The original series in French is titled 'Romance.' It intricately explores both the beauty and sinister within Romanticism. It's worth watching for the aesthetic indulgence of lush affluent 1960s Biarritz and hypnotic music alone. At the same time, it subverts the romantic genre, parodying its tropes, rendering it intellectually provoking.
The English translation titles the series 'Wonderland'. It is an obvious reference to the titular nightclub central in the narrative. It also invokes transportation to a time and place of wonder. The literary allusion to Alice's adventures augurs the phantasmagorical ahead for our heroine.
Its time traveling delivers on the promise of an ode to nostalgia. Yet this is no Midnight in Paris, but rather a shadowy exposition using gaze theory. The series is a thriller, with the suspense carrying you forward. While, the comic elements towards the denouement offer laugh-out-loud amusement.
I trust this introduction suffices for you to decide whether you are going to watch it and hence herald this SPOILER warning henceforth. Please also note this review contains references to assault.
The protagonist is an anti-hero, Jérémy, played by Pierre Deladonchamps. We are introduced by way of his appropriate response to his young niece (developmentally normally and innocuously) proposing to be his girlfriend one day. After this initial reassurance, he is nonetheless revealed to be a creeper worthy of Humbert Humbert. I was terrified for our heroine as his stalking progressively escalates over the first three episodes. He unremorsefully lies, cheats, manipulates and breaks the law throughout the series. This is foreshadowed by his ex-girlfriend's explanation for leaving, underscoring that these psychopathic traits have been developmentally pervasive and not arisen as exceptions in the service of his 'love'. At the same time, he has redeeming features, such as his reticence to kill, his way with children, and (arguably) his profession as a doctor. It is this maintenance of the greyness of many of its central characters which render them lifelike and interesting.
The pinnacles of the series were the complexity of the tragic characters of Alice and Chris. Their masterful performances were delivered by Olga Kurylenko and Pierre Perrier respectively. Both Alice and Chris are classically beautiful, charismatic and passionate; riveting one's attention. What makes them truly compelling however is that, unlike the other characters, we are given their backstory. Both of them have tortuous trauma histories, and the series does not shy away from illustrating how it has brutally etched into their personalities and perspectives, drawing them toward ethically dark waters. The character of Margaret, played by Barbara Shultz, embodies elegance and devotion. She acts as a foil to Alice and Chris, illuminating the possibility of recovery from traumatic loss, as she personally grows through writing and relationships.
The 'gaze' acts a central motif. Each episode opens with the title sequence, watching Alice from behind, as she embodies the archetypal female, gracefully walking towards the sea, sundrenched in a red dress. There are recurrent references to 'love at first sight.' Jérémy falls 'in love' with Alice from a picture. He supposedly 'looks at her like no other man', even though we are repeatedly reminded that all men admire her beauty and mysteriousness. Beyond mere traffic, a plane stops to watch Alice and Chris kiss, as though they symbolise the zenith of 'true love.' Rather than colluding with this superficial understanding of love, the conflicting elements invite a deconstruction of objectification culture which many 'Romance' stories typically promote. Laura Mulvey proposed that the 'male gaze' in film objectifies the woman as a sexual thing (rather than a human being) through the triad gaze of the male characters, the camera portraying her, and the complicit observing audience (us).
It is evident that Chris objectifies Alice as a tool to garner the paternal approval which he has been forever deprived, as part of the psychological abuse inflicted by his Nazi father. A Freudian interpretation might propose that it's a manifestation of his Oedipal rivalry with his father, since his (bloodied nose) castration upon witnessing the primal scene (of his parents in flagrante).
Unlike the IMDb blurb which describes the series as "a passionate love story" and the prevalent critics which have concurred with this interpretation, I propose that Jérémy also objectifies Alice. He continually stalks her, invades her privacy and does not take no for an answer. While it was harrowing watching Chris assault Alice, it also felt like I was witnessing assault every time Alice was physically intimate with Jérémy. It was like seeing someone with so-called Stockholm syndrome identify with the aggressor, i.e. Unconsciously becoming whatever he wants her to be in order to survive. The fact that Jérémy ends up with her, and that the metaphysics of space-time bend to facilitate this, seals her tragedy. While she survived the fate of going to the concentration camps with her family, perhaps she could not face her cosmic aloneness, a condition that loomed large, in spite of killing the man responsible for her family's torture and death. The conclusion seems to highlight Jérémy's objectification of her. Rather than reuniting him with Alice in the modern day, as an old woman that still inspires his love, (presumably) time-travel conspires once again, to offer him the beautiful young woman he lusts after.
Where it becomes interesting is that I am forced to ask myself, if I am also objectifying Alice, in not just trusting her choice to be with Jérémy. This question is emphasized as, were the casting of the actors playing Chris and Jérémy reversed, her decision might be easier to believe, simply because Pierre Perrier has Prince Charming good looks. Such a disposition may be conditioned through countless iterations since childhood, of witnessing the hero and heroine archetypes being synchronously beautiful. Yet the series invites these reflections and opens space for the 'personifying gaze.'
