This one's surely among the strangest efforts to be made by an internationally-acclaimed film-maker; incidentally, even if Resnais was never credited with the writing of his films, the fact that they all deal indeed, play with concepts of time and space (to say nothing of the conventions of cinema itself), makes him a veritable auteur. The film marks the director's first and, so far, only English-speaking work (but which may well have presaged the path that Resnais' subsequent career would take, where in later years, it would be all but overtaken by adaptations of English stage plays!); the script here was written by David Mercer (best-known for Karel Reisz' surreal 'Swinging London' comedy MORGAN: A SUITABLE CASE FOR TREATMENT [1966]) and features an eclectic powerhouse cast led by Brits Dirk Bogarde, John Gielgud and David Warner (Morgan himself!), and Americans Ellen Burstyn and Elaine Stritch.
The narrative revolves around dying novelist Gielgud who reflects on his life and family; so far, so good but it's set against a backdrop of military action that's closing in on the titular country-house where he resides (the name of the location itself is never mentioned). Besides, events depicted during the first half emerge to have been mere fantasy on Gielgud's part (he imposes his thoughts on people and even wills them in specific places to their own amazement!). In fact, we first see Bogarde prosecuting private Warner for the murder of an old man (whom the latter says had asked to be killed because he was turning into a werewolf at one point, Warner himself sports extensive facial hair!); Burstyn, Bogarde's resentful wife, then takes the acquitted Warner as her lover and her husband subsequently suffers the recurring presence of the private's "famous footballer" brother (who beats up the eminent lawyer when confronted by him!); also, Bogarde's ageing mistress (Stritch) turns out to be a dead-ringer for his own mother who committed suicide
Mercer's ambitious and clever script is uneven, however: offering, on the one hand, literate and frequently bitchy dialogue that would seem like an actor's dream, but also lapsing into gratuitously repellent detail on occasion (such as Gielgud taking a suppository and, later, shown using the lavatory his particular illness, in fact, is treated in quite rigorous fashion! or the pointless flashes to the autopsy being performed on the 'wolfman'). Unfortunately, the film peters out during the straightforward last act in which Gielgud is visited by his family (where it's also revealed that Bogarde and Warner are actually brothers!) for an open-air dinner they squabble some more and, finally, Gielgud asks to be left alone.
Apart from the cast, two other major trump cards the film has up its sleeve are Ricardo Aronovich's exquisite cinematography and Miklos Rozsa's typically lush score (which fits the movie surprisingly well). Moreover, PROVIDENCE swept the board at that year's Cesar Awards (the French equivalent to the Oscar) and, all in all, in spite of its faults and not inconsiderable length, the film is too weird (and stylish) to be ignored not to mention, funny enough to be enjoyed by adventurous viewers.
The narrative revolves around dying novelist Gielgud who reflects on his life and family; so far, so good but it's set against a backdrop of military action that's closing in on the titular country-house where he resides (the name of the location itself is never mentioned). Besides, events depicted during the first half emerge to have been mere fantasy on Gielgud's part (he imposes his thoughts on people and even wills them in specific places to their own amazement!). In fact, we first see Bogarde prosecuting private Warner for the murder of an old man (whom the latter says had asked to be killed because he was turning into a werewolf at one point, Warner himself sports extensive facial hair!); Burstyn, Bogarde's resentful wife, then takes the acquitted Warner as her lover and her husband subsequently suffers the recurring presence of the private's "famous footballer" brother (who beats up the eminent lawyer when confronted by him!); also, Bogarde's ageing mistress (Stritch) turns out to be a dead-ringer for his own mother who committed suicide
Mercer's ambitious and clever script is uneven, however: offering, on the one hand, literate and frequently bitchy dialogue that would seem like an actor's dream, but also lapsing into gratuitously repellent detail on occasion (such as Gielgud taking a suppository and, later, shown using the lavatory his particular illness, in fact, is treated in quite rigorous fashion! or the pointless flashes to the autopsy being performed on the 'wolfman'). Unfortunately, the film peters out during the straightforward last act in which Gielgud is visited by his family (where it's also revealed that Bogarde and Warner are actually brothers!) for an open-air dinner they squabble some more and, finally, Gielgud asks to be left alone.
Apart from the cast, two other major trump cards the film has up its sleeve are Ricardo Aronovich's exquisite cinematography and Miklos Rozsa's typically lush score (which fits the movie surprisingly well). Moreover, PROVIDENCE swept the board at that year's Cesar Awards (the French equivalent to the Oscar) and, all in all, in spite of its faults and not inconsiderable length, the film is too weird (and stylish) to be ignored not to mention, funny enough to be enjoyed by adventurous viewers.