Loulou is a great film, a formal romantic masterpiece that sees director Maurice Pialat abandoning the stylistic pretensions of the French New Wave for something brutal, raw and visceral, a beautifully-constructed drama set in the dingy apartments and overcrowded bars of Paris and surrounds, as we watch the inner psychological workings of three core characters, observing them in their mundane existences that are made to appear absolutely astonishing through the unfurnished lens of Pialat’s unique vision. A deeply meaningful and bleak social drama, Loulou takes everything we think about French cinema and dismisses them as almost insignificant ramblings of arrogant film students, with Loulou being the more mature meditation on very similar themes. While there is nothing inherently wrong about the French New Wave, none of them has been shown to be nearly as meditative and complex as this film. A masterful achievement, Loulou touches on some uncomfortable themes and often veers into the sadistically tragic, all for the sake of the twisted drama at the core of this very poignant story that trades style and elegance for gritty, uncompromisingly arid social commentary.

At the beginning of Loulou, we are introduced to two characters. Nelly (Isabelle Huppert) is an impressionable young woman in a serious relationship with André (Guy Marchand), a middle-aged businessman and someone who is rather successful at living the contemporary upper-middle-class lifestyle that he forces Nelly into. A chance visit at a disco introduces Nelly to Loulou (Gérard Depardieu), the most likeable brute anyone is set to encounter – recently released from prison, he has a fierce manifesto that he does not believe in work, and makes his living engaging in petty crime. Nelly soon leaves her comfortable lifestyle with her boring (and often extremely abusive) husband, and falls in love with Loulou, who proves himself to be as much of a liability to her as he is a passionate lover – she has to support both of them, as well as being reigned into his dangerous schemes that are quite certainly both legally and morally unsound. She also learns that André still pines for her, and pursues her relentlessly, hoping to win her back. Nelly is caught between two worlds – does she stay with the spontaneous, exciting and passionate Loulou, or return to her stable prior life, where prison or eviction are far from sight?

Loulou features two performers in the lead roles that are not only the finest French actors of their generation but bona fide stars who have exceptional international appeal, appearing in a number of films across continents and genres. Isabelle Huppert, who is quite definitely one of the greatest actresses working today, turns in one of her best early-era performances as the youthful, uncertain Nelly. Her performance in Loulou stands in stark contrast with her later work, because instead of the seductive, willful independent women she normally personifies in her recent films, she is the victim here, a woman who is naive and indecisive based entirely on her inexperience – not entirely innocent, but also far from being an authority on how to live, she often falls for the charms of manipulative men who take advantage. Huppert shows the same volcanic intensity in this performance as she does in most of her roles, and even through the tears of fear and uncertainty, she still possesses a fiery passion that is unequivocally definitive of her talents as an actress.

Acting across from Huppert is Gérard Depardieu, also nothing short of a legend with wide appeal through his long career as one of his country’s finest exports. Depardieu’s talent may be obscured by his personal activities and the number of scandals that populate his career, but when you break it down, there is a reason why he is an actor who is constantly being utilized – he is extraordinarily talented, and while I am a dyed-in-the-wool devotee to Huppert, Loulou is undeniably Depardieu’s film (hence the title) and he is explosively good throughout, playing the reckless young man with a tendency for crime and a penchant for passion. Loulou was the second collaboration between Huppert and Depardieu, and their final one until their toweringly magnificent work in Valley of Love only two years ago. Their talents complement each other in ways that are unimaginable and indelible, and Loulou is a film that relies entirely on the two central characters, and both performers deliver riveting depictions of their respective social archetypes.

