France | 1985 | Directed by Luc Besson
Logline: A cocky safe-cracker evading police finds an escape haven in the Metro of Paris and is befriended by a ragtag group of musicians and misfits, while an elusive romance beckons.
Luc Besson is a style merchant extraordinaire. He became the cine vogue du jour (he was only 25) with the release of this breezy riff of a tale that slides and floats and drifts and skedaddles from one moment to the next. Actually it is the moments within Subway that make it so irresistible, not the plot itself which is threadbare at best. Besson is more interested, and excels, at providing arresting images and a distinct rhythm, both in the mise-en-scene and the soundtrack.
Subway pulses with an infectious 80s Euro-pop-funk score courtesy of Besson regular Eric Serra, who plays a small part as the bassist (and songwriter) of the subterranean funkster outfit. The band is never named, and neither are the musicians. In fact only two of the movie’s characters are given names: Fred (Christophe Lambert in the most endearing and least irritating performance of his career) and Héléna (Isabelle Adjani looking about as ravishing as she ever has, truly one of the most beautiful actors of her generation, and a fine actor too!). Fred is the thief, and Helena is the frustrated wife of the man Fred robbed. Helena has her own agenda, whilst Fred seems more interested in the pursuit of her, and the chase given by the underground authorities.
Subway is mainly concerned with character, even the subway system itself takes on a form of character itself, as Fred delves deeper and deeper into its rabbit warren maze of tunnels and chambers. There are only a couple of scenes set above ground; the very opening car chase sequence where Fred in his little Peugeot is being pursued by several policemen in a large Mercedes-Benz. Fred crashes down into the Metro and just manages to elude the cops by disappearing under one of the trains as it stops at a subway station. The other scene is an hilarious situation where Héléna finds herself at a dinner with her indifferent husband and numerous stuffy guests, and can’t help but insult them all with expletives and a fast exit.
Subway oozes style and fashion; from Fred in his tuxedo and platinum blonde hair brandishing a neon tube for illumination in the dim light of the tunnels, to Héléna’s wild spiked punky hair-do, Euroasian eye makeup and bellowing black dress. They make a fabulously attractive pair, even if they don’t get it together until the very end (and even then their romance is thwarted by tragedy).
Besson frequently uses elaborate fast dollying shots weaving in and out of bystanders waiting for trains amidst the supporting subway pillars, or close-up wide-angles that enhance the striking characteristics of his ensemble supporting cast. It is this support cast that proves interesting: a very young-looking Jean-Hughes Anglade, who would become almost a household name amongst foreign romance cinephiles with his wonderful performance in Betty Blue, released a year later (and where he looks remarkably older). Anglade plays The Roller, a nervous lost soul perpetually rollerskating, the always excellent Richard Bohringer plays The Florist, a spanner in the works, and a cog in the criminal wheels, and Jean Reno (sporting the most hair I’ve seen him with) plays The Drummer of the band, drumsticks always in hand, tapping away on anything, much to the annoyance of Fred.
Finally near movie’s end Fred manages to recruit a busking saxophone player and a singer, and his band are ready to perform to the public. They highjack a small stage designated for a festival orchestral performance and Eric Serra and The Drummer begin a slap-happy groove. Fred breaks into his radiant grin, Héléna has come to realise she actually has feelings for the reckless scoundrel who ripped off the husband she no longer loves. But a determined policeman in the background has his pistol poised …
Subway is a lighthearted drama tinged with melancholy, but laced with melody and underpinned with a steady rhythm. Ricki Lee Jones’ Lucky Guy plays on a ghettoblaster in the middle of the movie, incongruous, yet utterly fitting at the same time. But it’s the final song, a classic-pop tune called It’s Only Mystery, that encapsulates Subway’s true mood and tone, and one can’t ignore the movie’s opening quotes either: “To be is to do” – Socrates, “To do is to be” – Satre, “Do be do be do” – Sinatra. But if truth be told, the real reason Subway is so memorable is the untouchable pulchritude and snobbish allure of Isabelle Adjani as Héléna, a woman who effortlessly exudes an intense emotional beauty.
Adjani (almost a myth in France that she is referred to only by her surname) had already garnered a strong reputation for being a difficult diva and although Besson was yet the star director he warned her that if she walked off his set in one of her tantrums her career would be over. She promised she wouldn’t act like a prima donna, and she kept her word.
It’s Only Mystery:
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Subway DVD is courtesy of Madman Entertainment, many thanks!
