Félix, disguised as Father Christmas, hands out leaflets advertising a sexy Christmas party. His place is taken by an African Santa Claus and he returns to his caravan only to find his girlfriend Josette about to leave him. When he comes after her, she takes refuge at "SOS Distress", run by two neurotics, Thérèse and Pierre
Anémone (1950-2019) is a singular comet streaking across the firmament of French cinema. Born Anne Bourguignon in the pulsating heart of Paris, her long career commenced in the twilight years of the swinging sixties, and the serendipity! Her inaugural cinematic escapade, in her then-boyfriend Philippe Garrel's subterranean gem "ANÉMONE" (1968), bequeathed upon her not merely an introduction to the silver screen, but an indelible moniker. The film's title clung to her like a second skin, transforming Anne into the iconic Anémone. This early entanglement with Garrel was an audacious overture to a career that would pirouette effortlessly between sidesplitting farce and soul-stirring gravitas, here corroborated by two of her finest films.
Let's first don our tattered elf hats and embrace the chaotic tinsel-strewn abyss that is Poiré's SANTA CLAUS IS A STINKER. Here "stinker" or in its French title "ordure", is a more apt description for the motley crew assembled at "SOS Détresse Amitié", a telephone helpline for depressed people. This isn't the usual heartwarming, hot-cocoa-and-carols Christmas fare. Oh no. It is more like finding a lump of coal in your stocking, only to discover it’s actually a small, volatile explosive device wrapped in glitter.
The film, conceptualized and formulated by the brainwaves of the cult theatrical troupe Le Splendid (of whose members the cast consists), is an anarchic concoction of droll, accidents-strewn chaos. It contains a series of increasingly deranged events unfolding within the claustrophobic confines of a Parisian apartment. Thérèse (Anémone), the modest helpline worker who carries a torch for her coworker Pierre (Lhermitte), is the bewildered eye of this comedic hurricane. She's a creature of nervous tics and earnest, yet comically misplaced, intentions. Her face, often a mask of wide-eyed incomprehension or dawning horror, is a canvas for the absurdities swirling around her.
The ensemble includes Katia (Clavier), a depressed transvestite who is smitten with Pierre; Josette (Chazel), a potty-mouthed pregnant woman escaping from her boorish, and eventually trigger-happy husband Félix (Jugnot), who starts the film in a Santa costume, touting for a strip club and slapping a child on the Parisian street on the Christmas Eve; Preskovitch (Moynot), an over-enthusiastic neighbor who relentlessly plies dubious Eastern European pastries; and a benevolent, yet stone-cold incompetent, duo (Thérèse and Pierre) running the phone lines. The film's humor is dark (it doesn't shy of ludicrously dismembering a dead body, offscreen, of course), unruly, and delightfully un-PC (a hideous painting exhibiting a porcine connection to the fairer sex cannot be blatantly shown today). It’s the kind of film where you gasp, then giggle, then feel slightly guilty for giggling. It skewers societal norms, exposes the underbelly of human desperation, and somehow manages to find a twisted form of camaraderie amidst the mayhem.
Thérèse navigates this human carnival with a politeness that borders on pathological. Her interactions with the gloriously mossy Pierre are a study in mismatched energies, an unwieldy ballet of unrequited affection and exasperated sighs. She's the straight woman in a world gone wild, and her subtle reactions are often funnier than the most outlandish antics of her co-stars. Anémone, with her perfectly pitched awkwardness and her ability to convey volumes with just a flick of her eyes, is indispensable to the film's massive domestic success. Without her grounded, albeit peculiar, presence, the film might simply spiral into incoherent farce.
