FILMICON: Journal of Greek Film Studies ISSUE 5, December 2018

FILM REVIEW

Male Anxiety and the Quest for the Alpha-Male in Chevalier (2015) by Athina Rachel Tsangari

Sotiris Bampatzimopoulos Ankara University

Athina Rachel Tsangari’s Chevalier is one of the movies that is thought to be representative of the so-called Greek Weird Wave along with Dogtooth (, 2009), Attenberg (Tsangari, 2010), Alps (Lantimos, 2011) and L (Babis Makridis, 2012). Although the directors of the aforementioned films were quite reluctant to consider themselves part of a wider movement, the term became quite popular in festivals creating a vivid hype surrounding contemporary Greek cinema. As is usually the case with terminology, it is hard to pinpoint the exact set of characteristics that can be detected in the movies that are classified by critics under this rubric. The films are considered to transmit a certain kind of “weirdness”, but the word “weird” itself eludes a solid definition, other than as a contrast to the norm. Evidently, this is not enough, because then any film that defies or breaks the norm could potentially be included in the so-far limited list of movies that constitute the movement. However, to my understanding, these movies indeed share common ground in form and content. The framing of the shots is more often than not unconventional, and the films are characterized by slow pace, at least compared to the traditional classic narratives of American cinema. They contain plenty of long takes; they are full of pauses and silence — not a poetic silence that draws the audience’s attention to the image, but a kind of silence that creates awkward and uncomfortable moments.

Regarding aesthetics, as Anna Poupou suggests, “[m]ost of these films are defined by minimalism, anti-naturalism, natural lighting, a preference for gray and pastel color

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CHEVALIER (2015) ISSUE 5, December 2018 palettes, sparse use of camera movement and spatial enclosure” (Poupou 2014: 47). Perhaps the anti-naturalism can be best understood in the unusual acting, which transmits a certain artificiality, creating an emotional distance between the audience and the films, thus opening the possibilities of a more intellectual and less visceral approach to them. This artificiality also puts forth the aspect of performativity, a key element that has drawn the academic attention. Afroditi Nikolaidou scrutinizes the aspect of performativity and explains how it can be understood through the physicality of the actors, the repetition of bodily acts and the theatrical background of the directors (Nikolaidou 2014). This performativity is crucial in exploring issues of identity and the oppressive social mechanisms that shape the individuals and impose numerous rules of behavior in the films. The films showcase social and gender awareness and consciously use this artificiality to challenge gender stereotypes and figures of authority, usually in the context of the dominant capitalist, patriarchal ideology of contemporary Greece. Critics were quick to argue that this wave was a direct product of the Greek political, social, and financial crisis of 2009, but such a claim unfairly “homogenizes a body of films that stand out for their diversity” (Mademli 2016).

What makes Chevalier stand out from a gender perspective, which is also the main focus of this review, is that director Tsangari consciously, as she also admitted in her interviews (Veciana 2015), dissects the notion of the archetypal alpha-male. She investigates the construction of male identity and the anxieties that derive from the male characters’ inability to live up to the social expectations and to the notion of the absolute male that they have accepted as a point of reference. It is interesting to see that there is only a limited number of films that manifest this consciousness when it comes to dealing with issues of male identity and masculinity, at least when we talk about European and American films that have world-wide reputation and have stood out in festivals. The Swedish film Force Majeure (Östlund, 2014) would be a prime example, while Chevalier is arguably the first movie in recent Greek filmography that consciously discusses masculinity as a sociocultural product and performance.

Masculinity “has been frozen in a monolithic mold of strength and silence, and for far too long” (Lucca 2016: 67) and I believe in the first feminist approaches to films (see for example the early works by Claire Johnston, Laura Mulvey and Ann Kaplan), masculinity was usually regarded as a fixed, diachronic, and stable notion; whereas it was only in the 1990s that the study of masculinity began evolving as a complex system of meanings, dynamics, and inherent inconsistencies (see for example the works on masculinity by Yvonne Tasker, Tania Modleski and Kaja Silverman). Although there has been a lot of criticism as to whether masculinity studies might

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FILMICON: Journal of Greek Film Studies ISSUE 5, December 2018 function as a subtle appropriation of feminism, undermining the feminist agenda by shifting the focus to the male experience, masculinity studies are the “valuable and necessary consequences” of feminism (Thomas 2008: 21). To consider masculinity as a fixed value would also mean to “leave it naturalized” (ibid.: 20).

In Chevalier, written by (Dogtooth, L, Lobster [Lanthimos, 2015], Alps), six middle-aged, upper middle class friends are cruising on a luxurious yacht. It becomes evident quite early in the movie that there is a certain tension among the six men that stems from their competitive attitude. Soon they decide to resolve the tension by playing a game to see which of them is “the best in general.” Each of them has to come up with a task that all of them have to undertake, and they will evaluate each other’s performances. Some of the tasks they devise are to have their blood examined to determine who is the healthiest, to assemble six identical bookcases to see who is the fastest one, and to compare pictures of their erect penises. Apart from the tasks, however, they also decide to evaluate each other on practically everything that they can think of: What is their body posture when they sleep? Do they take their shoes off when they enter the cabin? Whose cellphone has the best ringtone? How do they talk with their partners on the phone? Do they get dizzy when the sea is bumpy? The list goes on indefinitely as the six men wander around the boat with notebooks, compulsively and constantly evaluating each other. Although the tension rises in an absurdly tragicomic fashion, there is no final resolution, and at the end of the film, the six men go back to their lives without being enlightened in any way whatsoever.

