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Claire Denis's maiden film Chocolat opens on a wide gray slice of sea and sky. Two silhouettes distantly at play in the surf do little to relieve the visual anomie. The camera curves slowly rightward, away from drear emptiness toward green-fringed shore, to stop at a young white woman, watching. Cut to closeup a child lazes on his back in the sand, a transparent skin of seawater rising to caress, then slide away from his rich brown flesh. Soon a grown man lies down beside him, and together their bodies form a dark continent that fills Denis's frame, anchoring our (and the observing woman's) gaze. In effortless, elegant cinematic diction, Denis makes us experience how, for this as-yet-unidentified voyeur, people of colorcolor itselfsignal harbor, a homeport that draws her in from those washed-out, undemarcated spaces at the horizon, back into childhood memory of a perfect life in French-governed West Africa during the 150's.
Chocolat's vehicle for time-travel is in the present, a young woman lacking in substance, a bit distracted and adrift as if she's misplaced her life's Baedeker. Clutching her father's old sketchbook of African scenes like a compass that has ceased to point true north, the adult France (Mireille Perrier) trips into the past, where she seems at first only audience to a quiet playing-out of paradise lost. The little girl France (Ccile Ducasse) first learns and is exiled from the color of home in the last house on earth, as the previous colonialistsdefeated Germans who now lie in a nearby graveyarddubbed the sprawling bungalow that stands so solitarily in the Cameroons flatlands. But Chocolat ('88), like Denis's No Fear, No Die (S'en fout la mort) ('0; U.S. '), ultimately shapes itself into a potent morality play that climaxes with the rupture of uniquely symbiotic relationshipsbetween France and the black houseboy Prote (Isaach de Bankol) in the first film, between money-minder Dah (Bankol) and Jocelyn the cockfighter (Alex Descas) in the secondpropelling the witness into motion, out on the road as a lost or found soul.
Chocolat is all devouring space, sunbaked, scrubby expanses that eat away at the substantiality of figures in the landscape, and at the forms on which whites depend for emotional and social orientation. Visually, Prote stands out, solidly inhabiting his strong, dark body, filling out his flesh with no slack. The whites seem less at home in their skins, fallen away from or unsure of their true shapes, and thus more reliant on layers that signal identity. Luc (Jean-Claude Adelin), the ex-seminarian who infects France's Eden, reads an account of the violent vertigo experienced by those cast back into enclaves of whites after having lived among blacks for a long time The white skin color evokes something akin to death.
For Aime, France's mother (Giulia Boschi), Prote becomes a kind of axis around which she orbits, though the motion is always masked by the protocols of châtelaine and houseboy. In the willed silences and the kind of sexual suspension maintained between them, Aime and Prote guard a necessary order and equilibrium. That balance eventually collapses, done in by a fallen priest's killing honesty. By naming out loud the existential dynamics of color and by making himself at home in spaces reserved for members of each race, Luc uncontains the players and their stage, so that they become vulnerable to an African landscape, i.e., state of mind, that leaches them of vitality and any sense of direction. Aime crouches in the darkness, reaching out to grasp Prote's ankle as he closes the shutters on African nightas though she might fall off the world without the lifeline of his flesh. But that connection would hamstring the black man, and he rejects it.
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