Those who appreciate Alain Tanner solely on the basis of his most widely screened film, Jonah, Who Will Be 25 in the Year 2000, (and there are many) will initially feel dumbfounded by the director's 1983 effort, In The White City (Dans la Ville Blanche). It bears no resemblance whatsoever to Tanner's previous work -- gone are the political undercurrents, the quirky traces of humor, the fascinating use of cross-cuts in the narrative architecture. Instead, Tanner's story -- about ship mechanic Paul's (Bruno Ganz) attempts to "live outside of time" in Lisbon, sans the responsibilities of a job, a family, and bills -- becomes a lengthy, painstaking meditation on social alienation and withdrawal. The film reflects on Paul's immobilization -- his sudden, baffling inability to function in the everyday world. This is Bergman territory -- early Bergman. Yet, unlike Bergman's early '60s works, this picture doesn't offer an externalized view; if it traveled that route, it would risk cold, clinical detachment. Instead, it pulls us into Paul's internal state, stylistically, and lives there. His behavior cannot be accounted for in icy, logical terms, however much he might try -- which explains why Paul's attempts to explain his spiritual isolation to his wife feel so futile.
Tanner evinces breathtaking fluidity in his fugal mode. The somnambulistic crawl of the narrative draws us in and holds us, and Jean-Luc Barbier's jazzy score waxes so rhapsodic that it enables Tanner to create and sustain the ambience of a mesmeric dream state, awash in lyrical imagery. (The title of the film is perfect -- it suggests a state of existence, which is exactly what the viewing experience provides; this is one of those rare features with a wholly unique agenda, that forces the audience into an original mindset.) If ever there were a film to thrive solely on the kinetic and rhythmic levels, and to move the audience into a perpetual lull, this is it; it makes us feel as if we're floating gently in the nighttime ocean, on our backs, and studying the constellations. To fully appreciate Dans la Ville Blanche, one must surrender all preconceptions and just bask. (Watching it is like being inside of Whistler's "Nocturne in Blue and Silver -- Chelsea.") If at all possible, see this astonishing work on a big screen -- not on television, where it will lose most or all of its impact.
