The Ice Tower Review
Lucile Hadžihalilović’s The Ice Tower (La Tour de Glace) is a mesmerising, dream-like reimagining of The Snow Queen, filtered through the prism of a coming-of-age drama. It’s a uniquely odd take on obsession, grief and desire, which is by turns dizzying and a little confounding. Anyone hoping for a straightforward retelling of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale will likely be disappointed, but those going in with no expectations will be rewarded with one of the year’s most fascinating and quietly devastating films.
At the film’s centre is an astonishing debut from Clara Pacini as Jeanne, a teenage orphan who abandons her foster home and goes on the run, eventually stumbling onto a film set. Coincidentally, or perhaps fatefully, the production is a big-screen adaptation of The Snow Queen, a story of particular significance for her. Enraptured by the film, she manages to get work as an extra, and quickly comes to idolise Cristina (Marion Cotillard), the icy, high-maintenance lead actress. Cristina, in turn, seems to recognise something of herself in this quiet, adoring teenager, and gives her a more prominent role in the film. Yet Cristina’s mercurial, volatile nature means that Jeanne soon finds herself in a precarious, increasingly dangerous position.
Cotillard is extraordinary playing the capricious diva, and she depicts her shifts in mood perfectly. She’s generous and affectionate one moment, cold and cruel the next. There’s an unpredictability to her that keeps both Jeanne and the audience constantly off balance. She looks strikingly beautiful in her glittery Snow Queen costume, with an imperious curl to her lips, and yet she is also vulnerable in her quieter moments.
As brilliant as Cotillard is, though, Pacini is a revelation. She infuses Jeanne with an innate sadness and a withdrawn demeanour that feels painfully authentic. She has very little dialogue, relying on her big, doleful eyes and awkward physicality to convey some very complex emotions, while simultaneously allowing for a great deal of ambiguity. Just what is she seeking from Cristina? Is she looking for maternal companionship, or a friend, or something less platonic? The final scene between her and Cotillard is genuinely upsetting, precisely because Pacini makes Jeanne’s longing so painfully believable. It’s a cruel act of destruction that irreversibly destroys the delicate balance between the two characters, and it feels especially transgressive and malicious when directed at a character as innocent and vulnerable as Jeanne.
Elsewhere, August Diehl gives a quietly brilliant supporting performance as Cristina’s doctor/drug dealer, managing to be both callous and humane. There’s a pained self-awareness to him; whenever Jeanne isn’t looking, his face slips into an expression of weary disgust. Like everyone else in Jeanne’s orbit, he’s trapped between complicity and despair.
I’ve seen several critics comparing The Ice Tower to Mulholland Drive, but there are nods to all manner of older films here, to the jealousy and ambition of All About Eve, the fantasy and yearning of The Fall, as well as the non-linear, stylised editing of contemporary directors like Peter Strickland, Ari Aster and Luca Guadagnino. Meanwhile, the look of Cotillard, especially in her Snow Queen costume, seems designed to emulate Delphine Seyrig’s performance in Daughters of Darkness. Indeed, while the film itself isn’t supernatural, there are more than a few shots where Cristina is almost predatory, feeding on the adoration and attention of her young protege. Her ominous promise to Jeanne that they will be “joined forever” could easily have been lifted wholesale from a gothic horror.
Hadzihalilovic’s pacing is methodical, and at times feels a bit aimless, as she oscillates between realism and dreams (a distinction beautifully realised by cinematographer Manuel Dacosse, who keeps several plates spinning at once as he uses distinct shooting styles for the waking moments, the dream sequences and the film within a film). Scenes bleed into one another in a kind of dream logic – at one point, Jeanne stares at a model of an ice palace, and suddenly she’s walking inside it (a little flourish that again recalls Ari Aster). The editing is elliptical and intuitive, and combined with the sometimes languorous pacing, it can sometimes feel frustratingly opaque and produce an almost soporific effect. This isn’t helped by Oliver Messiayen’s dreamy score, comprised of synths and choral hums. It’s beautiful, but combined with the slow pacing, it does make the film drag in places.
Thankfully, though, the emotion, intensity and authenticity of the central relationship of The Ice Tower mean that the ending feels completely earned. Hadzihalilovic steadfastly refuses to do anything as trite as laying the film’s subtext out for all to see, but there is a definite sense of Jeanne yearning for some kind of companionship. Instead, Jeanne’s search is mirrored by Cristina’s own need for connection. Both women are lonely, projecting onto each other what they most crave, but crucially, they mistake reflection for understanding. It’s this misapprehension that leads to the film’s shattering climax – a terrifying drive to a cliff edge that brings all the undercurrents of power and obsession crashing together.
In its closing images, Hadžihalilović circles back to fairy-tale symbolism. A fellow orphan discovers the diamond Jeanne had stolen from Cristina’s dress. While admiring it, she cuts her finger and turns the diamond in her hand, watching the blood colour the light shining through the stone. It’s perhaps the film’s most overt bit of symbolism, standing for Cristina herself, beautiful and alluring, but dangerous.
The Ice Tower is an unapologetically esoteric film, and it will almost certainly prove polarising. Some will no doubt dismiss it as pretentious or self-indulgent, or take issue with the glacial pacing; others will be entranced by its strange, sorrowful beauty. It might not satisfy on every level, but it remains an achingly heartfelt poem of a film, anchored by the two incredible performances at its centre, and all the more fascinating for it’s ethereal ambiguity.
★★★★
In cinemas from November 21st / Marion Cotillard, Clara Pacini, August Diehl, Gaspar Noe / Dir: Lucile Hadžihalilović / BFI / 15
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