For the unfamiliar, daguerreotypy was an early form of
photography in which a chemically treated silver plate was exposed in a camera obscura (or “dark chamber”) for a
period of time, then treated a second time with mercury and other chemicals to
reveal and preserve an image on its surface. Other photographic techniques
quickly surpassed the Daguerreotype technique but it enjoyed a brief period of
popularity in the mid-nineteenth century. Images captured in this fashion could
record a great level of detail and had the unique characteristic of shifting
from negative to positive when the silver plate was tilted, producing an effect
similar to the security holograms in use today.
This bygone technique lies at the heart of Daguerrotype, Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s first
French-language film. Photographer Stéphane (Olivier Gourmet) has walked away
from the fashion industry to create life-sized daguerreotypes of his daughter
Marie (Constance Rousseau) in their decaying mansion nestled in a Paris suburb.
Joining them is new assistant Jean (Tahar Rahim), inexperienced but intrigued
by the work. Stéphane remains preoccupied with his wife’s unexpected death and
his new portraits of Marie bear an eerie resemblance to smaller versions
featuring her mother.
Time-worn signs of the supernatural plague our characters
from the start. Doors open and shut of their own accord, while a shadowy figure
who may or may not be Marie in her period dress wanders the halls. To term Daguerrotype a horror film risks the ire
of many genre fans, though. There is no gore, nor are there cheap jump scares.
In fact, it’s refreshing to note that Grégoire Hetzel’s score fades to silence
for every ominous passage. In these moments the beauty of cinematographer Alexis
Kavyrchine’s work ably carries the brunt of responsibility for mood and tone.
The closest genre approximation would be gothic horror, although Kurosawa’s
approach veers so subtle that it often settles into insipidness.
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| Constance Rousseau and Tahar Rahim in Daguerrotype |
A tragic accident near the halfway mark serves as a catalyst
to more than the characters. It transforms an understated modern gothic into a haphazard
mélange of genres. A minor subplot involving the sale of Stéphane’s land surges
into prominence, mixed in with financial scheming and a dash of
lovers-on-the-run, while also doubling down on the supernatural mystery present
from the start. Even with this new momentum the dialogue remains stilted and
the characters delivering it too flimsy to elicit much empathy. By the end, the
question of reality versus hallucination doesn’t matter nearly as much as it
should.
Kurosawa has had great success with past films like Pulse and Creepy. As the first half of Daguerrotype
demonstrates, he can finely control the timbre and rising tension of a scene
with staging and light. Yet in the latter portion he overreaches, abandoning an
elegant simplicity in favor of disjointed thrills. The end result lacks the
charisma and detail of the gleaming silver plates that are the cause of so much
anguish at its center, instead mimicking the quick satisfaction of a candid
Polaroid.
RATING: ★
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