The interplay of the picturesque and dissonant in this series recommends it as a sumptuous experience and dexterous metacommentary. Yet it remains ironically ambiguous, that instead of this generous interpretation, it may be intended as the grotesque fulfilment of an earnest 'Romance.'
The English translation titles the series 'Wonderland'. It is an obvious reference to the titular nightclub central in the narrative. It also invokes transportation to a time and place of wonder. The literary allusion to Alice's adventures augurs the phantasmagorical ahead for our heroine.
Its time traveling delivers on the promise of an ode to nostalgia. Yet this is no Midnight in Paris, but rather a shadowy exposition using gaze theory. The series is a thriller, with the suspense carrying you forward. While, the comic elements towards the denouement offer laugh-out-loud amusement.
I trust this introduction suffices for you to decide whether you are going to watch it and hence herald this SPOILER warning henceforth. Please also note this review contains references to assault.
The protagonist is an anti-hero, Jérémy, played by Pierre Deladonchamps. We are introduced by way of his appropriate response to his young niece (developmentally normally and innocuously) proposing to be his girlfriend one day. After this initial reassurance, he is nonetheless revealed to be a creeper worthy of Humbert Humbert. I was terrified for our heroine as his stalking progressively escalates over the first three episodes. He unremorsefully lies, cheats, manipulates and breaks the law throughout the series. This is foreshadowed by his ex-girlfriend's explanation for leaving, underscoring that these psychopathic traits have been developmentally pervasive and not arisen as exceptions in the service of his 'love'. At the same time, he has redeeming features, such as his reticence to kill, his way with children, and (arguably) his profession as a doctor. It is this maintenance of the greyness of many of its central characters which render them lifelike and interesting.
The pinnacles of the series were the complexity of the tragic characters of Alice and Chris. Their masterful performances were delivered by Olga Kurylenko and Pierre Perrier respectively. Both Alice and Chris are classically beautiful, charismatic and passionate; riveting one's attention. What makes them truly compelling however is that, unlike the other characters, we are given their backstory. Both of them have tortuous trauma histories, and the series does not shy away from illustrating how it has brutally etched into their personalities and perspectives, drawing them toward ethically dark waters. The character of Margaret, played by Barbara Shultz, embodies elegance and devotion. She acts as a foil to Alice and Chris, illuminating the possibility of recovery from traumatic loss, as she personally grows through writing and relationships.
The 'gaze' acts a central motif. Each episode opens with the title sequence, watching Alice from behind, as she embodies the archetypal female, gracefully walking towards the sea, sundrenched in a red dress. There are recurrent references to 'love at first sight.' Jérémy falls 'in love' with Alice from a picture. He supposedly 'looks at her like no other man', even though we are repeatedly reminded that all men admire her beauty and mysteriousness. Beyond mere traffic, a plane stops to watch Alice and Chris kiss, as though they symbolise the zenith of 'true love.' Rather than colluding with this superficial understanding of love, the conflicting elements invite a deconstruction of objectification culture which many 'Romance' stories typically promote. Laura Mulvey proposed that the 'male gaze' in film objectifies the woman as a sexual thing (rather than a human being) through the triad gaze of the male characters, the camera portraying her, and the complicit observing audience (us).
It is evident that Chris objectifies Alice as a tool to garner the paternal approval which he has been forever deprived, as part of the psychological abuse inflicted by his Nazi father. A Freudian interpretation might propose that it's a manifestation of his Oedipal rivalry with his father, since his (bloodied nose) castration upon witnessing the primal scene (of his parents in flagrante).
Unlike the IMDb blurb which describes the series as "a passionate love story" and the prevalent critics which have concurred with this interpretation, I propose that Jérémy also objectifies Alice. He continually stalks her, invades her privacy and does not take no for an answer. While it was harrowing watching Chris assault Alice, it also felt like I was witnessing assault every time Alice was physically intimate with Jérémy. It was like seeing someone with so-called Stockholm syndrome identify with the aggressor, i.e. Unconsciously becoming whatever he wants her to be in order to survive. The fact that Jérémy ends up with her, and that the metaphysics of space-time bend to facilitate this, seals her tragedy. While she survived the fate of going to the concentration camps with her family, perhaps she could not face her cosmic aloneness, a condition that loomed large, in spite of killing the man responsible for her family's torture and death. The conclusion seems to highlight Jérémy's objectification of her. Rather than reuniting him with Alice in the modern day, as an old woman that still inspires his love, (presumably) time-travel conspires once again, to offer him the beautiful young woman he lusts after.
Where it becomes interesting is that I am forced to ask myself, if I am also objectifying Alice, in not just trusting her choice to be with Jérémy. This question is emphasized as, were the casting of the actors playing Chris and Jérémy reversed, her decision might be easier to believe, simply because Pierre Perrier has Prince Charming good looks. Such a disposition may be conditioned through countless iterations since childhood, of witnessing the hero and heroine archetypes being synchronously beautiful. Yet the series invites these reflections and opens space for the 'personifying gaze.'
The interplay of the picturesque and dissonant in this series recommends it as a sumptuous experience and dexterous metacommentary. Yet it remains ironically ambiguous, that instead of this generous interpretation, it may be intended as the grotesque fulfilment of an earnest 'Romance.'