But Anémone's expertise is amplified by her cast mates. Each brings a distinct, unforgettable brand of lunacy to the table (although personally I do not warm up to Chazel's antics). Clavier's Katia is expectedly and hilariously over-the-top for the '80s cross-dressing schticks, Lhermitte embodies a particular brand of faux-naive French male that is a tad objectionable but oddly amicable. But the true standout, to my lights at least, is Balasko's Madame Musquin, the perpetually exasperated and prim president of the helpline, a comedic marvel of escalating indignation and contained hysteria. With the collective endeavor, the film becomes a cult classic, a yearly ritual for those who prefer their Christmas cheer with a side of sardonic wit and a dash of accidental gore. It’s a film that whispers, "Merry Christmas, you filthy animal," but means it in the most endearing, tongue-in-cheek way possible.
Now, let us cleanse our palates of the delightful depravity and journey five years forward, to the verdant fields of western France, for Hubert's THE GRAND HIGHWAY. This is where Anémone sheds the comedic cloak entirely and flexes her muscles of dramatic potency. Here, she plays Marcelle, a suffering wife, yet ultimately loving, mother figure to young Louis (Antoine Hubert, director Jean-Loup's own son, who is gifted with a remarkable naturalness as a child actor), a Parisian boy left in her care during his mother's advanced pregnancy.
The contrast with SANTA CLAUS IS A STINKER couldn't be starker. Gone are the rapid-fire gags and the grotesque caricatures. THE GRAND HIGHWAY is a gentle, observational film, a coming-of-age story told through the eyes of a child, set against the backdrop of a changing season and the complexities of adult relationships. Marcelle is a woman of the earth, weathered by life, fiercely independent, and prone to outbursts of temper that belie a deep well of affection.
Anémone's performance is a touching showcase of understated emotion. Marcelle is not conventionally beautiful or glamorous, she feels real, indigenous, with a down-home philosophy and a no-nonsense demeanor. Yet, Anémone imbues her with an irresistible warmth and vulnerability. Her interactions with Louis are the heart of the film, in time, it reveals a woman grappling with her own disappointments and the unspoken pain of her marriage to Pelo (Bohringer), a gruff, often distant, but ultimately deeply caring rural man.
The beauty of Anémone’s portrayal lies in its authenticity. She doesn’t play for sympathy; she simply is. Her frustration with Pelo, her fierce protectiveness, her weary resignation, and her fleeting moments of pure joy are all rendered with exquisite precision. There’s a scene, a small moment, where she simply watches Louis playing, and her face softens into a look of tender concern that speaks volumes. It’s the kind of acting that makes you forget you're watching a performance but witnessing a life unfolding. Anémone’s César win for this role is richly deserved, cementing her status as an actress capable of immense range and profound depth. She shows us that the same person who could make us howl with laughter at a film about Christmas misfits could also evoke tears with a look, a gesture, a simple, heartfelt word.
Bohringer acquits himself as a brilliant rough diamond. His booze-induced rage and expletives mask a genuine affection for Marcelle and then Louis, betray a tragedy that cannot be erased by time, transmitted all through his powerful screen presence that competently complements Anémone's high-wire act. Adding another layer of youthful perspective is Guedj's Martine, the local gamine girl who becomes Louis's playmate and guide to the countryside's secrets and adventures. Guedj's performance is unforced, naturalistic and deceptively spontaneous, wondrously capturing the innocence and budding curiosity of her age, and providing a sweet counterpoint to the adult dramas unfolding around her and Louis.
The film itself is a nostalgic evocation of childhood summers, filled with childish hijnks, explorations of the countryside, and the disquieting mysteries of the adult world. It's a film about discovery and healing, the former is for Louis (including the growing pains of accepting an absent father) whereas the latter pertains to Marcelle and Pelo as they rediscover a sense of purpose and connection through their unexpected role as Louis's surrogate parents. The whole theme is somewhat trite and some executions are formulaic (you just need some scare à la POLLYANNA), but Hubert's film manages to hold together its emotional core without going overboard towards schmaltz.