The confined space of the yacht turns into an arena of male homosocial bonding. Homosocial groups are all-male or all-female groups, in which the ultimate value is friendship, and in which the males or females learn how to behave as men or women according to the social and cultural values of the specific era. Male homosocial groups can be found in a wide variety of social interactions such as sports, military service, school, summer camps, prison and bachelor parties. In cinema homosocial groups can be detected in different forms and genres from war and action movies, to dramatic films and comedies. For example, these homosocial groups and their functions become evident in films such as Cool Hand Luke (Stuart Rosenberg, 1967), Stand by Me (Rob Reiner, 1986), Platoon (Oliver Stone, 1986), Reservoir Dogs (Quentin Tarantino, 1992), Clerks (Kevin Smith, 1994), The Hurt Locker (2008, Kathryn Bigelow) and The Hangover (Todd Phillips, 2009), in which one way or another the characters pass through a process of masculinization. As Benshoff and Griffin explain, “[t]hese homosocial spaces work not only to instill a sense of masculinity (by quite literally excluding the feminine), but also as spaces for men to grapple with their own doubts about their abilities to succeed as men” (Benshoff &

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Griffin 2009: 243). It is in this space that in Chevalier the characters compete against each other, and not always on fair terms, as they also cheat when they get the opportunity (for example, Yiannis gets a tip from the boat’s assistant cook on how to clean the silverware efficiently using toothpaste), or they attempt to influence each other in order to get better scores.

One of the interesting aspects of these male homosocial spaces is that they take heterosexuality for granted, and the presence of women is excluded, because such presence would interfere with the camaraderie of men, which is valued above all. Indeed, the only female presences in Chevalier’s space are the voices coming from the telephone speakers and a brief image of Christos’s partner on his laptop screen when the two of them engage in an online sexual activity. In this seemingly heterosexual space, the six men regard as weakness anything that is culturally and socially defined as feminine, which by default implies also a homophobic agenda, because in the dominant heteronormative ideology, male homosexuality is associated with the feminine. Moreover, these homosocial groups reproduce patriarchy, and as Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick suggests, “[f]rom the vantage point of our own society, at any rate, it has apparently been impossible to imagine a form of patriarchy that was not homophobic” (Sedgwick 1985: 3). Simply put, the characters of Chevalier consider their homosocial space free of homoeroticism, because the “best in general” can only comply with the heteronormative imperative. However, exactly because the characters seem to consider their space as strictly heterosexual, they also allow themselves certain behaviors that they would consider inappropriate if they saw their space as sexually ambiguous. Therefore, they can exhibit their penises to each other, flaccid or erect, use the bathroom in pairs, and freely express admiration for each other.

The irony in homosocial spaces is that when the possibility of homoeroticism is unanimously rejected, this possibility actually becomes present, and the supposed strict boundaries of the socially constructed masculine/feminine and heterosexual/homosexual binary oppositions are blurred. The complexity of sexuality is not simplified, but rather exemplified in homosocial spaces, and in Sedgwick’s words we have “The potential unbrokenness of a continuum between homosocial and homosexual” (ibid.: 1). The film is aware of this condition and parodies it in one of the final scenes. Yorgos, considering himself the winner of the game, gives a pompous and condescending speech to the group. He concludes that they should bond in the ultimate manner of mixing blood. He slices his hand with a knife and expects the others to do the same. The only one willing to do so is Dimitris, but not wanting a visible scar, he slices his buttock instead. Yorgos places his hand on Dimitris’ buttock, while the latter urges the former to keep his hand there long

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FILMICON: Journal of Greek Film Studies ISSUE 5, December 2018 enough so that the blood is properly mixed. Therefore, what is supposed to be a manifestation of masculinity (defying pain and heroically shedding blood), this act also symbolically implies sexual union through the exchange of fluids, and it becomes even more ambiguous and absurd with Yorgos’s bleeding hand on Dimitris’s bleeding buttock. As Peter Lehman puts it, “[m]en desire and fear, and sometimes desire what they most fear, in ways that confound any simple notions of male subjectivity” (Lehman 2007: 9).

