Unveiling the Secrets of 'Emmanuelle': A San Sebastian Review

Audrey Diwan's ‘Emmanuelle’: A Dazzlingly Pointless Escapade in Soft-Porn Nostalgia

Ah, the 1970s—a time when soft-core pornography was not just a guilty pleasure but a cultural phenomenon. Enter Emmanuelle, a franchise that could teach today’s feminist filmmakers a thing or two about how *not* to modernize a seductive classic. In the 2024 retelling from director Audrey Diwan, we’re whisked away on an all-expenses-paid jaunt to the opulent, seven-star glitz of Hong Kong. Here, our titular character, Emmanuelle (played by the ever-delightful Noemie Merlant), embarks on a journey to shed her ‘stiffness’—a phrase that sounds both ludicrous and sadly ironic, considering the film's mish mash of intentions.

What’s astonishing is that for a film marketed on sensuality, there's a conspicuous lack of it—instead, we get a treasure trove of eye-roll-worthy English dialogue, ripe for sarcasm-laden brunch discussions among the drag queen elite. Can anyone really survive 105 minutes of an utterly *vacuous* narrative that tiptoes into the realm of the risible? Naturally, the film opens the San Sebastián Film Festival, and one can’t help but wonder whether the film itself is an elaborate joke—an inside joke, of course, that perhaps Diwan and her writing partner, Rebecca Złotowski, are only in on.

Imagine, a whimsical journey starts with Emmanuelle strutting down the airplane aisle, her backless dress trailing behind her like a desperate bid for attention. Her first task? To join the “mile-high club” in a cramped airplane lavatory. Yes, this is the new standard of transgression in a time where online adult content could practically fill a university syllabus, and it just feels *so* played out.

As the film unfolds, Emmanuelle drifts around the Rosefield Palace Hotel (wink, wink—*hello, St. Regis*), inspecting staff while oddly indulging in a brief rendezvous with eager guests. Note to self: when one thinks of hotel inspectors, steamy threesomes along with garden shed escapades should not come to mind. But lo and behold, we have our leading lady engaging in such antics while also having the cringe-worthy *pleasure* of witnessing her wax philosophical about hotel excellence. Do we really need scenes where characters spout off lines like, “I’m a Frequent International Traveller” just so they can qualify their own existence?

Then enters Kei, portrayed by Will Sharpe, a mysterious figure who manages to evade security cameras while he perhaps collects ‘cool’ points. Seriously, who writes this stuff? Oh wait, the same clever hands trying to weave a modern narrative out of a stale premise. And did you catch the half-hearted attempt at rivalry with Naomi Watts’ character? Here, Emmanuelle seems more like a mannequin dressed in designer wear than a three-dimensional character, delivering lines that sound better suited for a soap opera than a film delving into the complexities of relationships.

Just when you think the film might glide toward some engaging tension, in comes a typhoon—yes, an actual weather event—as if the universe is trying to say “please, can we fast forward?” After an excruciatingly languid build-up, the film yanks us out of the hotel and into the streets of Chungking Mansions, dangling the faint hope that we might stumble upon a real narrative. But alas, it feels less like a winding journey and more like a chic, hollow showcase of luxury devoid of taste and substance.

With Diwan casually confessing she wasn’t even aware of the original Emmanuelle franchise before her involvement, one must wonder if this entire film is simply a grand experiment in making something fabulous out of nothing. And while there are fleeting glances of artistry—such as quick cuts to blooming flowers during particularly risqué moments—they evaporate before the narrative finds its footing.

So, by the time the credits roll, there’s one prevailing thought: Who even is this film for? Much like its protagonist, it drips with allure but is as substantial as the air in an empty hotel room—gilded yet void. Perhaps, in another era, Emmanuelle could have found its audience with a bit more zest, but today, it feels like a lavishly packaged luxury item with not very much taste, ultimately leaving one distinct conclusion: sometimes, it’s better to leave well enough alone.