And here's a curious postscript for the discerning cinephile: both of these French gems have, predictably, been subjected to the Hollywood remake machine. "SANTA CLAUS IS A STINKER" is re-imagined as Nora Ephron's MIXED NUTS (1994), a Steve Martin vehicle, meanwhile three years earlier, THE GRAND HIGHWAY is rehashed as PARADISE (1991), directed by Mary Agnes Donoghue and starring a young Elijah Wood and a real-life couple Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson. While these American interpretations (both under the recreation of female directors and both are commercial failures) might offer a different flavor, one can't help but feel they often lack the particular, untamed "sparks" that made Anémone's originals uniquely captivating and unapologetically Gallic, which induces an oceanic relief to know that the unfiltered charm, the oddball transgression and the specific cultural nuances that Anémone and co. have brought to life simply cannot be justly replicated by a foreign studio's assembly line.
referential entries: Poiré's THE VISITORS (1993, 5.7/10); Francis Veber's THE DINNER GAME (1998, 7.3/10); David Swift's POLLYANNA (1960, 7.2/10); René Clément's FORBIDDEN GAMES (1952, 8.7/10).
English Title: Santa Claus Is a Stinker
Original Title: Le père Noël est une ordure
Year: 1982
Genre: Comedy
Country: France
Language: French
Director: Jean-Marie Poiré
Screenwriters: Jean-Marie Poiré, Josiane Balasko, Marie-Anne Chazel, Christian Clavier, Gérard Jugnot, Thierry Lhermitte, Bruno Moynot
这其实也该算是所谓的贺岁片了，雅俗共赏的喜剧，通过“友情SOS”协会值班员的圣诞夜经历，讲述了圣诞期间的不同人等的故事，尤其是人与人之间的关系。剧情有时庸俗到几乎令人难以容忍，但丝毫未影响本片跻身于最经典法国喜剧的行列。
抵抗力强的就试试吧！
Anémone (1950-2019) is a singular comet streaking across the firmament of French cinema. Born Anne Bourguignon in the pulsating heart of Paris, her long career commenced in the twilight years of the swinging sixties, and the serendipity! Her inaugural cinematic escapade, in her then-boyfriend Philippe Garrel's subterranean gem "ANÉMONE" (1968), bequeathed upon her not merely an introduction to the silver screen, but an indelible moniker. The film's title clung to her like a second skin, transforming Anne into the iconic Anémone. This early entanglement with Garrel was an audacious overture to a career that would pirouette effortlessly between sidesplitting farce and soul-stirring gravitas, here corroborated by two of her finest films.
Let's first don our tattered elf hats and embrace the chaotic tinsel-strewn abyss that is Poiré's SANTA CLAUS IS A STINKER. Here "stinker" or in its French title "ordure", is a more apt description for the motley crew assembled at "SOS Détresse Amitié", a telephone helpline for depressed people. This isn't the usual heartwarming, hot-cocoa-and-carols Christmas fare. Oh no. It is more like finding a lump of coal in your stocking, only to discover it’s actually a small, volatile explosive device wrapped in glitter.
The film, conceptualized and formulated by the brainwaves of the cult theatrical troupe Le Splendid (of whose members the cast consists), is an anarchic concoction of droll, accidents-strewn chaos. It contains a series of increasingly deranged events unfolding within the claustrophobic confines of a Parisian apartment. Thérèse (Anémone), the modest helpline worker who carries a torch for her coworker Pierre (Lhermitte), is the bewildered eye of this comedic hurricane. She's a creature of nervous tics and earnest, yet comically misplaced, intentions. Her face, often a mask of wide-eyed incomprehension or dawning horror, is a canvas for the absurdities swirling around her.
The ensemble includes Katia (Clavier), a depressed transvestite who is smitten with Pierre; Josette (Chazel), a potty-mouthed pregnant woman escaping from her boorish, and eventually trigger-happy husband Félix (Jugnot), who starts the film in a Santa costume, touting for a strip club and slapping a child on the Parisian street on the Christmas Eve; Preskovitch (Moynot), an over-enthusiastic neighbor who relentlessly plies dubious Eastern European pastries; and a benevolent, yet stone-cold incompetent, duo (Thérèse and Pierre) running the phone lines. The film's humor is dark (it doesn't shy of ludicrously dismembering a dead body, offscreen, of course), unruly, and delightfully un-PC (a hideous painting exhibiting a porcine connection to the fairer sex cannot be blatantly shown today). It’s the kind of film where you gasp, then giggle, then feel slightly guilty for giggling. It skewers societal norms, exposes the underbelly of human desperation, and somehow manages to find a twisted form of camaraderie amidst the mayhem.
