![]() She and the car-displaying pleasure with its ever more vehement motion and flashing lights-bounce up and down in rhythm until both climax. The vintage Cadillac that she’d been bumping and grinding on is flashing its headlights at her, and she walks to it, naked, then enters it for a sex scene, on its front seats. Then, while showering his brain goo off her body, she responds to a heavy, metallic thud at the door. ![]() But, when one of Alexia’s male fans follows her out and forcibly kisses her, she kills him-gorily, graphically-with a knitting-needle-like stick that holds her hair in place. With her unfeigned attraction to cars, Alexia is a star in the field, and, when she energetically and sinuously dances on a classic Cadillac, Ducournau renders her in ecstatically soaring images. (One woman soaps a car and rubs her breasts against a side window.) Men wander among the vehicles, taking selfies with the women. She’s seen dancing at a hangar-like venue where cars are fetish objects. Emerging from the hospital, she lovingly caresses her parents’ car-in particular, the driver’s-side window, an ingenious Freudian touch that will echo mightily through the entire drama.įlash forward, and the grown Alexia is performing as an erotic dancer at car shows. Alexia suffers a serious head injury and has a titanium plate inserted in her skull. Moments later, she unbuckles her seat belt, distracting her father and causing him to lose control of the car. But Alexia is instead growling along to the sound of the engine. ![]() As a child (played by Adèle Guigue), Alexia is sitting in the back seat of a car driven by her father ( Bertrand Bonello, himself a notable director), who’s got music on the radio. The film’s protagonist, Alexia (Agathe Rousselle), has an affinity for cars that amounts to a sort of destiny. The radical fantasy of its premise-a woman gets impregnated by a car-wrenches the ensuing family drama out of the realm of the ordinary and into one of speculative fantasy and imaginative wonder that demands a suspension of disbelief-which becomes the movie’s very subject. “Titane,” the new film by Julia Ducournau, is a genre film, a twist on horror with a twist on family-like Ducournau’s first feature, “Raw.” But “Titane” is far stronger, far wilder, far stranger. In the best genre movies, the quantity and power of these effects serve as sufficient compensation for the thinned-out drama. The curse of genre is that it encourages filmmakers to downplay causes in the interest of effects.
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