The air in Claire Denis's debut feature, Chocolat (1988), feels thick enough to touch – heavy with unspoken words, the shimmering heat of colonial Cameroon, and the hazy filter of memory. It's a film that doesn't shout its intentions but rather lets them steep, like tea brewing slowly in the oppressive afternoon sun. Watching it again, decades after first encountering it perhaps tucked away in the 'World Cinema' corner of the local video store, its quiet power feels undiminished, a testament to a filmmaker who arrived fully formed.
A Past Revisited
The story unfolds through the recollections of an adult woman named France (Mireille Perrier), returning to Cameroon years after independence. As she observes a father and son on a roadside, her mind drifts back to her childhood (where she's played with quiet intensity by Cécile Ducasse) as the daughter of a French colonial administrator (François Cluzet as Marc Dalens) and his wife Aimée (Giulia Boschi). This framing device isn't just structural; it immediately imbues the film with a sense of melancholic reflection. We are seeing the past through the lens of adult understanding, piecing together the complex emotional tapestry of a world defined by rigid boundaries – geographical, social, and racial. It’s a deeply personal project for Denis, drawing heavily on her own upbringing in various parts of colonial West Africa, lending the narrative an unshakable air of authenticity.
The Weight of Glances
At the heart of the young France's world is Protée (Isaach De Bankolé), the family's loyal and dignified house servant. Chocolat excels in portraying the intricate, often unsettling, dynamics of the colonial household. Much of the film’s tension resides in the charged space between Aimée and Protée. Their interactions are rarely explicit, yet pregnant with meaning. A shared look, a moment of proximity, the way he moves through the spaces she commands – Denis masterfully conveys a universe of forbidden attraction, resentment, and complex dependency simmering beneath the surface of civility. De Bankolé, in one of his earliest and most defining roles (marking the beginning of a long, fruitful collaboration with Denis), is simply magnetic. His Protée possesses a quiet strength and profound watchfulness; his silences speak volumes about the indignities and compromises inherent in his position. Boschi matches him with a portrayal of Aimée that captures both her vulnerability and her casual wielding of privilege, trapped within her own gilded cage.
Under the Colonial Sky
Denis and cinematographer Robert Alazraki paint a stunning, yet unflinching, portrait of Cameroon. The landscape is vast, beautiful, and indifferent. The cinematography emphasizes textures – the sweat on skin, the dust rising from the earth, the cool tiles of the veranda. Shot on location, the film grounds its intimate human drama within a specific, palpable environment. The pacing is deliberate, allowing the atmosphere to build, reflecting the languid, almost stagnant rhythm of colonial life for the Europeans. We feel the isolation, the boredom, and the underlying friction that permeates every interaction. There’s little overt plot initially; instead, Denis immerses us in the daily routines, the subtle power plays, and the observational perspective of young France, who witnesses more than she fully comprehends at the time. The title itself, Chocolat, carries layers – a reference to skin color, certainly, but also perhaps the richness and bitterness of this remembered time, even a slang term sometimes used dismissively, highlighting the era's casual prejudices.
Shifting Sands
The arrival of visitors disrupts the household's fragile equilibrium. A plane makes an emergency landing, bringing with it a collection of disparate characters, including a former seminarian turned coffee planter and a particularly odious traveler who embodies the era's ugliest racist assumptions. These encounters force the unspoken tensions further towards the surface, particularly highlighting Marc's position as the well-meaning but ultimately constrained administrator, often oblivious to the deeper currents swirling around him. François Cluzet, familiar to many from later international hits like The Intouchables (2011), effectively portrays Marc's blend of authority and subtle unease. It’s through these interactions that the film subtly critiques the colonial structure itself, revealing its inherent injustices and the psychological toll it takes on both colonizer and colonized.
A Quiet Resonance
Chocolat isn't a film that offers easy answers or cathartic resolutions. Its power lies in its evocative atmosphere, its nuanced performances, and its sensitive exploration of complex human relationships warped by the pressures of colonialism and race. It premiered in competition for the Palme d'Or at the 1988 Cannes Film Festival, instantly establishing Claire Denis as a major voice in world cinema. Revisiting it now, it feels less like a product of the 80s and more like a timeless piece of observational cinema, its themes of memory, identity, and the lingering shadows of the past still profoundly relevant. It doesn’t rely on grand pronouncements, but lets the weight of shared history and unspoken feelings settle upon the viewer long after the credits roll.
Rating: 9/10
This rating reflects the film's masterful direction, its powerful and subtle performances, its stunning cinematography, and its sensitive, intelligent handling of complex themes. It's a remarkably assured debut that avoids sensationalism, instead achieving its impact through atmosphere, nuance, and profound human observation. Its deliberate pace might test some viewers, but the rewards are immense.
Chocolat remains a haunting and beautifully crafted film, a potent reminder of how the ghosts of history continue to shape the present, viewed through the unforgettable prism of childhood memory.