Thérèse navigates this human carnival with a politeness that borders on pathological. Her interactions with the gloriously mossy Pierre are a study in mismatched energies, an unwieldy ballet of unrequited affection and exasperated sighs. She's the straight woman in a world gone wild, and her subtle reactions are often funnier than the most outlandish antics of her co-stars. Anémone, with her perfectly pitched awkwardness and her ability to convey volumes with just a flick of her eyes, is indispensable to the film's massive domestic success. Without her grounded, albeit peculiar, presence, the film might simply spiral into incoherent farce.
But Anémone's expertise is amplified by her cast mates. Each brings a distinct, unforgettable brand of lunacy to the table (although personally I do not warm up to Chazel's antics). Clavier's Katia is expectedly and hilariously over-the-top for the '80s cross-dressing schticks, Lhermitte embodies a particular brand of faux-naive French male that is a tad objectionable but oddly amicable. But the true standout, to my lights at least, is Balasko's Madame Musquin, the perpetually exasperated and prim president of the helpline, a comedic marvel of escalating indignation and contained hysteria. With the collective endeavor, the film becomes a cult classic, a yearly ritual for those who prefer their Christmas cheer with a side of sardonic wit and a dash of accidental gore. It’s a film that whispers, "Merry Christmas, you filthy animal," but means it in the most endearing, tongue-in-cheek way possible.
Now, let us cleanse our palates of the delightful depravity and journey five years forward, to the verdant fields of western France, for Hubert's THE GRAND HIGHWAY. This is where Anémone sheds the comedic cloak entirely and flexes her muscles of dramatic potency. Here, she plays Marcelle, a suffering wife, yet ultimately loving, mother figure to young Louis (Antoine Hubert, director Jean-Loup's own son, who is gifted with a remarkable naturalness as a child actor), a Parisian boy left in her care during his mother's advanced pregnancy.
The contrast with SANTA CLAUS IS A STINKER couldn't be starker. Gone are the rapid-fire gags and the grotesque caricatures. THE GRAND HIGHWAY is a gentle, observational film, a coming-of-age story told through the eyes of a child, set against the backdrop of a changing season and the complexities of adult relationships. Marcelle is a woman of the earth, weathered by life, fiercely independent, and prone to outbursts of temper that belie a deep well of affection.
Anémone's performance is a touching showcase of understated emotion. Marcelle is not conventionally beautiful or glamorous, she feels real, indigenous, with a down-home philosophy and a no-nonsense demeanor. Yet, Anémone imbues her with an irresistible warmth and vulnerability. Her interactions with Louis are the heart of the film, in time, it reveals a woman grappling with her own disappointments and the unspoken pain of her marriage to Pelo (Bohringer), a gruff, often distant, but ultimately deeply caring rural man.
The beauty of Anémone’s portrayal lies in its authenticity. She doesn’t play for sympathy; she simply is. Her frustration with Pelo, her fierce protectiveness, her weary resignation, and her fleeting moments of pure joy are all rendered with exquisite precision. There’s a scene, a small moment, where she simply watches Louis playing, and her face softens into a look of tender concern that speaks volumes. It’s the kind of acting that makes you forget you're watching a performance but witnessing a life unfolding. Anémone’s César win for this role is richly deserved, cementing her status as an actress capable of immense range and profound depth. She shows us that the same person who could make us howl with laughter at a film about Christmas misfits could also evoke tears with a look, a gesture, a simple, heartfelt word.
