The title of Alex van Warmerdam’s latest feature is meaningless in terms of describing the film. It is called No. 10 because it is van Warmerdam’s tenth film, nothing more and nothing less; and, in fact, given the slippery nature of the plot, it sort of makes sense to give it a numeric marker rather than a title. Because van Warmerdam knows how to make quality films on a technical level, the pacing and atmosphere are assured, and the first half exudes a potent sense of intrigue with its story about a minor theater actor, Günter (Tom Dewispelaere), having an affair with his leading lady, Isabel (Anniek Pheifer), who is also the wife of Karl (Hans Kesting), the writer/director of the play he is presently rehearsing. The pair’s clandestine assignations are eventually noticed by Günter’s rival, Marius (Pierre Bokma), a sullen, incompetent amateur with an ailing wife. Moreover, Günter’s grown daughter, Lizzy (Frieda Barnhard), is also suspicious, and once Karl is hipped to the affair he starts tormenting Günter within the framework of the play they’re putting on.

Van Warmerdam uses the vacant, industrial-tinged setting of the Dutch city where this story is set to great advantage, and the grayish cast of the various interiors makes the movie feel cold and claustrophobic. Above it all hovers Günter’s provenance, which is mentioned in passing in the beginning, suggesting that he was raised by foster parents after being found wandering in a forest when he was five years old. Eventually, this part of the story takes over, with a whole additional group of characters, including two Catholic priests and a bunch of men who skulk around like secret agents. By the time Günter’s story is revealed, the entire love affair/stage play plot line has been abandoned. 

It’s difficult to know what to make of No. 10, which feels experimental in that it doesn’t really have much reason to exist as a narrative work of art, because the two storylines are so alien to each other that the film could have been divided at the midpoint without any attendant loss of meaning. Joined together, however, they’re just baffling, especially since neither reaches any sort of conclusion. This is the first film I’ve seen by van Warmerdam, though I’ve heard of him—he seems like a major figure in Dutch cinema—and most of what I’ve heard is that he’s an acquired taste. I can now see why. I really don’t know what kind of viewer this would appeal to. 

In Dutch, English and German. Now playing in Tokyo at Shinjuku Cinema Qualite (03-3352-5645).

No. 10 home page in Japanese

photo (c) 2021 Graniet Film Czar Film BNNVARA