Dardennes use ‘Silence’ in narrative complexity

In cinema, an auteur is typically defined as a director whose work bears a number of stylistic signatures and distinctive motifs. By this definition, it’s tough to deny that Belgian filmmakers Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne are about as auteur as it gets. Their style is instantly identifiable: handheld cinematography, characters dwelling on the margins of Belgian society, little if any non-diegetic sound, money as a corrupting, ruinous force and so on. Since their feature-length breakthrough, 1996’s “La promesse,” the Dardennes have steadily raked in awards and critical praise. It’s a treat that their latest film, “Lorna’s Silence,” is getting a brief run at Sundance Cinemas.

The Dardennes’ sensibility is commonly traced back to Italian neorealism, but their most direct spiritual predecessor is Émile Zola, the canonical author of naturalist fiction. Like Zola’s image of France, the Dardennes’ image of Belgium is marked by near-constant gloom and omnipresent drizzle, and it’s populated by people who are, to borrow the words of Thurston Moore, “like unmade beds.”

Indeed, the narrative of “Lorna’s Silence” follows a small, lowerclass network  who are more or less in denial regarding their material and social circumstances. The exception to this is Claudy, played by Dardenne repertory member Jérémie Renier, a smack addict who tries like hell to clean up his act so as to preserve his “marriage” with the eponymous Lorna (played by Kosovan actress Arta Dobroshi). Claudy and Lorna’s marriage is little more than an arrangement that allows Lorna to become a Belgian citizen. Lorna schemes with a gruff gangster named Fabio to off Claudy, thus freeing her up to marry a ridiculously shady Russian who also wants to become a Belgian citizen and is willing to fork over a lot of dough to make it happen.

The plot is more complex than can be summarized here (hint: Lorna doesn’t stay guilt-free for very long), and it’s probably the knottiest tale the Dardennes have ever told.
“Lorna’s Silence” doesn’t depart all that much from the Dardennes’ trademark style, which is composed of the many signatures I alluded to earlier. Their camera is still fidgety yet unwavering, their characters are still deer staring fixedly into oncoming headlights, and they continue to take a generally pessimistic view of money’s effect on human relations.
Perhaps the most interesting technique at work here is the handheld pan following a figure in motion (usually Lorna), turning the figure’s environment into an abstract blur whilst the figure itself remains tactile and concrete.

What sets “Lorna’s Silence” apart from the Dardennes’ previous works—films like “La promesse” and 2005’s “L’enfant,” both of which starred Renier—is the fact that it manages to communicate an unwieldy and sometimes elliptical narrative without neglecting to present genuinely affecting, aesthetically curious moments. Lorna drinks beer at a Belgian bar while taking in some American country-western tunes, yielding a couple minutes of eyebrow-raising cultural hodgepodge. Later in the film we get another bar scene that features a great slow dance between Lorna and the Russian, successfully evoking purple, dimness, smoke and subdued laser-lights without actually incorporating any of those things. There’s even a sex scene, rendered in the most Dardennian way imaginable, as their use of direct sound gives way to a symphony of heavy breathing and trembling lips, smacking wetly.

“Lorna’s Silence” doesn’t mark any sort of radical step forward in the Dardennes’ artistic development, but as many scholars and critics would tell you, that’s not what being an auteur is about. If you like the Dardennes’ other films, you’ll like this one; if you like this one, you’ll like the Dardennes’ other films. Guess there’s not much you can do but check it out, eh?