Fact and fiction blur together throughout In the House (French: Dans la maison), the ambitious dark comedy by François Ozon, who proves to be capable of not only telling compelling stories of humanity, but also of an incredible playfulness not often embraced in modern cinema. Many consider this to be amongst the prolific filmmaker’s greatest works, a fact that’s impossible to argue with – it’s an entertaining blend of comedy, literary mystery and psychological thriller that manages to be fascinating while still having fun at the same time. It’s a unique kind of storytelling that requires every individual involved to be firing on all cylinders, who is definitely very true of this film, which goes beyond the confines of genre and convention and instead nestles itself in the ambigious space between reality and construction, which makes this such a delightful film that carries a poignancy in every moment that’s difficult to match. In the House is quite a challenging film in terms of how it takes on some broader themes, but instead of growing into a convoluted, pretentious jumble of ideas, Ozon employs an irreverent sense of humour and a strong set of concepts that all go into demonstrating the wildly inventive brilliance underpinning this film. This leaves the audience with an outrageously funny, but also quite meaningful, character study that ventures deep into the minds of its players and presents the viewer with the chance to not only understand these individuals, but also the concepts that they represent – and for that reason alone, its not too difficult to imagine why In the House is such a triumphant piece, with its ambition being only matched by the willingness of the director and his collaborators to say something important, without weighing the entire project down by its own audacity, which is instead carefully sewn into the fabric of this charming comedy that carries some serious depth, even when it’s at its most effervescently entertaining.

Art tends to be quite self-reflective at times, often looking inwards and exploring its own composition. This is the basis of postmodernism, whereby (by the virtue of its very definition), artistic expression isn’t only a portrayal of the external world, but also a demonstration of the artists themselves, with various curiosities and quandaries manifesting in many of the finest works of art, to the point where the most pensive observers will yearn to penetrate the mind of the artist and understand what drew them to actually create a particular work of art. There isn’t any work that is entirely objective, with everything harbouring some trace of reality in it. This has become the subject of numerous works of literature that focus themselves specifically on the idea of exploring their own creation – metafiction is a sub-genre of postmodernism that is still actively being pursued, since we haven’t fully grasped all the areas in which we can explore this area. In the House is fundamentally a film that takes the bold step to centre itself on a frank and earnest deconstruction of the literary form, without actually dismissing it as a whole – we’re not confronted with rambling discussions on the dishonesty of literature and how culture thrives on false realities created by disingenuous individuals, but rather shown an intelligent and insightful portrayal of how we tend to manipulate reality to suit our own needs and desires. Ozon creates a rivetting narrative that delves deep into the vague recesses that aren’t often noticed when considering literature and builds an entire film out of these moments. Fiction about fiction is already enticing on its own, so for this film to venture even further, and look at such concepts in a way that doesn’t only question the boundaries between fiction and reality, but rather openly challenges them, makes for truly compelling viewing, on both the cinematic and literary level.

Experimental without being arrogant, In the House feels like a work in progress – not in the sense that it is incomplete or flawed, but rather that it was produced through Ozon expressing his own curiosities with various aspects of literature in a way that conveyed some deeper meaning without offering any clear resolution until the very end. As a species, our inherent tendency is to tell stories – even those who don’t actively seek out the process of putting pen to paper are complicit in creating worlds. We all exist in our own reality, and hold much more power than we tend to believe. Free will certainly does exist in the world of In the House, albeit in the form that we may not be able to change the world around us, but rather shape our own perception of it. This could be quite possibly the definitive work on the manner in which we tend to focus our attention on building worlds, and how our unique curiosities can play a part in our own individual journeys. In the House is inherently against the idea of a metanarrative, the evisceration of which is the cornerstone of the entire postmodernist movement. Life is moulded by our experiences, and as we see throughout the film, there’s a kind of incredulity to the idea of some “bigger picture” – Claude is a young man who realizes this, and through his interactions with Germain, comes to understand that great drama doesn’t come from the imagination, but rather through how we manipulate reality in order to siphon our own experiences and interests through it. It’s a novel concept, and Ozon explores it incredibly well throughout In the House, which is a fundamentally fascinating work of critical literary thought, but isn’t nearly as stifling or academic as it would appear, rather being an buoyant bundle of ideas that manifest beautifully as the film progresses.

