Some artistic voices don’t quite transcend place and time enough that they are constantly referred to as influential figures, but who are nonetheless still very important, particularly to those who are aware of their contributions. I’d hesitate to refer to Claude Miller as an obscure filmmaker, but he certainly has not received his due, despite being one of the bridging figures between the French New Wave and the films that followed this movement in the subsequent decades. Having worked alongside many of the most famous names in the industry, on both sides of the camera, Miller accumulated quite an intriguing body of work, notable for its originality and inability to be categorised into the neat compartments that we usually tend to use to adjudicate art. His greatest achievement, or perhaps the one that has developed the most ardent support, is The Smile (French: Le sourire), a bewildering and offbeat story of an elderly professor caught in the midst of an existential crisis, leading him to exist in a state between fact and fiction, plagued by visions of an alluring young woman with whom he has an affair in his fantasy. He soon realises that he has lost the ability to tell what is real and what is merely a fabrication, and after a while decides that it doesn’t matter – after all, when you are reaching the final chapter of your life, who wouldn’t choose to embrace the alluring absurdity over the banality of real life? The Smile is not a film that is ever particularly easy to understand, nor does it offer us any guidance in terms of its core themes, but as arguably the director’s most notable work, and a film that has consistently earned its place within the canon of compelling but mystifying post-New Wave comedies, it is most definitely worth the time of anyone who has an affection for the bizarre, especially those who find value in works of art that don’t offer answers, and instead fixate on asking some of the most impossible questions imaginable, which only makes this an even more enticing affair.

The Smile is a film filled to the brim with complex ideas, the likes of which we don’t often encounter, since it very rarely proves to be effective in creating a work of art designed solely to bewilder, even at its most accessible. The concept of an elderly man falling into a state of delusion, where he begins to experience vivid waking fantasies, not being aware that the subject of his hallucinations is having their own fantasies, is a fascinating idea, but not one that we can approach casually. The themes that drive the film are made quite clear in its earliest moments – this is an examination of the internal psychological architecture of a man who stands at the threshold of the final chapter of his life, a time in which many of his peers would be relishing in the memories of a life well lived, whereas he has to endure nothing but regrets, which in turn he counteracts through positioning himself as some overly youthful person, attempting to recapture the glorious anarchy of his earliest and most volatile years. It’s a fascinating and complex portrait of someone coming to terms with their mortality, but rather than being a navel-gazing, overly sentimental affair, Miller instead chooses to depict it as something entirely different, a complex and invigorating dark comedy about the narrow boundary that separates reality from fantasy, and how it is very easy to ignore the former and dwell in the latter, at least as far as could be reasonably expected. It can sometimes be somewhat difficult to see where the director is heading, but part of the appeal of The Smile comes in this intentional opacity, since its never entirely clear about its intentions, and instead takes the opportunity to examine subjects such as ageing, desire and the psychology of existing in a world that no longer makes any sense (whether this is because everything is becoming more chaotic as a whole, or just because he has lost the filter that usually accompanies youthful decorum is left to individual interpretation), which it does with swift precision and a sense of genuine curiosity.

Based on the premise, we can understand why The Smile is one of the more divisive French films of its era, and one that has essentially caused the creation of two diverse factions of viewers – those who swear by its premise, which they believe to be a gloriously deranged example of postmodern storytelling, and those who are actively repulsed by these same ideas. The most appropriate way to categorise this film, if one even dares to do so, is as the visual manifestation of the liminal space between being conscious and asleep. Much of this is reflected in the tone of the film, which is where Miller manages to express some of the more abstract ideas in a way that is nothing if not wholeheartedly invigorating. We tend to view surrealism through a very particular lens, one defined by nightmarish or abstract imagery and an unsettling, otherworldly tone – yet, some of the most important works that fall under this category earn their place within the canon precisely because of how close they veer to reality, choosing to unseat the status quo from within through taking a more unconventional approach to familiar subjects. This is a film that is guided primarily by atmosphere, which is a common technique for works that strive to present more unconventional depictions of reality without dismantling logic entirely – and it is left to the viewer to decide whether we are willing to leap onto the film’s wavelength or simply just look at it from a distance. Both approaches are entirely appropriate and have their own merits, but it is obvious that The Smile is a film that benefits from the audience just surrendering to the madness and following it in a way that feels honest and sincere, rather than actively trying to understand absolutely every cue. Miller had a very interesting technique, and while it may not work for everyone, it is clear that there’s something quite valuable about what he is doing with this film, even if it can be somewhat polarising.

Much like Miller, Jean-Pierre Marielle started his career right around the time of the French New Wave (although his earliest performances slightly predate it, and he was mostly working in films that were adjacent to the more revolutionary works, only finding his way into the fray slightly later), and acted regularly until his death only a few years before, being a constant presence in many fascinating films over the past sixty years. The Smile contains some of his best work, which we can credit to the role simply being exceptionally well-written, and executed with the kind of deft precision that can only emerge from an actor who is entirely aware of his skills and comfortable enough in his gifts that he can easily take on the more abstract elements of the character. It’s a wonderful showcase for Marielle, who is by far the most memorable aspect of the film – there’s some solid work being done by Richard Bohringer, Nadia Barentin, covertly the best supporting performance in the film despite her paltry screentime, and Christine Pascal  (as well as Emmanuelle Seigner , but she is unfortunately shoehorned into the part of the woman the protagonist covets, and while she does her best, the character is nothing more than an embodiment of his undying lust, which is a major disservice to someone who is far more capable than just this one-dimensional stereotype), the film belongs almost entirely to Marielle, who reminds us of the many reasons why he was one of the most beloved and important actors of his generation, even if he has been somewhat eclipsed by a few of his peers in retrospect, another area in which he shares common ground with the director, who has similarly been misunderstood and overlooked in contemporary analyses, but who we can find still left a positive influence on the industry as time progressed.

The Smile is the rare kind of film where the more we attempt to understand its many layers, the less we actually are able to comprehend. There are so many complex nuances that drive this film, which is best described as a series of labyrinthine moments that oscillate between reality and fantasy, that even multiple viewings render any effort to make sense of what it all means entirely futile. Miller is a filmmaker with a distinct vision and the overarching desire to not necessarily confuse, but rather playfully bewilders. It’s gleefully vulgar in a way that doesn’t hide the fact that it does veer towards the bawdy one more than one occasion, and will therefore be more of an acquired taste – there’s something to be said about it being quite regressive on the subject of gender, to the point where it can border on misogynistic – this is not incorrect, but we always need to look at the intentions more than how it is executed, especially since it seems like the director is looking to satirise the male gaze more than condone it, even if the execution can sometimes be a bit too heavy-handed in certain parts. It’s definitely not without its flaws, but it does earn our respect and affection solely through its ability to challenge and provoke in the most delightful way imaginable. It can occasionally be a bit too ambiguous in terms of its overall aims, and its sardonic humour can be misunderstood at times – but as a sharply-written satire that tackles themes such as ageing, the irrepressible desire (both carnal and intellectual) and the deep despair one feels as they begin to realise that they are not nearly as important as they hope, The Smile is a fascinating piece, a deeply flawed but nonetheless captivating film that knows exactly how to capture the audience’s attention in a fascinating and provocative way.