JCVD

One of the most playfully poignant and unexpectedly self-reflexive films I've seen in awhile is Mabrouk El Mechri's JCVD. The film is downright fantastic. Within, the narrative unravels in the present but frequently cuts back to the past in order to focus its "answer before the question" frame, a frame which postures the problems Jean-Claude Van Damme's been having finding roles outside of the kitschy films in which he has been generally cast. His fans greet him with enthusiastic applause and he responds by willingly having his picture taken with them and signing autographs. They love him because of the ways in which he fought to become a star, the hardships he dealt with in order to craft his own sacred place within the world of action films (all the while remaining a regular guy). Unfortunately, that place was rigidly hewn and Van Damme's attempts to break free from its caricatures (in both his professional and personal lives) have proven to be an even tougher battle (which JCVD resolutely wages). An ambiguously and seriously comedic film noiresque aesthetic is cultivated throughout and it's pleasantly impossible to determine what precisely is going on, the sentimentally offbeat and bang on content carving a multidimensional portrait which deconstructs Van Damme's popularized aura. Take the scene where the bank robbers argue over what course they should take and one of them shoots the other in the head and the bullet refuses to pass through his skull (is this an example of realism and do my expectations regarding the bullet's impact ironically highlight the ways in which I've been misled by the fantastic elements of action films?); or the soliloquy Van Damme is suddenly presented with before the dénouement, wherein he brilliantly outlines his troubles, shedding maudlin perfectly placed tears in order to ambivalently mitigate their impact (the film concerns a bank robbery wherein the robbers hold Van Damme hostage and he has to use his brains rather than his brawn to save lives). The foils are doubled and even tripled throughout as Van Damme takes advantage of the situation to pay off his legal bills in an attempt to mollify his captors and secure custody of his daughter which only backfires in the end, landing him in prison for extortion at the exact moment he has ironically freed himself from his type casted chains.

Much to the dismay of his confused parents.

This is definitely my favourite Van Damme film (although I also love Bloodsport) and it's great to see him provided with the opportunity to rigorously refine a role (no doubt he is able to display a broader range of emotion due to the fact that it's shot in his native French [while also leaving him room to showcase his hard fought mastery of the English language!]). Deconstructing what it means to be a Van Damme film while simultaneously reestablishing their iconic images, Mechri's JCVD is an intellectual treat for the popularized senses, a crowning achievement within the action film genre, and reminiscent of the French New Wave.