Inside, or: Breaking free from a mother's womb

Inside (2007)

Directed by Alexandre Bustillo and Julien Maury

***SPOILERS***

Pregnancy doesn’t exactly receive a mature treatment very often in film. It may seem ludicrous to do so, but comparing Inside to Knocked Up is like comparing Simon of the Desert to The Passion of the Christ. In depicting the last days of Christ so exactly and blatantly, Mel Gibson actually trivialized the “historic” event in The Passion of the Christ, watering it down to a bloody spectacle that compares more to torture porn than a legitimate dissection of religious politics. Which is fine, but as Ed Gonzalez points out in his review, Luis Buñuel (naturally) chose a surrealistic approach, and was able to expose the hypocrisies of organized religion and address themes of grappling with one’s religion far more poignantly than (if there was ever an easier case to do so) the tale of Jesus Christ. Knocked Up finds humor and harmony within a woman's beguiling nine-month pregnancy, but ultimately reduces pregnancy to a frivolous event. The actual pain and endurance involved with pregnancy can be as terrifying as draining—especially for the woman. That’s what makes Inside—a tale that feels staggeringly honest of the horrors involved with pregnancy—a much more involved and intimate affair.

Alexandre Bustillo and Julien Maury’s Inside is—to be fair, in relation to a later point—smarter than most modern horror films. The film opens with a baby in his/her mother’s womb, resting comfortably, taking allllll those free comforts for granted, until a car crash jolts the infant into reality. Bouncing around and smashing against the mother’s womb, this baby’s suddenly vile experience certainly recalls a line spoken to Sarah (Alysson Paradis) one day before her baby’s due date: “Enjoy your last night of peace and quiet.” Each moment of Inside is a foreshadow or extension of a character, all building towards constructing the narrative at hand and the eventual revelation that it was The Woman’s (Béatrice Dalle) child who died in that fatal car crash along with Sarah’s husband. And while the story itself is tragic and the story's twist adulterates some of the poignancy, the true takeaway is the effect upon the mother and the horrors associated with childbirth. Often treated with a less-than-glamorous portrayal in film, Bustillo and Maury’s capture of a woman’s entry into motherhood without her husband is unrelentingly gruesome, yet strangely in tune with the quiet terror such a momentous task carries.

The first step in pronouncing such horror would be to first subdue it, and it seems as though every aspect of Sarah’s life is a result of her own suppression. She constantly pushes away others, creating a bubble around herself that’s strikingly reminiscent of the dark, vacant home she's secluded herself in—a seemingly irresponsible decision for a mother to make the night before her pregnancy. But it seems fitting for Sarah, who barely speaks a word to her own mother (a tiny bit of irony) and expresses a deep hatred for Christmas. These tidbits all lend towards the future of her child, and it seems fitting in a film where the future is treated as wholly attainable. In response to her contempt for Christmas, Jean-Pierre (François-Régis Marchasson) says, “You won’t say that next year.” Continually the future is treated as just another day, treated as such through soft bits of comfort from her friends and family, yet tomorrow is not another day for Sarah. And the following year won’t just be another year. Childbirth, motherhood, and utter loneliness are what plagues Sarah (especially without help from her husband), but perhaps more than anything it will be her friends and family’s complete disregard for Sarah’s situation. Pregnancy tips go a long way for a new mother, but it’s sad when the woman who expresses the most understanding for Sarah’s situation is a raspy nurse smoking a cigarette in the hospital waiting room, speaking of her first child who was brain dead upon delivery.

There’s a strange tugging effect between these nurse’s words and the encouragement from her friends and family, for as Sarah simply calls the nurse a “twat” and then continues to shy away from her loved ones, we see a woman who is burdened by the horrors of motherhood, but also a woman unable to confront such burdens. All of Sarah’s conflicting emotions (which will soon erupt) are contained and suppressed, and it reflects through her line of work. Still photographing local riots in her state of pregnancy, it seems Sarah is unable to stray from a job that allows her to capture moments in time—a fitting trait for a woman who yearns for her husband in a trying moment. At the same time, such a minor facet of Sarah’s life builds the narrative, weaving all its outside forces into Sarah’s own living room. There’s something treacherous—an impending doom, if you will—surrounding the chaotic and crumbling society, all of which play down Sarah’s internal conflicts. Keeping those riots in photographic form is almost a form of comfort and suppression in and of itself, perhaps not too wildly different from the comfort Sarah finds in her own home (she chooses not to stay with her mother).

But as we’ll come to see, childbirth doesn’t always go as planned. With the doctor’s plans to induce labor, it would seem The Woman has similar plans to break Sarah (and her child) from the comforts of her humble abode by bringing her own chaos into Sarah’s home, along with the chaos of the riots Sarah has kept a safe distance from through the eye of her camera. This would make sense, for as The Woman creeps outside Sarah's home in plain sight behind a glass door, Sarah pulls out her camera and takes a photo of the nameless villain. Safely within the confines of her home, The Woman taps on the glass and makes a crack that slowly spreads over her face, hinting at the thin barrier shielding Sarah from confronting reality, and exposing how turbulent it must be to burst forth from a womb. Eventually the crack creates a hole, and before you know it The Woman is standing over Sarah's bed, and literally bringing a member of the riots into her home. The the police try to contain the violent unraveling of society depicted in the news, Sarah is similarly fighting for civilness within her own home. It speaks of both Sarah and her child’s place during the delivery process, and transports Sarah into a role where she’s struggling to break free…but ultimately must die.

The only unfortunate side effect of Bustillo and Maury’s insanely ambitious and bloody concept is the pacing and devolution of events. It would seem that in actual child birth—with the final act ending with a dead child—the sequence of events would continually build and become more and more violent. Surely this is the case in Inside for the better part of its runtime, but Bustillo and Maury benefit themselves with their tight collective grasp on a dreamlike atmosphere and patience in holding back the “money shot”. Following the moment where Sarah’s hand is stabbed with a pair of scissors, the action becomes considerably more subdued, which may or may not be intentional on the filmmakers part, but ultimately disrupts the pacing. The moment where Sarah gives in and allows The Woman to slice open her belly is a quietly beautiful one—possibly far more honest regarding the moment of truth in the delivery room. But in keeping in line with their vision, it seems strange Bustillo and Maury would settle for poignancy in such a blunt fashion, whereas it would be much more welcome within the bloody confines of their giant metaphorical birthing. Tracing all the way back to the smoking nurse and the lackadaisical references to the future, doom has been spelled out for Sarah and her child, and this final scene feels like the culmination of a story separate from Sarah’s tale.

Perhaps this is why Martyrs will always remain a champion of the new wave of French horror—also headed by High Tension and Them—because of its commitment to the characters. It would seem Bustillo and Maury have a firm grasp on unfolding Sarah’s psyche, but as aerosol cans becoming flamethrowers and zombies walk afoot, it would seem the atmosphere of Inside takes an abrupt turn, just before sidling in an alternate story involving The Woman’s child dying in the car crash Sarah was a part of. Bustillo and Maury introduce a whole other facet into their story, and keeping in line with the pexplexingly abrupt pacing change, there seems no place for such complications. It introduces a stream of moral complications into the story, but spends no time addressing their effect on the characters and the consequences of their actions—especially when compared to the carefully dissected art of childbirth on display. Whereas the theme of martyrs remains in the background in Martyrs, yet altogether relevant throughout the film, Inside doesn’t own the same constant discipline—despite owning just as much heart and good intentions. Well, as good as intentions can be for torture porn.