Opiniões dos críticos

There are shades of David Cronenberg’s Crash, Zoé Wittock’s Jumbo, and Shinya Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo: The Iron Man about Titane, but the craziest Palme d’Or winner in Cannes history is wilder and trippier than any of these predecessors... Nothing is safe and nothing is sacred in Julia Ducournau’s delirious new world.

The miracle of Julia Doucournau’s luridly beautiful Palme d’Or-winner is that the memory of the violence puncturing the film's first half recedes as loving tenderness takes hold... Nothing dampens [the film's] visual and thematic harmony or the warmth in its message.

Some will be repelled, many will be bamboozled. But for those with an appetite for cinema that gets you in the gut, Ducournau delivers the goods, superbly aided by Raw cinematographer Ruben Impens’s glowing visuals, all underpinned by a soundscape that throbs and groans like a beating celluloid heart.

[Titane] is a total blast, silly and tight and sufficiently gnarly, with sound design that allows a beat after every crunch for the audience to gasp. What makes [it] so special, however, is that it is never quite the movie you expect it to be. It opts, again and again, for the richer, more perverted, more beautiful path.

Though a little messy and increasingly absurd in places, Titane is a brash body horror with intense central performances, certain to leave you wide-eyed and slack-jawed at such a risky cinematic endeavour.

A heavy metal fever dream of sex, violence and subversive queerpunk attitude, Titane already feels like a career-making cult classic... Ducournau has amplified the eroticised carnage, body horror and political subtext here.

It’s a testament to Ducournau’s visual ingenuity that both the wretchedness of preteen injury and abjection of pregnancy depict the female body transformed into a gearhead’s wet dream — not of a pin-up, implants bouncing, servicing some male desire, but of an actual, oozing, steel-frame car.

What Titane has to offer is a pantry’s worth of borrowed conventions, torqued and spit-shined into something more titillating, frustrating, and sometimes even daring by Ducournau. She pushes this movie along by nesting and revising multiple plots and genres and enjoying the interplay between them, freely moving between pathos, critique, erotic thrills, and outright disgust.

Titane is oddly, darkly, great... [And] there is real artistry, and thought, at work here too. It’s a film about the abuses meted out to women’s bodies and about the fickleness of rigid gender norms (Alexia effortlessly “becomes” a man). But in Alexia’s relationship with Vincent, which is initially hostile but eventually loving, the film makes wider, even delicate statements about the deepest drive of all.

[Titane] is intense, unbelievable, and viscerally violent—but also strange enough to register more as a surreal comedy than a shocking piece of horror. Ducournau challenges viewers to find the humanity in a character who seems intent on rejecting her own, all while provoking as many laughs as gasps.

Sure, there’s body horror galore here, and Ducournau’s eye for genre and violence is firmly in play with an impressive knack for brutally choreographed kills, but this is an unmistakably human story with moments of unexpected levity.

Titane is a truly harrowing experience, if you’re willing to let go behind the wheel. It’s a ghastly, uncomfortable film, led by gross characters who deserve rock bottom. But there’s something so titillating and bold about Ducournau’s exploration of bottom-feeders, who are gods in their secular worlds, giving birth to the monsters to come.