Olivier Assayas’ Personal Shopper is a member of the prestigious group of films that were booed when they aired at the Cannes Film Festival. Taxi Driver, Fire Walk With Me, Pulp Fiction, Antichrist, The Tree of Life, and Inglourious Basterds all bear this ironic label. Each of these films eventually went on to garner significant critical acclaim, and in the case of Personal Shopper, Assayas’ was awarded Best Director at Cannes itself. Usually, when I’m made aware of Cannes boos, my expectations for a film are slightly altered. Somehow Personal Shopper’s festival reputation escaped me, and its very existence flew under my radar for a very long time.
Disregarding my fetish for festival hate, there were a few hints that Personal Shopper might be utter trash. Our star is Kristen Stewart, an actress mostly known as the star of the oft-maligned tween-porn saga, Twilight. Her post-vampire career has been spotty at best. While she demonstrated that, yes, she can act if the script allows her to, with Certain Women and Assayas’ own Clouds of Sils Maria, the rest of her filmography is full of lifeless roles that leave Stewart feeling like little more than a footnote. American Ultra, innocuous stoner comedy and Jesse Eisenberg vehicle, forced Stewart to play a bland romantic interest in a film that’s likely blander than her performance. Cafe Society has Stewart attempting to embody a typical Woody Allen character in a vastly inferior Woody Allen script, resulting in tedium and yawns. She played Marylou in an adaptation of Kerouac’s On The Road, a character we already know will be inconsequential given the nature of the source material. Her agent should be fired.
My next hint at Personal Shopper’s possible awfulness lies in its marketing, or lack thereof. The trailer is mostly Stewart walking around bland sets looking very, very bored, something she mastered previously in the Twilight series. The first poster I encountered portrayed Stewart sitting behind a curtain, looking bored, and removing a shoe. This did not inspire confidence. If we wish to look even further into this, the film is distributed by Criterion, a company known for re-releasing “lost” or obscure classics, that has recently decided a film can be declared a classic before its release, so long as enough money is thrown their way.
Last evening, in a fever-induced delirium, I took a deep sigh and decided to subject myself to Personal Shopper.
Before I continue, I’m simply going to state that this movie may be one of my favorite of the year. It’s also a relatively unpredictable piece of work, and if you have any hesitations about spoilers, do yourself a favor and stop reading this review. Also, consider yourself lucky that I’m a kind enough individual to afford you the opportunity to back out of the rest of this spoiler-heavy review. I require praise for this.
Kristen Stewart is (shocker) a “personal shopper.” She travels all around Paris buying up fancy clothes for a celebrity, Kyra, who can’t be bothered to actually show up in-person at a store, due to the tremendous responsibilities of being a famous model. These responsibilities include chatting on the phone about pandas, ignoring the advice of everyone around her, adamantly refusing to return a pair of leather pants, verbally abusing the very people she pays to assist her, hiding her affair with a creepy young man, and generally being an unpleasant person. As someone with the weight of the world on her shoulders, Kyra depends on Stewart to fetch her lavish jewelry and evening-wear, and rarely has time to interact with peons like Stewart aside from brief phone calls and notes. Kyra is also very sensitive about others trying on clothes meant exclusively for her, and would likely murder her personal shopper for doing so.
As one can imagine, being the personal shopper of a narcissistic Sheen-goddess leaves Kristen Stewart to a rather miserable existence. This is made worse by the fact that her twin brother Lewis, also abiding in Paris, has recently died of a heart attack brought on by a birth defect shared by the siblings. In life, Lewis declared himself to be a medium, and had a strong belief in the afterlife. The twins make a pact: whichever one of them dies first shall make intense effort to give the other a sign from beyond the grave in order to prove the existence of life after death.
Struggling to obtain closure after the loss of her twin, Stewart is left endlessly searching for signs of this pact’s fulfillment. She wanders around Lewis’ house at night, looking for anything that may be out of place, waiting for the inexplicable. One evening, a faucet in Lewis’ house is left on. Stewart investigates, turns it off, and then hears another faucet miraculously turn itself on in another part of the house.
As 12 awful seasons of Ghost Hunters has taught us, faucets inexplicably turning themselves on is definitely concrete evidence of the paranormal, and more than enough reason to soil your pants. Stewart, however, remains unconvinced. She lashes out, telling her brother’s spirit that, “This isn’t good enough.” She requires verbal communication. In defiance, a grand white spirit appears before her, its face twisted and contorted. It flies around, and eventually leaves. Once again, Stewart plays the skeptic, and doubts the spirit that appeared to her was actually her brother’s.
About 30 minutes into the film, Stewart meets another of Kyra’s personal assistants, who just happens to be the married celebrity’s sex toy. Stewart and this quiet young man have a brief conversation about what a shitty human being Kyra is. Our lead then engages in more soul-numbing shopping, and hops a train to London. On her way, she begins receiving a series of odd text messages from a total creep who refuses to identify himself. Stewart is quick to identify this creep as her recently-deceased twin, without considering the asinine implications of spooky ghosts reaching out to the living via cell phones.
