Recently, I was a guest on the podcast Philosophy Talk, in an episode where they give out awards for the Best Movies of 2023. I was there to talk about Anatomy of a Fall, which I thought was an absolutely brilliant film. I managed to contrive a way to talk about what I think is so incredible about the movie without any spoilers, but this means that I really didn’t get to actually make my full argument for the film’s brilliance, so I’ll do it here instead. With spoilers. So if you don’t want the spoilers, just listen to the podcast episode.
THE SPOILERS ARE COMING.
My main contention is that this movie is really about fiction, and how one creates fictions. It uses the form of the courtoom drama to trick you into thinking that the central question is whether or not Sandra is guilty, but this is not the real question at all. The central question is the one that the student asks her during the interview in the opening scene: whether something has to happen in order for a person to create a fiction about it. You think, initially, that this pertains to whether Sandra killed her husband, but the real question at the heart of the movie is whether the story her son tells the court about the dog and the conversation in the car is wholly invented, partly true, or entirely true. That is, the question that you thought you were asking about Sandra and her novels is really about her son and his story. And the question that you thought you were asking about whether or not she is innocent is actually whether or not her son thinks she’s innocent.
I think it is obvious that Sandra is innocent, and that the movie wants you to notice that all the things that it does to make you think she might be guilty are deeply gendered in nature, and most of them relate to her being open and forthright about her sexual desires. But it’s certainly possible that I’m projecting here, at least somewhat. It may be that I’m following the advice of the case worker who says that there are some things that you cannot know, and therefore you must make a choice of what to believe, and believe it. But here I will counter that this is actually undecidable, because it is a movie, and not real! So the “truth” is what the movie gives you to know, which is a neat echoing of the whole problem of fictionality it examines.
A final note is that whenever I meet someone who has seen the movie, I ask them 1. If they think she is innocent or guilty, or whether it’s unclear, and 2. If they think the son’s story is wholly invented, partly invented, or entirely true, or whether it’s unclear. Everyone I talk to answers “it’s unclear” for one of these questions, but never both. This is very interesting, no?
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