The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

The story of former French Elle editor Jean-Dominique Bauby (Mathieu Amalric) is an extraordinary one. After a stroke afflicted him with locked-in syndrome, a condition which robbed him of speech and mobility, save for the capacity to blink his left eyelid, the fashion chieftain saw his once cosmopolitan lifestyle come to a halt. Yet Bauby, or Jean-Do as his closest friends called him, was still fully cognizant and articulate, and with the assistance of a transcriber he managed to dictate his memoir using the working eyelid as his sole mode of communication.

Hollywood loves these tragedy-to-triumph stories, tales of individuals who overcome towering odds to accomplish something remarkable. Too often these films are chock-full of predictable character arcs and contrived "a-ha!" moments; though you might be cheering for the protagonist, with swelling music accompanying jubilant breakthroughs, you might intermittently cringe, too. Director Julian Schnabel, a true artist in every sense of the word, doesn't employ such dramatic trappings to get his point across. He draws refined performances from his actors, uses abstract visuals to put you in Bauby's shoes, and calls upon Tom Waits and Ultra Orange & Emmanuelle to provide an emotional, kick-ass audio background to the story. This is a biopic painted with brilliant flourishes from Schnabel, one spelled out under his nonpareil terms.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is a revelatory viewing experience. As an audience member, you blink and awaken with Bauby in his hospital room. Nurses and doctors are fuzzy and out of focus, noises are muffled, and Bauby's internal monologue is the only sound that rings clear. He is fearful and confused, and so are you. This is Diving Bell's great strength—the ability to align viewers with the hero, allowing them to inhabit his body as closely as possible.

Actor Mathieu Amalric, who plays Jean-Do, is rarely seen on screen, and his distinctive voice largely sets the film's tone. He offers exasperated and sarcastic commentary when his doctor attempts to dumb-down explanations for him, assumes a flirtatious inflection when gorgeous nurses come within view, and speaks with a soft, almost dreamy intonation when recanting memories of his family and past loves. Though he's almost always shrouded from the camera's view, he communicates volumes about Bauby's evolving state of mind. It's appropriate that we occupy his head space, the only fully operative part of his body.

Amalric's performance elicits empathy for Bauby, but never pity. Even in his paralyzed state, Bauby is as fiery and intent as ever. Comparing flashbacks to his former life of fast cars, beautiful women, and flashy photo shoots to the passionate voice we hear in the present reveals a continuity of character, and we laugh and weep with him as he attempts to accept his condition.

Few films in 2007 managed to match Diving Bell's independent auteur vision, originality, and genuine emotion. Schnabel treats the screen like the canvas of possibility that it is, finding new ways to play with the camera and point-of-view, and allowing the story to play out with lyric grace. Schnabel has achieved the difficult feat of creating a new visual vocabulary while redefining the form of biographical narrative. His work is stunning and affective, and should serve as an artistic model for his contemporaries.

—Heidi Atwal
05.06.08