Bohringer acquits himself as a brilliant rough diamond. His booze-induced rage and expletives mask a genuine affection for Marcelle and then Louis, betray a tragedy that cannot be erased by time, transmitted all through his powerful screen presence that competently complements Anémone's high-wire act. Adding another layer of youthful perspective is Guedj's Martine, the local gamine girl who becomes Louis's playmate and guide to the countryside's secrets and adventures. Guedj's performance is unforced, naturalistic and deceptively spontaneous, wondrously capturing the innocence and budding curiosity of her age, and providing a sweet counterpoint to the adult dramas unfolding around her and Louis.
The film itself is a nostalgic evocation of childhood summers, filled with childish hijnks, explorations of the countryside, and the disquieting mysteries of the adult world. It's a film about discovery and healing, the former is for Louis (including the growing pains of accepting an absent father) whereas the latter pertains to Marcelle and Pelo as they rediscover a sense of purpose and connection through their unexpected role as Louis's surrogate parents. The whole theme is somewhat trite and some executions are formulaic (you just need some scare à la POLLYANNA), but Hubert's film manages to hold together its emotional core without going overboard towards schmaltz.
And here's a curious postscript for the discerning cinephile: both of these French gems have, predictably, been subjected to the Hollywood remake machine. "SANTA CLAUS IS A STINKER" is re-imagined as Nora Ephron's MIXED NUTS (1994), a Steve Martin vehicle, meanwhile three years earlier, THE GRAND HIGHWAY is rehashed as PARADISE (1991), directed by Mary Agnes Donoghue and starring a young Elijah Wood and a real-life couple Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson. While these American interpretations (both under the recreation of female directors and both are commercial failures) might offer a different flavor, one can't help but feel they often lack the particular, untamed "sparks" that made Anémone's originals uniquely captivating and unapologetically Gallic, which induces an oceanic relief to know that the unfiltered charm, the oddball transgression and the specific cultural nuances that Anémone and co. have brought to life simply cannot be justly replicated by a foreign studio's assembly line.