What is Loulou? On the surface, it is a love story between two characters, and even viewing it from this perspective, much can be said about how Pialat approaches the concept of romance. This is not necessarily a conventionally romantic film – in many ways, it is an impenetrable subversion of romantic conventions – there are many works that see the young, uncertain woman leave their stable, comfortable and often wealthier life in favour of the excitement that comes with the life of rogues and ruffians, which is the central story being conveyed here – but where it differs is in the bleakness of the story – there is no happy ending, and the audience is made to agree with her choices – neither of Nelly’s romantic suitors are particularly good people, and they both could be seen as vile, abusive and manipulative men who use their perceived dominance to take both physical and emotional advantage of the impressionable Nelly. Guy Marchand, in particular, is quite effective, playing André with a combination of vitriolic violence and unexpected sincerity. While Loulou is entirely honest and consistent in his oafish ignorance, André is far more sinister – he is someone who would physically beat his wife in the same breath as he would assert his undying love for her. Loulou is not a particularly romantic film in any traditional sense of the word, featuring moments of gut-wrenching tension and relentless discomfort – yet, we cannot help feeling the same alluring draw of this film, and the final moments, when the two characters stagger home drunk, is as poignantly moving as they come.

However, Loulou is far deeper than just being a story about a complicated love triangle – it is also an effective social satire, a commentary on contemporary issues that speak to issues of class inequality and relations between people of different societal standings. Nelly is a woman who does exactly the opposite of what many logical people would do – she has a comfortable life, with a husband who makes enough for them to live a lavish lifestyle filled with culture and luxury, but leaves it in favour of the lower-class, taking up with a man who is not only an unemployed ex-convict, he also despises work and continues to engage in the same sordid activities that had him thrown in prison in the first place. Throughout the film, we see Nelly and her suitors interact with each other, and it doesn’t only serve to be the story of a sadistic love triangle, but also a small-scale depiction of the interactions of the different classes. The high-brow, cultured, upper-class wealth is personified in André, and the volatile, common lifestyle of the working class and unemployed is portrayed in Loulou, with the undecided findings a representative in Nelly, who oscillates between both worlds. There are some moments of quiet comedic brilliance through this very unconventional situation, without taking this film into the realm of the lighthearted. Pialat is relentless with his disdain for both lifestyles presented here, and in showing them as both being plagued with problems, he manages to satirize both the bourgeoisie and the commoners in equal measure, which creates a certain duality that is wonderfully subversive and definitely quite original.

Finally, as alluded to previously, this film exists as the complete antithesis to the more popular French New Wave of the preceding few decades. Admittedly, the French New Wave was certainly wonderful, but there was a certain stylistic portrayal of these kinds of stories that don’t have much of a place in Loulou. Pialat approaches this story far more simply, with the notable lack of a musical score (I recall only one or two scenes featuring music) and gritty realism of the filmmaking contributing massively to the central storytelling, creating an uncomfortable but somehow oddly beautiful ode to the simplicity of existence, and how even the most extraordinary of circumstances can enter into our lives in ways that are not necessarily grandiose, but rather subversive and unexpected. Pialat’s deft defiance of norms is quite something, and the decision to portray the events of Loulou not with a bang, with with a whimper was quite noteworthy. Loulou is not a particularly visually-striking film, but the delicacy of the story, contrasted with the salt-of-the-earth filmmaking works together in constructing a truly magnificent, albeit extremely subtle, piece of social commentary.

Loulou is a terrific film. It is positively brimming with raw sexuality, and we see the despair of our young heroine as she grapples between the worlds of the upper-class and mundane, and the lower-class and exciting. Huppert and Depardieu give tremendous performances, the former as endearing and complex as ever, and the latter charming and deceivingly seductive. Loulou is a film about love, but its nothing close to a love story. It is an uncomfortable, complex bundle of themes and concepts that are sewn together with deft precision by the talented director, who crafts something so exceptionally moving, despite the incredible simple execution of the story, showing us the story of Nelly and her two romantic partners in a series of episodic moments that work together to form a more complete whole. The narrative is simple and doesn’t deviate much from the premise, which allows it to be meaningful not convoluted. It is an enigmatic film, a social masterpiece that takes the more subtle route in presenting its dynamic story, always being on the verge of complete eruption, but hardly ever veering off into the area of excess or unnecessary detail. It is a film that asks many questions, and answers very few of them – yet, the audience isn’t left dissatisfied with the lack of coherent resolution, but rather deeply moved by the powerful but affectionate conclusion that is small and intimate, but poetic and beautiful. The same description can be made for the film as a whole, a tense, vivacious and riveting social drama with a hint of humour and an abundance of genuine heart.