an end. The story isn’t going to provide many answers on its own, but, combined with all the other elements involved in crafting a film, it is able to create meaning. Oddly, despite being a Hollywood favorite (she had many short stories and novels adapted into movies, among them Hitchcock’s 1940 Best Picture winner, Rebecca, and his 1963 film, The Birds), du Maurier wasn’t considered an exceptionally literary author. It speaks quite a bit to Roeg’s directorial talent that he was able to mount such hefty ambitions onto what is a rather straightforward horror tale.
This is a movie that uses so much more than just a narrative to get its message across; focusing on the plot to analyze this film would leave you puzzled at best. The story concerns a couple, John and Laura Baxter (Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie), who have to deal with the death of their daughter, Christine Baxter (Sharon Williams). They temporarily relocate to Venice because John has been hired to restore a dilapidated church. In Venice, weird shit starts happening. What do all of these weird things mean? Do they mean anything at all? What the film does impeccably is marry its story with film technique. The editing intentionally meshes and confuses time. We often see things from the past or future in shots of the present. For instance, take the sex scene between John and Laura. We have a passionate sex scene between two grief stricken parents intercut with the mundaneness of them getting dressed to go out afterwards. It blends time and two seemingly unrelated acts (intercourse and getting dressed) to show the drastic difference between each partner’s method of coping. This is a couple that’s coping with the loss of a child, yet they still have the desire to express their love for one another. However, afterwards Laura is seemingly on the path to recovery while John turns to alcohol. The meshing of time makes the point that time itself isn’t going to heal the couple’s wounds – only directly dealing with them will. There are a number of examples where the film is edited for a similar effect, all to make the point that time is illusory. Our behavior and feelings are influenced by past, present, and future, and the film attempts to condense that all into one.
The way Roeg uses symbolic imagery and motifs throughout the film is another way he adds to the narrative. Water, glass, and pictures all recur to create meaning. The film frequently shows glass breaking before something terrible happens (Christine’s death, John falling in the church, Laura fainting at dinner), which serves as a reminder of how tragedy and coping with grief can shatter even the most healthy family. The film closely associates water with death. Christine drowns at the beginning of the film, bodies are dragged from canals in Venice, even Venice itself, a city where waterways are common modes of transportation, is being ravaged by a serial killer. With water being the most essential component to sustain life, Roeg is able to turn the idea on its head in an effort to comment on the precarious link between life and death. The recurring pictures are part of a larger doubles motif throughout the film. John, an architect, looks at pictures of the church he is restoring and the real thing. He also takes tiles from a mosaic in need of repair and attempts to differentiate between the manufactured and the authentic tiles. Part of this “doubling” involves people as well, as a handful of times throughout the film people are mistaken for someone else. In fact, the ending of the film is an example of this idea. Roeg’s point is made clearest with this motif – in a world where “nothing is what is seems” how can one tell the difference between a fake and the real thing?
Don’t Look Now is a movie that uses everything a movie possibly can to create meaning. It’s a movie I wish happened more often, but I’ll take it when I can get it. Roeg creates an atmosphere, mood, and uses specific film techniques throughout his story to compliment it. Everything about the movie is done to convey its theme to the audience. It’s a film that demands multiple viewings, but will also likely reward them. In short, it’s a very different kind of film than audiences are used to. Still, it’s a wonderful one and is instantly among my favorite horror movies.
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