referential entries: Poiré's THE VISITORS (1993, 5.7/10); Francis Veber's THE DINNER GAME (1998, 7.3/10); David Swift's POLLYANNA (1960, 7.2/10); René Clément's FORBIDDEN GAMES (1952, 8.7/10).
English Title: Santa Claus Is a Stinker
Original Title: Le père Noël est une ordure
Year: 1982
Genre: Comedy
Country: France
Language: French
Director: Jean-Marie Poiré
Screenwriters: Jean-Marie Poiré, Josiane Balasko, Marie-Anne Chazel, Christian Clavier, Gérard Jugnot, Thierry Lhermitte, Bruno Moynot
Composer: Vladimir Cosma
Cinematographer: Robert Alazraki
Editor: Catherine Kelber
Cast:
Anémone
Thierry Lhermitte
Christian Clavier
Marie-Anne Chazel
Gérard Jugnot
Josiane Balasko
Bruno Moynot
Martin Lamotte
Jacques François
Michel Blanc
Rating: 7.3/10
English Title: The Grand Highway
Original Title: Le grand chemin
Year: 1987
Genre: Comedy, Drama
Country: France
Language: French
Director/Screenwriter: Jean-Loup Hubert
Composer: Georges Granier
Cinematographer: Claude Lecomte
Editor: Raymonde Guyot
Cast:
Antoine Hubert
Anémone
Richard Bohringer
Vanessa Guedj
Raoul Billerey
Christine Pascal
Marie Matheron
Daniel Rialet
Pascale Roberts
Rating: 7.6/10
很大程度法国喜剧电影的失败（如《你丫闭嘴》、《客人变成猪》等），在于会直接奔向那个笑点，但笑点又被预先通知，就象生日那天有同事告诉你全体同事将在办公室给你一个惊喜。笑产生粘糊糊的质感，目的与方法都粘合在了一起，就象融化了的与糖衣粘连在一起的糖块。更令人无法理解之处在于表演上的呆滞，从头到尾都是一个心理和表情，看到的不是状态下的自然反应，象有台词的哑剧演员，人物的反应就象法语给人的感觉，撒豆子一样，劈里啪啦倾之而出。他们的表演只是利用个性中的顽固、神经质以及喋喋不休的方式来取悦打动观众，探知我们厌倦的底线，却无法真正融合到观众内心，以《虎口脱险》为例，情节上并无取胜之道，他的过于跳跃的性格有爱国这个主题作垫底，有枪炮等危险境地作陪衬，有纳粹的蛮横愚蠢作消谴，我们才不觉得用那种性格折腾的人很累。当演员特有个性和所扮演角色形成反差发生奇妙融合时。当他的自私暴燥、小聪明、支使人的恶习和他不经意的陷入纳粹作斗争中表现的可笑的掩饰狼狈一面时，我们会认为好笑，当他的性格从故事中抽离开来，放到冲突性不是很强的戏剧中，会变成游离的跃动的音符，使我们觉得他的表演纯属反应过度，一惊一乍，为鸡毛蒜皮的事大动肝火，喋喋不休的神情变得非常讨人嫌，令人神经疲惫，就象抱怨你好吃懒做大嗓门的母亲。比如《女警察》，笑料就无一例外的笨拙浮夸，如男女警察跳舞引发的交通事故一场戏，把一个单格漫画中的笑点铺陈到了无以复加的地步，都为那场戏浪费的银子不值。