We continue to follow our protagonist as she shops, but this time she is constantly interrupted by these creepy texts. This is where Stewart’s credibility as a reliable narrator really begins to unravel. Why does she continue to entertain her stalker? He begins to prod into her deepest fears and desires, and after much hesitation and keeping her phone on airplane mode for quite some time, she answers all of his messages, eventually without fear or question. She becomes comfortable with her tormentor.
The unsavory character begins to goad Stewart into trying on Kyra’s clothing when she’s not around. We learn that this behavior has put her job on the line before, and that in spite of this (or perhaps of because of it) she forms a strong desire to don the elaborate outfits of her employer. Her stalker’s requests grow stranger as he asks Stewart to continue to explore this desire by putting on Kyra’s dress, heading to a room at a local hotel, and sending him a selfie. She obliges, and then begins to question just who this stalker really is. The hotel concierge tells her that this room was paid for in cash by an anonymous individual several days ago, and there is no record of this person’s identity. The room is, however, in her name.
That evening, Stewart goes to Kyra’s apartment to deliver some jewelry, only to discover Kyra’s dead body. She flees the scene with said jewelry, then immediately returns and calls the police, who seem to suspect her based on the irrational behavior she has displayed. Once again, her tormentor sends her a message. “Did you tell the police about my texts?” “DID YOU TELL THE POLICE ABOUT MY TEXTS?” Stewart now understands the sick nature of this unknown person who is definitely not her brother, and proceeds to ignore his messages once more by putting her phone on airplane mode. After a stressful interrogation by the French police, Stewart arrives home and turns her phone back on. In what basically amounts to the most subtle chase scene ever captured on film, we see the stalker’s messages rapidly pour onto her iPhone’s lock screen, each accompanied by a timestamp.
“Tell me!” 2 hours ago.
“We need to talk.” 1 hour ago.
“I’m coming to your apartment.” 30 minutes ago.
“I’m on my way.” 20 minutes ago.
“I’m almost there.” 10 minutes ago.
“I’m just outside.” 5 minutes ago.
“I’m on the landing.” 2 minutes ago.
Stewart slowly advances toward her door, and peers through the peephole, seeing nothing. There is a note under the door with the address of a hotel and a room number. She heads straight there, and when she arrives, there is no one. The camera exits the room and shows us an elevator. Its doors open, with no one present. The camera shows us the two automatic doors that lead outside. They open and close without the presence of a human being to trigger them.
In a delightfully subtle reveal, we then see Kyra’s assistant and personal dildo enter the elevator and exit the hotel doors, in the same manner as the invisible force. He is apprehended by police. Gunfire is heard as he unsuccessfully attempts to escape.
Stewart finally has closure regarding her stalker, but this doesn’t put her at ease. It’s not the closure she’s looking for. After having been through this ordeal, she decides to leave Paris in spite of her brother’s failure to deliver a satisfactory sign. Before fleeing to the safety of her boyfriend’s haven in the mountains, she spends one last night in Paris, at the home of Lewis’ wife, who after a little over three months has already found a decent Lewis facsimile to pound her snooch on Friday nights.
On the morning of her departure, Stewart has a nice little chat with Lewis’ replacement, who knew her brother in life. She reveals the pact agreed upon by the twins, and her own doubts as to whether or not the supernatural occurrences she and her brother experienced were indicative of real paranormal phenomena, or even the existence of an afterlife. He reassures her that he still believes Lewis is watching over her, and that he can feel his presence. This isn’t very comforting to Stewart, and Lewis’ replacement leaves.
Immediately upon his departure, we catch a glimpse of a man behind Stewart, who promptly disappears. In his place is a glass, slowly floating off the counter. It hovers for a bit, then crashes downward, shattering into many pieces. She notices a dog has recently entered the room, and decides that it must be the culprit.
Finally, she leaves Paris and flees to her boyfriend’s side. At their designated meeting place, there is a note from this boyfriend instructing her to spend the night in his vacant apartment, and leave with an arranged driver in the morning to the secluded love shack he’s currently occupying. Upon arrival, he is not immediately present.
Stewart briefly explores the living area, and when she enters the next room, she notices a glass, impossibly suspended in mid-air. It falls to the ground and shatters. Keeping in mind the basic concept of, “one knock for yes, two knocks for no,” she begins to question the spirit.
“Lewis, are you there?”
*Knock*
“Have you been waiting for me?”
*Knock*
“Are you at peace?”
*Knock*
“Thank you.”
Silence.
“Are you not at peace?”
*Knock*
“Are you playing with me?”
Silence.
“Do you mean harm?”
