Olivier Assayas’ 2004 Cannes Film Festival selection, Clean, initially impressed with its solid craftsmanship. However, revisiting it reveals a film that, while boasting strong performances, ultimately fades in memory. This Franco-Canadian-U.K. co-production, delivered in English, French, and Cantonese, suffered a delayed release in America, ironically landing in the summer art-film doldrums. The central figure is Emily, portrayed by Maggie Cheung (Cannes Best Actress winner), a struggling musician and heroin addict. The film opens with Emily leaving her common-law husband, a failing music producer, who subsequently dies of an overdose. Emily’s arrest for drug possession leads to a six-month jail term. Upon release, she finds herself estranged, her son in the care of her in-laws. A fragile hope emerges through her father-in-law, Albrecht (Nick Nolte), who offers a path to reconnect with her son if Emily rebuilds her life.
This premise, while familiar, held promise, especially coming from Assayas, known for Irma Vep. While Irma Vep showcased a post-New Wave dynamism, Clean leans towards a less spectacular realism.
The film’s opening act is undeniably compelling. Assayas plunges the viewer into Emily’s world with minimal exposition, demanding active engagement to piece together the narrative. The kinetic handheld camera, mirroring the energy of the punk music scene Emily inhabits, contributes to a raw and immediate feel. The cinematography and editing during this period possess a distinctly punk aesthetic – unpolished and urgent.
Yet, Clean gradually transitions into a more conventional, even predictable, narrative, reminiscent of a Lifetime movie in its subdued drama. While the film commendably avoids typical heroin addiction clichés and predictable recovery tropes, it also lacks significant conflict. Emily’s supposed driving force is reuniting with her son, but the screenplay fails to convey any real urgency. The possibility of Emily simply going to Vancouver to reclaim her son after a period of sobriety feels strangely plausible, diminishing the dramatic stakes. A late, brief scene attempting to introduce reluctance from her son feels unconvincing and underdeveloped. This lack of tension is compounded by the excessive kindness Emily encounters. Albrecht is depicted as almost saintly in his forgiveness, and despite repeated assertions of the difficulties Emily faces, these are rarely depicted on screen. Even a moment intended to highlight her housing struggles is undermined when the lodging is readily offered by the very person she’s discussing it with.
Despite these narrative shortcomings, Maggie Cheung and Nick Nolte deliver exceptional performances, arguably career bests. Cheung navigates the linguistic complexities flawlessly and embodies a palpable desperation that the script itself lacks. Nolte masterfully portrays the weight of age and mortality with a poignant sincerity. The film’s redeeming qualities reside almost entirely in their performances.
However, a significant misstep is Emily’s ambition to relaunch her music career as part of her recovery. Her social circle is populated by music industry figures who offer her studio access. Regrettably, Emily’s singing and songwriting, showcased throughout the film, are notably poor. This undermines audience sympathy for her artistic struggles, making it difficult to root for her success when her talent seems so limited.