法国人似乎可以超越戏剧表情去领略内心（哲学家倾向），类似观看静态的四格漫画，还失去了漫画的跳跃感（即节奏感）。也许因为文化差异，有些人物设置过于老套，几乎就象是五六十年代影片的趣味与水准：倾向于单线条的人物，表情不是过于丰富就是过于吊滞，人物与情节没有很好的融合起来。一些看起来有点笑点的内容会拍的糟到根本没有劲道（如《笨人晚宴》中欲盖弥障结果让税务官发现橱柜里藏有很多名画），就象讲着一连串的冷笑话。内心冲突与外部表情根本不成正比，有时会觉得过于歇斯底里，有时又会过于无动于衷（对生活的反应似乎和我们不在同一个层面，他们会很自然的接受与认可，没有攀上另一阶层的欲望，得不到对事物反应的正确比例与对世界的整体观感。人物的生存环境不象我们那样有随之而起和随之而灭的欲望，很容易干瘪、神经质、歇斯底里与一根筋。
这居然是爆发过大革命的国家，传统根深蒂固，陈腐的道德观与实际上对道德不屑一顾的神情，他们对夫妻之间男权女权演绎的认真执着，也许这个性格中潜藏的一面才会导致喋喋不休的表演。也许他们的热情耗尽了，也许他们象吃多了鸡鸭鱼肉的官员开始怀念清淡的小菜，也许法国人思想中宏伟叙事的阶段已经过去，开始思考最接近的人生，开始发现人生远没有革命初期想象的恢宏伟大。
《没用的圣诞老人》带入了思想，带入了对人生最强烈的质问，还入对破碎人生意义的思考，这有意义吗？这又有意义吗？他就象拿了一双筷子在一个盘子里扒拉扒拉挑选可以下口的菜肴。他在笑，并且是狂笑，可是他并不是烈士对卑劣敌人手段的笑，也不是那种精神紧张崩溃后的笑。他笑，可是他也在怜悯，并且不断将这种怜悯很自然转向思考，并没有否定人以及否定人们的努力，只是为不确实不确定的爱找到出路，我们的爱浸透了欲念，游离于形式，爱的本质已经剥离到岌岌可危的地步。这象闹剧却远非一部闹剧，我们有他们一样的经验，一样的好恶，一样不纯粹的爱与道德观，一样对爱半推半就的放任与牵就。
本来赋予温馨亲情的圣诞节，就在这群荒谬的人们中间搞成一个血腥并不残忍、荒诞并不胡闹的日子，偷盗成性的扮演圣诞老人的人瑟怀孕的妻子发生争执，妻子跑到SOS救助中心求助，另一个工作人员本来急赶去参加宴会却被困在坏了的电梯里，一个被SOS救助过的人时时送来那令人呕吐的各类蛋糕制品……人人都用莫名其妙的方式影响着其它人，用他们的执着，无心，麻木，努力与周围的世界发生着关联，然后又无法摆脱无序混乱困窘的种种局面，他们想向世界奉献爱心，却又对周围人的冷暖漠不关心，想被社会认可，却最终无法认同，竭力挣扎努力却一再把结果弄得更糟，几乎到不可收拾的程度。
剧中人物同样是挫折困窘，依然神经质歇斯底里，截取下来，与街头巷尾泼妇行径并无二致，但是却奇妙的将观众的注意力转移到了更广阔的背景——荒谬无法掌控的人生，使我们不是抛开而是反刍与思考，并在一定程度得到净化。人生就象一个生涩的果子，看上去鲜艳无比，咬下去却酸得掉牙，我们所索取而他人能给予的不光是付出与给予在量上的不相等，而且也是质上的风马牛不相及，人生的问题，远不是一个SOS救助中心可以解决， SOS除了业务上的一些具体操作外，变成人与人之间施爱与怜悯的具体世俗化的象征。
生命的外在形式与内在初衷会是多么大，生活现实与美好愿景的对比又是多么残酷，我们想爱，却又时时顾忌身份、地位卫生等外在形式，这些形式无疑对爱的本质无疑是最大的解构与挑战，使爱变得不那么纯粹、脆弱不堪。我们要问，爱的本原在哪里，爱究竟要攀附多少外在条件才可以成立。爱里面又包含了多少的杂质，渴求爱本身是不是基本无可辨驳诉求的正当理由。那位同性恋者渴求爱，他的德性又无法使他归类到令人同情的角色，我们寻求爱却又在混乱的世界之中饱受摧残，备尝痛苦。
爱从关怀沦为慈善，从慈善沦为SOS式的标志性符号。从意愿中关怀的、施予性的东西变成内缩性的等价交换的物体。爱在无法提升时，极容易堕落与沉沦，在我们的生活无法与一个人相互捆绑在一起的时候，爱就会流于形式，爱似乎没有中间阶段，它只能极左或者极右，其它的只能靠责任等等状态性东西圈住。当它处于中间不成形的状态时，总是令人感到别扭，感觉就象皮埃尔死拽着上衣后摆和同性恋跳舞。那副裸体肖像，不成样的毛衣，恶心至极的点心，都成为爱与非爱的古怪样本，都成为我们处在混乱世界尴尬局面的真实写照。爱失去崇高、使命、救赎等特点会是多么的空洞，就象一个填也填不好漏掉了填充物的布娃娃。
在电梯中关了几个小时赶去参加宴会的人几乎代表人性的一种困窘，嗓子喊到嘶哑都无人理，最后被电打得晕晕糊糊的倒霉鬼；送的一件圣诞礼物毛衣破烂不堪而又不合身到极点（简直就是垃圾堆中捡来的）；那个SOS男性工作人员的西装却与沙发上的垫布完全一样的花纹与颜色；在和中心人员通话时开枪自尽的爆裂方式只是人生的插曲，很快的融入到无序混乱的人生大背景之中。人物关系到最后都以崩塌告终，Pierre想对那位同性恋表示温情最后不得不撕破脸皮，误杀修理工在那种氛围下变得真实可信，那对夫妻在处理修理工尸体时顿释前嫌，表现出了难以置信的自信与果敢，包裹圣诞礼物的盒子与彩纸结果全部用来装一具肢解了的尸体。SOS救助中心简直就是人性的反讽，它时时践踏底线，而又巧妙的控制在没有完全崩溃的范围（杀掉修理工只是为故事寻求到高潮与出口），所有的人都不正常，但却又全部维系在某个正常的动机之下，所有的人都神经质、笨拙、粗俗、不计后果、麻木又不乏亲情，包含着人性所有不可救药的缺点，我们在那里看到的是毫无希望的人性的挣扎与救赎，可是倔强的人性仍然从胡闹浑浊的黑底中隐现无法抹杀的一丝亮色。