However, if we put aside the academic ramblings and instead focus on the film as a whole, In the House is still a tremendously entertaining work of modern filmmaking. Ozon’s style is simultaneously varied and distinct, with his approach to his process always showing a fascinating control of both narrative and the form it takes. Despite employing a dizzying blend of genres, In the House is remarkably restrained – the director goes to great lengths to infuse this story with a lot of personality, so that it isn’t always just a series of philosophical discussions, but also a very compelling film on its own terms. This is a piece propelled almost entirely by the actors, so it only makes sense that the cast is as interesting as the story they’re interpreting. Fabrice Luchini leads the film, playing the role of the curiously-named Germain Germain (which is derived from the Old French for “brother”, which could be a hammering in of the point that this character is just about as lonely and unfraternal as he could possibly be), and he gives a terrific performance as the over-the-hill teacher who never managed to make it on his own as a writer, and has to settle for educating uninterested teenagers on the art of storytelling, only to have his entire perspective changed with the arrival of the young Claude, whose immense promise as a writer both fascinates Germain, and frustrates him, especially when the boundaries between fiction and reality start to become unclear. Ernst Umhauer is equally good as the young writer, being able to play both sides of the character with equal ease – we’re never quite sure if Claude is just a curious young man with a passion for writing, or a somewhat more sinister figure capable of serious malice, and the film does very well to never quite get us the full picture of who this enigmatic young man is. We only catch a glimpse of his personal life to the end of the film, with most of his performance entailing living vicariously through his words, which increasingly become more realistic as time goes on. Both actors play off each other well, and the final moment shared between them is simply quite extraordinary.

The two leads are complemented wonderfully by a tremendous supporting cast – Kristin Scott Thomas is a riot at Germain’s frazzled art curator wife, and proves to be the comic relief of the film, but who is a pivotal part of the final climactic sequences, which is where the film is truly breathtaking. Scott Thomas has the ability to command the screen with an ease that has allowed her to play may fascinating parts, and even when taking on a relatively thankless role in this (albeit one that does have moments of brilliance, and takes part in the haunting final moments of the film), she is exceptional. She brings a depth to the film, often being the voice of reason to Germain’s paranoid state, a supportive sounding-board that eventually grows weary of her own place in the world, and begins to question whether or not she’s comfortable in her own reality. She is sharply contrasted by Emmanuelle Seigner, who is also very impressive as the housewife who becomes an object of desire – in both the fictional constructions of her character, and the sequences set in reality, Seigner is giving a very intricate and compelling performance that is remarkably enigmatic, but not lacking in discernible characteristics. Alluring and elegant, but in a way quite different from Scott Thomas, whose entire performance is based on a certain mediocrity found in the bourgeoisie that believes they are better than everyone else but fail to actually have any clear achievements to prove it, Seigner is a mystery, and has some of the most compelling moments in the film, especially towards the end, where she moves beyond the confines of being a repressed housewife, and becomes quite complex in her characteristics and intentions. Denis Ménochet and Bastien Ughetto round out the cast, and while they often get overlooked in discussions, both of them are just as interesting, even if the film tends to shift focus away from them a bit too frequently for them to fully-develop in the way that the others are. Neither has the bold resolution that the other characters do, but are just as vital to the success of the film, and contribute to the fact that In the House has one of the better ensembles of the past decade, in terms of both the character they’re playing and the spirited performances everyone is giving.

In the House is quite an achievement – Ozon continues to prove his immense brilliance as an auteur, and he hits certain notes here that have already defined his style and committed him to the canon of great modern filmmakers. Undeniably a film rooted in some deep theoretical concepts, In the House never feels as if it is preaching or being too heavy-handed in its ideas, instead going about these insightful discussions through a boldly entertaining narrative that has many twists and turns, and ends with one of the most profound moments of the past decade, where all the multitudes of ideas converge into a powerful sequence that is as hauntingly beautiful as it is oddly amusing. There are some terrific discussions to be about In the House, both in the context of the film itself and its approach to looking at some peculiar theoretical ideas, which stands as one of the most comprehensive accounts of modern postmodern theory, particularly in terms of the discourse surrounding how we engage with art. There is a lot of value embedded in this film, particularly when we look at the methods Ozon employs to evoke these ideas in a way that feels authentic without neglecting the fact this is supposed to be a film that entertains alongside the more thought-provoking subject matter. Sumptuous and gorgeously-made, and executed with a blend of irreverent comedy, poignant character-driven drama and healthy dosages of suspense, In the House is such an enthralling experience that captivates us from the very first moment and never loses our attention once, even when it is at its most abstract. That’s an achievement in itself, and all the proof one needs to know what a dynamic, fascinating work of fiction Ozon and his collaborators produced with this film, and the conversations they undoubtedly incited with this unique brand of storytelling that perpetually keeps us guessing, right until the final moments, where these ideas are handed over to the audience, who are now given the chance to assimilate them into the real world and see it in a radically different way. To be continued.