In 1995, French Elle editor-in-chief Jean-Dominique
Bauby suffered a massive stroke that paralyzed him; a condition called
"locked-in syndrome" left him unable to control his body, apart from turning
his head and blinking one eye. Nonetheless, his brain remained fully
functional, and with the help of patient transcribers, he was able to use a blinking
code to dictate a slim book, The Diving Bell And The Butterfly. Published in 1997, just days before
his death, it described his thoughts and experiences as a paralytic, likening
his unresponsive body to a deep-sea diver stuck far underwater in a clumsy diving
suit, and his thoughts to a butterfly.
The putative film adaptation reaches well beyond the
contents of that book, expanding its philosophical resignation into a grim but
beautiful visual poem. It begins with Bauby (played
by Mathieu Amalric) waking up in the hospital and learning that he's
been in a coma for three weeks, but in flashbacks, it contrasts his current
condition with his earlier life, and briefly, glimpses the fantasies that keep
him moderately sane. As he puts it, the only two things not paralyzed are his
imagination and his memory; screenwriter Ronald Harwood (The Pianist) and director Julian Schnabel explore both in a dreamy, swimmy
manner that communicates Bauby's mental state in style as much as content.
As with his two earlier films,
Before Night Falls and Basquiat, Schnabel seems fixated on artists' detached,
beyond-ordinary vision of the world, which he once again communicates through a
swooping, dipping POV that approaches things from odd angles, and catches them
in hushed tones. Initially, he views the world through Bauby's eyes, overlaying
his thoughts atop the dialogue of the blurry people around him, to emphasize
how little impact his incommunicable feelings have on them. Surprisingly,
though, the film's emotions mostly stay low-key. While stricken with bouts of
despair, anger, and sulky reluctance, particularly when his physical therapists
offer him the tedious, repetitive blinking method of communication, Bauby
achieves a sort of Zen calm that permeates the film as well. At times, Bell seems heightened and romanticized, particularly in the way
everyone around Bauby remains supportive and attentive, even at their own
expense. But that just prevents the film from becoming standard-arc
disease-of-the-week fare, with its programmed trials and inevitable victories.
Instead, Schnabel's sleepy, drifty, at times morbidly funny film tackles
something more ambitious, by getting into the head of someone who's trying to
get out of there himself.