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http://www.spoilerfreemoviesleuth.com -  There is a lot to unpack in the allegory of Annette, a collaborative effort between director Leos Carax and the band Sparks, whose music breathes through the film as a living entity and whose screenplay infuses the narrative with metatextual, Nietzschean philosophical concepts and emotional metaphors. Framed as a voyeuristic fantasy, Annette tells the story of the forces of both internal and external angst, driving egotistical male rage as it stuffs the already-overflowing celebrity skin with hubris and empty cruelties. As its characters descend into a madness that chains them to the blackest depths of the abyss – an abyss that stares back into them, as much from the real-world theatre as it does their own metaphysical realities – we are witness to the deterioration of personhood as the soul sinks into its vices. This is a daring, uncompromising film that uses its self-awareness and symbology to create an unflinchingly dour look at the forces that play upon an individual’s self-destruction, and uses its core characters to illustrate the ways in which inferiority and shame can infuse themselves into both public and private lives, creating opportunities for insecure, angry people to use those around them – especially those about whom they profess to care – to attempt salvation and release from the demons of substance abuse and meaningless hedonism. The sheer emptiness created by such circumstances, driven further afield by the choices one makes, dig an even deeper abyss, one that connects the hollowness of the world to the drowning soul seeking rescue. An ongoing chain of horrors, held aloft by the expository, typically Mael-brothers navel-gazing music throughout, this is a relentless psychological punch to the throat. With aplomb, it “dies, then bows” – and we in the “real” world join the audiences onscreen. Among its greatest strengths are in the performances of its four key characters – the titular “Baby Annette” appearing mainly as an off-kilter puppet with a passport directly from the Uncanny Valley which, still and silent as she often is, drives home her role as a means to an end, particularly for her father. Adam Driver swings from maniacally controversial shock comedian to problematic, rage-filled and wrecked public disgrace as Henry McHenry, whose success is punctured by accusations and takes a complete nosedive while his wife Ann Defrasnoux (portrayed with a beguiling, demure grace by Marion Cotillard) soars to greater success as a world-renowned soprano. There is little ambiguity about the slippery slope of Henry’s state of mind following Ann’s death at sea, as he devises a way to cash in on little Annette’s strange singing ability, enlisting the help of a character known only as The Accompanist – a lovelorn former beau of Ann, torch held firmly in hand as Simon Helberg’s conductor’s baton. The further into his own inner chasm he sinks, the more dangerous Henry’s situation becomes, and only freedom from this darkness can save his young daughter. This is a film heavily laden with symbols; a gorilla motif follows Henry, the “Ape of God”, as do classically phallic bananas (one of which he violently smashes into his ashtray after devouring it). Ann, by contrast, is represented by apples, symbols of temptation – the fall of man, the blame of the Adam’s failures resting squarely upon Eve. The color green dominates, a warning as upon a poison bottle’s label or the eerie glow of radioactivity, and even in scenes of peace and serenity, the physical figure of Henry dominates the screen, overpowering Ann with a menacing presence. She is seen as though lit from within by moonlight, her focal scenes evoking a lonely, vulnerable state. Her reappearances later on as a waterlogged apparition loom by contrast, the albatross around Henry’s neck for all eternity.Carax is known for taking risks and imbuing his films with strange characters and even stranger story elements, and paired with the wholly unique, fourth-wall hugging music of Sparks, Annette is a bold foray indeed into the psyche of brokenness and violence that can result from a life lived both in the spotlight and in abject darkness. Artifice, Annettetells us, can only be shed when we tell the truth – and it more than likely will kill us.--Dana Culling