ISABELLE HUPPERT: TRIPLE THREAT Written by Brian Shirey

Signoret, Bardot, Adjani, Béart, et al: No, the French have never been subtle when it comes to beautiful, iconic film actresses. Ever self-reflexive, they even made a movie about it -- 8 Women (2002), Francois Ozon’s colorful celebration of la femme au cinema (that also happened to be a musical!) For those of us
lucky enough to see it, the consensus was that one deliciously feisty performance stood out among the all-French, multi-generational cast: That of Isabelle Huppert. Small, intense, freckled, yet ravishing in a quirky, anti-Deneuvian way, Huppert is not as renowned as some of her more classical contemporaries. But she is perhaps the best pure female actor France has ever produced; certainly, she is the bravest.

In October and November, New York City rights the balance with a mind-boggling, multi-venue tribute to Huppert that is staggering in scope. Eager fans can see the actress in her usual role, cutting-edge film star, in screenings of twenty-six of her films at MOMA. Then they can drop over to PS 1 (in L.I.C.), where
she’s featured in a collection of photographic portraits (called Woman of Many Faces) that capture her crazily diverse characters. BAM rounds out this cultural subway series with Huppert’s (limited) US theater debut in Sarah Kane’s play Psychose. Exhausted? Well, that’s Isabelle Huppert for you.

In films non-stop from age sixteen, Huppert has always shown a take-no-prisoners attitude in her performances. From the shy, colorless young girl who seems a tad bit disturbed in The Lacemaker (1977), to the depraved, hedonistic mother who lures her own son into a sexual web in Ma Mere (2005), Huppert seems to delight in playing women who basically like to roll around in the dirt. Waving off ingénue parts and romantic leads indiscriminately (thanks, in part, to her decidedly un-statuesque beauty), she’s at her best doing art-house films with top European directors. MOMA’s contribution to all Huppert, all the time, features a great mix of both the acclaimed and notorious in her oeuvre.

Among the highlights: Michael Cimino’s dusty, seriously under-rated Heaven's Gate (1980), her first big part in an English-language film. There’s also Cactus (1986), an oddity in which her character faces impending blindness and tangled romance with equal intensity. In Story of Women (1988), she plays an abortionist in occupied France. Huppert does her take on Flaubert’s tragic heroine in Madame Bovary (1991), then sinks into an obsession with a bisexual hustler in School of Flesh (1998). In Hal Hartley’s Amateur (1994), another
touching part for the actress: Ex-nun turned porn writer.

If this only partial list isn’t enticing enough, the PS1 exhibit is a great complement, and a hell of a rarity for any film star who isn’t dead. Woman of Many Faces features over 100 photo and video portraits of Huppert by a large variety of artists, including Henri Cartier-Bresson, Hiroshi Sugimoto and Helmut Newton. You’ll see elegant real-life shots of the actress, mixed with juicy stills of her prowling around in character. This exhibition is a great idea, quite frankly, because many of her most powerful movie moments happen in stillness… as the characters she plays slowly crack apart. At the same time, the exhibit reveals how physically bold Huppert can be. Putting it mildly, her size (just over 5’2”) has never been a liability.

Finally, who else would be willing to make her live stage debut in New York, in French, doing an experimental play whose author recently committed suicide? Over at BAM, Psychose concludes the triple threat of Huppert’s NYC domination. A virtual monologue, as Huppert’s character speaks to her therapist, this evening of strange theater gives new definition to such dramatic conceits as mental torture and psychological collapse. When Psychose ran in France, Le Figaro said of Huppert's performance “…she is never better than when she puts herself in danger; when she reaches the farthest point within herself.”

If the meaning of art -- a reasonable theory -- is to confront us with the limits of human experience, rather than to appease us with what we already know, then Isabelle Huppert could be its poster child. The MOMA, PS1 and BAM convergence is a cool happening, and like Huppert, it’s gutsy and appropriately excessive.
The French love women, that’s no secret. New York? We love Huppert.

HUPPERT SPEAKS

Back in 2002, on the occasion of the release of The Piano Teacher (for which she won the Cannes Best Actress award), I conducted an on-camera interview with Ms. Huppert. Asked about her film choices, she noted that each part is approached “not as a character, but as a person, because characters come with limitations. People are much more complex.” Regarding her role in the film, an insanely strict music instructor with a propensity for S&M, Huppert was quite clear: “If she’s sympathetic or not sympathetic, that’s not the issue,
and it’s certainly not my problem.” The points are well made. Without question, here is a performer who approaches acting as a way to observe the extremes of behavior, in all of its ugly – and beautiful – intensity.

Her body of work is full of screaming, assault, obsession, addiction, psychosis, nudity and sexual deviance. She cares nothing for preserving an image as a film star, and shows utterly no concern for how a character’s gutter depravities might reflect on her own person. Audacious? I can’t think of a single American actress who’d have the guts to play half of her roles.

Incidentally, my camera crew and I were a bit nervous about meeting Ms. Huppert. Judging from her scary characters, we didn’t exactly expect her to be warm and receptive. Plus, as someone warned us, “Be careful,
after all, she has been photographed by the greatest cameramen in Europe.” (PS1 proves it). But after a few tense early moments, in which she directed our lighting of her striking face with laser-like precision, a real modesty surfaced. She didn’t rest on her laurels, and gave the impression that her acting isn’t worthy of too much in-depth discussion. “It’s like that saying about the scorpion,” she said towards the end, “who can’t do anything else but sting. I can’t either.”