So, the six men act and play in the shadow of the imaginary concept of the ultimate alpha-male, the omnipotent leader, the great phallus. This alpha-male is an abstract configuration beyond any literal description other than “the best in general.” All the characters acknowledge his existence as a point of reference and a measurement of their own self-worth. However, the contrast between this constructed, ideological, absolute value and their complex subjectivities creates a series of implications. The first one is that no matter how much they try, they can’t reach the ultimate ideal, as it only exists in an imaginary realm. In other words, even if one of them manages to win the game, they are all still doomed to fail. The winner may get the satisfaction of having won a game of debatable rules and criteria, but this can be only a temporary illusion. The ultimate goal is essentially unattainable. The second one is that by trying to fit the mold of the imaginary alpha-male, they must conceal their subjective complexities, unspoken desires, insecurities, habits, and fears. In order to do so, they must masquerade as alpha-males and perform accordingly. These performances expose masculinity as an artificial construct that can be acted out. The foundations of masculinity as an absolute value are shaken, because by accepting that you can attain masculinity, you also accept that you have to do that according to the social and cultural values of the time, which also implies the cultural, social, and historical relativity of the term. Therefore, the characters are trying to achieve an unattainable goal based on a false concept of objectivity by denying their subjectivities, and this pursuit causes stress, anxiety, and ultimately an unresolved crisis. As Fintan Walsh suggests, this crisis initiates “a period of disorder that precedes and precipitates a longer period of productivity, restructuring, and redevelopment, which may even lead to the reestablishment of the temporarily agitated norm” (Walsh 2010: 8).

This crisis and distress it causes becomes evident in one of Chevalier’s most tragicomic scenes. After Josef fails to produce an erection on demand, he is extremely upset, as this signifies not only his phallic impotence but also the impossibility of him incarnating the alpha-male. During the night, however, while everyone is asleep, he masturbates and manages to produce an erection. Delighted and in a half-delusional state of mind, he walks down the boat’s corridor triumphantly, shouting at everyone to wake up so that they can see and admire his

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CHEVALIER (2015) ISSUE 5, December 2018 erection. The scene also offers to the audience the uncommon sight of an erect penis; it is uncommon because the male body is hardly ever on display in cinema, as full frontal exposure also implies vulnerability. Moreover, it might also imply homoeroticism because of the presumably male gaze of the audience (Mulvey 1975). Both of the aforementioned implications are almost taboo in the mainstream cinema but are more than welcome in Chevalier. The most characteristic example of the male body on display, however, comes from another character, Christos, who is played by pop icon and male sex symbol Sakis Rouvas. In one scene, he has an online sexual encounter with his partner. First he shows the soles of his feet to the laptop’s camera, and then his abdominals, while the woman’s moans can be heard from the speakers. As I have argued, being on display increases the vulnerability and insecurity of the one who is on display, as he has to live up to certain expectations. It doesn’t come as surprise that later in the film, when he talks to his partner again, Christos needs to be reassured about his body, and he worriedly asks her whether she finds his thighs too thick.

In this obsessive pursuit to find who is “the best in general,” the six middle-aged friends become exposed and naked, express their frustrations and fears, end up behaving like children, and are ultimately infantilized. Although it is not the first time that we have witnessed similar narratives in cinema, what makes Chevalier quite unique is the consciousness with which it deals with these issues, adding a new perspective to the dynamics of male homosocial groups. Combining the aesthetic characteristics of the Greek Weird Wave with an unusual premise that adds something new to discussions on gender is what makes Chevalier a rare case indeed, worthy of much more critical attention that the limited analysis of this review may provide.

REFERENCES Benshoff, H. M. and Griffin, S. (2009), America on Film: Representing Race, Class, Gender and Sexuality at the Movies, 2nd ed., Chichester, United Kingdom: Wiley-Blackwell. Lehman, P. (2007), Running Scared: Masculinity and the Representation of the Male Body, 2nd ed., Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press. Lucca, V. (2016), ‘Review: Chevalier’, Film Comment [online], Issue May/June 2016. Available at https://www.filmcomment.com/article/review-chevalier- athina-rachel-tsangari/ [Accessed 16 July 2018]. Mademli, G. (2016), ‘From the Crisis of Cinema to the Cinema of Crisis: A “Weird” Label for Contemporary Greek Cinema’, Frames Cinema Journal [online], Issue 9. Available at http://framescinemajournal.com/article/from-the-crisis-of-

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cinema-to-the-cinema-of-crisis-a-weird-label-for-contemporary-greek- cinema [Accessed 16 July 2018]. Mulvey, L. (1975), ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, Screen 16: 3, pp. 6-18. Nikolaidou, A. (2014), ‘The Performative Aesthetics of the ‘Greek New Wave’’, Filmicon: Journal of Greek Film Studies [online], Issue 2. Available at http://filmiconjournal.com/journal/article/pdf/2014/2/3 [Accessed 16 July]. Poupou, A. (2014), ‘Going Backwards, Moving Forwards: The Return of Modernism in the Work of Athina Rachel Tsangari’, Filmicon: Journal of Greek Film Studies [online], Issue 2. Available at http://filmiconjournal.com/journal/article/pdf/2014/2/4 [Accessed 16 July 2018]. Sedgwick, E. K. (1985), Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire, New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Thomas, C. (2008), Masculinity, Psychoanalysis, Straight Queer Theory, New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Veciana, A. (2015), ‘NYFF: Athina Rachel Tsangari’, Film Comment [online]. Available at https://www.filmcomment.com/blog/nyff-interview-athina-rachel- tsangari/ [Accessed 16 July 2018]. Walsh, F. (2010), Male Trouble: Masculinity and the Performance of Crisis, New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

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