TIFF Review: Carmen

This is the feature debut of Benjamin Millepied, who gained traction in the industry working as a dance choreographer on the set of Black Swan. While this could have been an exciting fusion of two beautiful artforms, Millepied’s lack of familiarity with directing unfortunately holds Carmen back from its true potential.

Loosely based on the classic opera of the same name, and a personal favourite of Millepied’s, Carmen tells the story of its titular protagonist, played by Melissa Barrera - a young Mexican girl who is on the run after her mother is murdered (for reasons we are never told). After sneaking through the U.S border, Carmen and her companions are apprehended by two volunteer border agents - Mike, the trigger happy “deer” hunter, and Aidan, played by Paul Mescal, a veteran haunted by his time in Afghanistan. While Mike will gleefully kill Mexican people for sport, Aidan is much more apprehensive about the job, having only taken it to appease his sister. An altercation ensues wherein Aidan and Carmen are forced to flee together, and what follows is an epic romance / road movie about survival and passion.

While Millepied does not claim his film to be an adaptation of the opera, it is unclear what relation it has to its namesake at all. The story and its themes are completely rewritten, the melodrama is exchanged for gritty realism - and strangest of all, there are almost no elements of opera. The score is composed by modern day genius, Nicholas Britell, who admits that the film’s small moments of choral singing (which are French versions of the opera’s original Spanish language songs) were conceived very late in the production process. Then what was the initial vision? The rest of the score comprises of indie songs, Spanish ballads, and other contemporary musical styles. 

The visuals of Carmen are quite flat given that the film is positioned as an epic. The desert background is repetitive and monotonous to the eye, and the occasional moments of colour are few and far between. Likewise, since the film takes on this hyper-realistic tone, the musical elements are jarring to the point of humour. The first musical moment comes about 30 to 40 minutes into the running time, taking the audience unawares. Carmen flits around with a group of dancers adorned in what looks to be either tar or garbage bags. Aidan looks on, as hip hop dancers invade his personal space, and Burning Man-esque lights twinkle around them. The scene is perplexing to say the least.

This inconsistency evens out ever so slightly as the film goes on, but paired with the odd “pee pee” joke, it results in a tonally bizarre viewing experience. Millepied’s vision of integrating various contemporary and historical artforms is clear enough, but its execution leaves much to be desired. When the film climaxes with a bare knuckle boxing match choreographed to a hissing rap number, all attempted seriousness is thrown to the wind. It is difficult to care for the characters when we are given so little context, and continuously pulled from the narrative with extra-diegetic musical numbers that do little to move the plot forward. 

The saving graces of Carmen are its acting performances. Barrera, Mescal, and especially Rossy de Palma who plays Carmen’s eccentric godmother, are vibrant, tragic, and enigmatic in their roles. But with a half-formed plot and tonal confusion, great acting cannot save Carmen. Ultimately, if a director wishes to honour the art of opera or theatre, they must lean into its grandiosity. This is why Baz Luhrmann’s Red Curtain trilogy holds such a strong legacy - his films are garish, melodramatic, and most importantly of all - fun. Carmen is a fair attempt, but it undermines itself with an attempt at self-serious realism which leaves you with one overarching sentiment: some things are better left to the stage.