Only Dafoe could pull off this performance, and only Solnicki could offer us a film as obscure yet as engaging and artistically free as The Souffleur.
Robert Kennedy once said, “Progress is a nice word, but change is its motivator, and change has its enemies”. That sentiment lies at the heart of Argentine filmmaker Gastón Solnicki’s eccentric, impressionistic dark comedy The Souffleur.
The Intercontinental Hotel, in the heart of Vienna, was once a shimmering example of progress and modernity, but now it’s a faded vision of a 1960s hospitality dream. Like the soufflés it was famous for, the Intercontinental rose and then fell, with the memory of its beauty the only thing keeping it alive.
However, the hotel manager, Lucius (Willem Dafoe), can’t — and won’t — accept the now-deflated reality or the vision of the new Argentinean owner, played by Solnicki. For Lucius, the Intercontinental will rise again, given the chance; its skating rink will once more be packed with skaters, and its bar will once again be a hub of international travellers. Perhaps he is right, but nothing will halt the march of global capitalism, no matter how much he resists it. Times and tastes have changed, yet surely heritage and history still hold meaning?
Solnicki isn’t interested in offering a linear story or a defined plot; instead, he freely allows Dafoe to explore the inner turmoil of a man caught in the headlights of apparent change and progress—a man who knows his time is over, but isn’t willing to give up his grip without a fight. Only Dafoe could pull off this performance, and only Solnicki could offer us a film as obscure yet as engaging and artistically free as The Souffleur.
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