Anatomy of an Argument: Unpicking the argument in ‘Anatomy of a Fall’
Olivia Frith-Salem pores over the delicately crafted scene, viewed through a prism where reality and fiction crystallise.
photo by Ray9 via wikimedia commons
Even if you haven’t been able to catch Justine Triet’s tense courtroom thriller Anatomy of a Fall, you might have come across the viral clip of Sandra Hüller who plays its protagonist, also called Sandra, delivering a soul crushing verbal attack on her husband, Samuel (Samuel Theis). It has even been uploaded to TikTok with a synth backing track; the epithet “Oscar-worthy” is often found in various forms dotted through comment sections. Indeed, as Sandra spits out the lines, ‘You’re not a victim. Not at all. Your generosity conceals something dirtier and meaner!”, one cannot help but recall past Oscar-nominated lines, like Gone Girl’s “the only time you liked yourself was when you were trying to be someone this c*nt might like!” and Marriage Story’s “Everyday I wake up and wish you were dead.”
But where these scenes in Marriage Story and Gone Girl are glimpses behind a curtain only the audience can lift, the argument in Anatomy of a Fall is presented in front of a packed courtroom, as evidence in the trial of Sandra for the murder of her husband. The defense and prosecution dissect lines and words in the argument to support their separate narratives, grilling Sandra about her affair(s), her son, and her artistic process. Through this self-referential stage-like context, combined with the distortion of language and the boundaries between actor and character, Triet turns the cinematic trope of the marital argument on its head, drawing the curtains back on the filmmaking process itself. The scene becomes an analogy for the film's wider spotlighting of the manipulation and obscuration of truth that occurs both behind the camera and in front of it.
“…this “perfect” Oscar-worthy argument is at the heart of Triet’s exploration into the impossibility of capturing truth.”
The recording of the argument is first mentioned 38 minutes in, where it is identified as one of three reasons for Sandra’s indictment, immediately establishing it as crucial evidence. On finding out about the recording, Sandra rants to her defense lawyer, Vincent (Swann Arlaud), that it is “not reality. It's a part of it maybe… it warps everything…it's our voices but it's not who we are.” One hour later in the film, submerged fully in the fast-paced ferocity of the courtroom, this warning to the audience of the possible falsehood of this moment is but a distant hum. The vicious and outright misogynistic prosecutor (Antoine Reinartz) together with the news reporters flocked outside the courtroom like vultures amplify the sensationalisation of the case. It is here, halfway through the film, that the recording is played. Having watched lawyers and expert witnesses take on the voice of the deceased Samuel, we hear his real voice for the first time. Despite Sandra’s warning earlier on, there's a sense that this recording is the closest thing to the truth; it's the only thing that certainly did happen, not word of mouth accounts, opinions or postulations. Even if it's just a “part of reality” it's the only part that is accessible, so it becomes definitive. There’s an underlying sense that this recording alone will reveal not only the true dynamic of the couple’s relationship, but also whether Sandra is guilty.
In the argument various accusations are thrown by both Samuel and Sandra. One of these refers to the use of languages in their lives. Samuel, who is French, argues that the fact they speak English at home and with their son despite living in France is them yielding to Sandra; they are forced “to do and live as she wants”. But Sandra argues that English is their way of meeting in the middle, as her mother tongue is German. In the larger frame of the film, language is an integral tool used by Triet to add layers of ambiguity. When the recording is presented in court, the camera first pans up to a screen providing a French translation for the jury and members of the courtroom. One wonders if the translation captures the English authentically, idiomatically, and unbiasedly.
On the use of the French, during the trial Sandra must speak in French, a language in which she is not entirely fluent. Every now and then she switches to English to explain something better and a translator is used. Because of the focus on language, one is more aware of the subtitles in the argument. There seem to be more moments where the English speech doesn’t quite match its English subtitle as the actors are impassioned and their hurled words muddle into each other. In this film language is intentionally and inadvertently changed and reformed, pulling us further and further away from the original situation, a reflection of what the courtroom does with the truth. Triet crafts a space for misconception and ambiguity in her writing that problematises how and why film (as well as life itself) relies on prioritizing one ‘correct’ perspective for emotional effect.
“Triet revels in revealing the underbelly of the filmmaking process to question character intention and reality.”
The argument transports the audience out of the courtroom. A flashback scene takes us to the exact moment the audio of the argument was recorded, in Samuel and Sandra’s kitchen. The scene is beautifully shot with rays of sunlight bursting through the screen as the couple move across the whole space, irradiating their frustration at each other and their situation. Abruptly, the camera returns to the packed public gallery. In one award speech Triet describes the courtroom as her theater and stage. The shocked faces of the audience in the courtroom mirror our own, as we like them try to piece the story together. The lawyers perform for the jury, trying to convince and persuade them of their line of argument, just as the actors perform for the cinematic audience trying to convey their characters and the narrative.
This metaphor is both a critique of the dramatisation of public trials — Triet quotes the exploitative and viral Amber Heard and Johnny Depp trial as inspiration for the film — and also a critique on what it means to be a storyteller. Triet has a line of argument just as the lawyers do, every detail is crafted to exact an effect. The “flashback” to the argument takes the audience away from the courtroom, with its lies and performativity; they become engrossed in this “real” scene, believing Triet has given them a crucial glimpse of the truth that those in the courtroom are denied.
The legal examination that follows completely shatters this belief that the argument is an honest portrayal of their relationship. The Judge asks Sandra why Samuel recorded the conversation: she explains that Samuel would record many things in their lives, without telling them, as inspiration for his writing, ending by saying “with hindsight he could have provoked this fight, just to record it.” As one looks back at the argument, the speed at which the couple trace every knot in their relationship from moving home, to childcare, their artistic processes, sex and infidelity seems unbelievable; Samuel could have shaped the argument for the sake of his writing, purposefully teasing out Sandra’s rancorous reaction.
A chalet in Savoie, where the chalet in Anatomy of a Fall is located - photo by Jean-Christophe Destailleur
It is a flawless “Oscar-worthy” performance and script because that in some ways is what Samuel wants it to be. In the process of writing this scene, Triet’s intentions blur with Samuel’s. Triet is aware of the artificiality of her writing, aware that she is writing to entertain, aware that she will never be able to create ultimate authenticity. Samuel’s role in the argument becomes a vessel to explore the reliability of writing in offering unambiguous truth. This theme of process and creation is brought further forward by having the couple argue about their specific professional and artistic pursuits as writers. Even the names of the actors, Sandra and Samuel, match those of the characters, muddling the boundaries between the choices made by the real actors and the fictional writers. Triet revels in revealing the underbelly of the filmmaking process to question character intention and reality.
When circulated out of context, the argument in Anatomy of a Fall appears to be Oscar-worthy for the exceptional quality of the acting and writing; it’s brutally honest. Paradoxically, this “perfect” Oscar-worthy argument is at the heart of Triet’s exploration into the impossibility of capturing truth. In this context, amidst layers of translation, courtroom theatrics and questions surrounding the purpose of the recording, the reality of the argument is anything but simple. It is this layering and complexity that won Justine Triet and Arthur Harari Oscars for writing last sunday.