Peter Süskind’s bestselling novel was long thought un-filmable, both by the many famous directors that passed on it and the writer himself. Its reliance on the description of scent, that most transient of the senses, made it a very challenging prospect, but thankfully one that Paul Tykwer (best known for directing 1998s techno-actioner Run, Lola, Run) took up. The graphic use of imagery evokes all sorts of smells, both sweet and putrid, very effectively, and this beauty contrasts wonderfully with the disturbing and riveting storyline.
The film centres on the very strange tale of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, an orphan in 18th Century Paris with a supernatural sense of smell and absence of social skills. Played with a creepy innocence by newcomer Ben Whishaw (who I last saw on TV playing the put-upon Pingu in the great Nathan Barley), he is a man obsessed with capturing and preserving the scent of everyday things, and especially those of beautiful women with praeternaturally red hair. His quest takes him from the hell of slave labour in a tanning factory, to an up-market perfumer, to the beautiful country town of Grasse, leaving behind him a wake of death and destruction.
Whishaw is quite bland in the role, but I believe this works for the film, rather than against it. Jean-Baptiste has no discernable emotions and is more animal than human; he is able to skulk in the shadows unnoticed by everyone. The showboating is left to old pros Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman, who relish their supporting roles; the powdered wigs of the period make hamming it up the only option. Hoffman is great fun as the has-been perfumer whose business is given new life due to Jean-Baptiste’s skills, although his mid-lantic accent taking the place of Italian grates slightly. Rickman’s portrayal of a widowed father desperately trying to protect his daughter is surprisingly sensitive, though still grandiose.
The cinematography and score (composed by the director) are suitably lush, and the dirty beauty of Paris is beautifully realised. My only gripe is that in deciding to film the story in English, this German/French/Spanish co-production has had to make all the lower-class supporting characters have distracting mockney accents. It would have made a better film, though I’m sure a less economically successful one, to film it in French (or even German, since the writer of the novel and the director are both German). This is a small point, though, when Perfume still all adds up to a very enjoyable and deliciously mean-spirited dark fairytale.
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