Cul-de-sac is most certainly one of those films that I would have a lot more to say about in the context of a podcast discussion than in a written essay such as the one I'm working on at the moment. A bit of a step-down from the enduring classics that Roman Polanski directed in the 1960s, both before (Knife in the Water, Repulsion) and after (Rosemary's Baby), it's pretty easy to regard Cul-de-sac as a marginal transition piece or even an indulgent throwaway, best left to the deserved obscurity of a young but talented filmmaker bent on exploring the possibilities of an eccentric cast, a uniquely picturesque location and a script that took full advantage of the burgeoning anarchic spirit of its era. Indeed, the film was very hard to find until Criterion released it back in 2011, a surprising delay at first glance given Polanski's reputation and award-winning career (I won't bother getting into the scandalous aspects of his personal history.) But having watched it a few times now, I can easily understand why even a label like Criterion required some extended consideration before it landed on the right time and framework to introduce this film to a wider home video audience.
The main thrust of the action involves a comically fractious triangle, not of love, but of a more primal and savagely destructive clash of wills, between three mismatched but stuck with each other archetypes: Richard, a brutish criminal thug who intrudes on the unhappy marriage of George, a simpering timid intellectual painter, and Teresa, an intelligent but carnally frustrated woman driven by her sexual cravings into a paralysis of indecision as she tries to sort out her feelings of attraction for these two masculine extremes. Forces of nature and circumstance bind the three of them together in a strange remote locale, a castle on the tidal island of Lindisfarne on the northeast coast of England, just below the border of Scotland. It's a remarkable setting that is used to wonderful effect, though I imagine some purists of the Lindisfarne heritage are probably uncomfortable with the way this rather crass, cynical cinematic affair might tarnish the area's sacred history and ambiance.
Contemptuous of her husband's cowardice, but equally repelled by the abusive violence that Richard continuously threatens as his default approach to establishing relationships, Teresa's lot is rather unhappy from beginning to end, though she's hardly blameless for all the misery inflicted upon her. Other characters intrude on the tawdry, occasionally violent and frequently nonsensical dead end that these characters have fallen into, but Polanski mostly plays the wretched scenario for laughs of a dark, bitter and abysmally deprecating sort. Though the performance of overheated exchanges between all the players are consistently energetic and effective, the personalities portrayed are all pretty repulsive, which is apparently by intention. Lots of absurdity in this one, with emotions unhinged, volatile characters all cut loose from the usual inhibitions that keep straight society in line. I'm sure that restless, unpredictable craziness, an atmosphere where anything could happen, was a big part of the attraction for all who were involved in the project.
This film is very much a product of that mid-60s exploration of radical new possibilities in recontextualizing older cultural traditions (gangster film tropes, in this case) alongside looser standards of violence, sexuality and narrative discontinuity, where the pressure to deliver a story that adheres to something resembling a plausible real life scenario isn't quite as strong as it was with the conventional Hollywood picture. Polanski obviously had a lot of great work ahead of him in more traditional genre films, and it's fun to see him crafting something unique in that free-wheeling experimental mode. Cul-de-sac can come across as a refreshingly bizarre, enjoyably wacky novelty item given the right mood and situation (my response when I saw it for the first time last summer), or it could just as easily be seen as a frustrating, inconsequential excursion into pointless bedlam if approached from an incompatible wavelength (pretty much how it struck me when I watched it again last night.) I'm glad to have it on my shelf in any case, and I know that I'll enjoy the opportunity to revisit it again when I'm in the right frame of mind.
Next: The Face of Another