*Knock* *Knock*
“I don’t know you. Who are you? Who are you? Lewis is it you? Lewis is it you? Or is it just me?”
*Knock*
With one final gasp, the credits roll.
As should be obvious from the disjointed nature of this plot summary, Personal Shopper’s plot spends much time meandering, and yet it remains conceptually and tonally consistent. At its core, it appears to be an examination of the nature of grief, and its effects on one’s behavior. This is not untrodden territory, but the presentation still feels wholly original.
Stewart’s character casually mentions several times early on that she believes herself to be a medium, and that her brother’s gift was stronger than her own. At first, she states this with much confidence. Throughout the course of the film, she becomes increasingly unsure of her own “gift,” the validity of her twin’s claims, and everything she thought she knew about life after death. By the end, she has nearly let go of her own belief in the supernatural, and in turn has reached a point where she is able to let go of Lewis. It’s only after experiencing a tremendous degree of self-doubt and coming to terms with the fact that Lewis may never actually respond to her in a way that’s objectively quantifiable that she is able to admit to herself that holding her brother responsible for providing the burden of proof is absurd. Even when she’s confronted with circumstances she could easily interpret as a “sign” from Lewis, she rejects these signs in favor of continuing her search for closure.
One aspect of Personal Shopper that will likely infuriate audiences (hence, the Cannes boos) is the decision-making of our protagonist. To me, this is something the film handles very well. We watch Stewart as she sticks with a job that’s clearly taking a toll on her self-esteem and mental well-being. She decides to entertain a stalker in spite of his vaguely threatening remarks, obeying his every command with little hesitation. In an obviously flustered state, she lies to the police about very small details regarding her behavior after discovering her employer’s body; details she has no reason to lie about. These are obviously the actions of someone who doesn’t exactly have her act together. The film uses this not as a cop-out to explain why the protagonist is conveniently furthering the plot, but as insight into why the plot is unfolding in such a way around the protagonist.
When we look at Personal Shopper’s plot in a very linear way, it’s a hot mess. It starts as a rather mundane character study, but quickly introduces elements of a cat-and-mouse thriller, supernatural horror, Shakespearean tragedy, and a tale of dark obsession and forbidden passions. The seamless integration of each genre gives us a much vaster examination of grief than we’re often used to. It subverts our expectations at every turn.
In most grief metaphors, the audience is slapped over the head with excruciatingly obvious representations of each of the “five stages of grief” that we’ve been using to define this process for decades. Denial, anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance. Some films even literally divide their structure into each stage, in perfect order. As anyone who has lost a loved one should be able to tell you, grief never plays out in this pristine five-act structure. Very rarely does someone take a moment to acknowledge the fact that they’re “in the anger stage right now.” That would be unnatural. I even constantly hear people acknowledging that not everyone goes through each stage of grief, further making me question the validity and usefulness of this construct altogether. Personal Shopper leaps over this pitfall, and the result is an emotionally effective portrayal of grief that reverberates through every shot and every plot point. This film grieves. By the end, we’ve been through Stewart’s very personalized grieving process. When the film abruptly ends with her own realization that her actions for the past several months have been irrational and motivated by grief, we’re prepared for that abruptness, because as an audience, we have full confidence that our protagonist is ready to let go and move on.
Of course, these ideas could not be conveyed effectively without a top-notch performance from the lead. Kristen Stewart has finally come into her own as an actress, and this is by far her best performance to date. The role requires her to subtly express a wide variety of emotions, while still maintaining a constant sense of melancholy. This is something we’ve seen from Stewart in previous films. However, it’s always worked against her. After rising to prominence in Twilight, she was thrust into mainstream roles that required the expression of a much broader series of emotions, something Stewart simply isn’t adept at. In a way, she’s been giving this same performance in a vastly inferior way her entire career. This feels like like the perfect context for her. What she lacks in dynamic range, she makes up for in subtlety, and kudos to the director for recognizing this.
The camerawork in this film is also notable. There are several scenes where Stewart is in the foreground, doing very little, and the action suddenly shifts to the background. The most notable aspect of this is that the camera doesn’t zoom in on that action, nor does it bring it into focus. We’re still looking at Stewart’s face in crystal clarity, and our cameraman refuses to stray from her perspective, providing a subconscious bond to the character.
And so, we have yet another excellent entry in the annals of “booed at Cannes.” I imagine this will appear in many critic’s year-end best-of lists, and quite frankly I see this as perhaps the only way Personal Shopper will find its audience. It really, really doesn’t look like an appealing film from the outside looking in. Regardless, I found it riveting, and I will spread the gospel of its existence with the zeal of a Jehovah’s Witness on crack. I don’t predict great things from Kristen Stewart in the future, but I’m thankful that someone finally put her in a role that seems to fit her like a glove. Grieve on, Kristen. Grieve on.
9.5/10