Spoorloos or The Vanishing is an incredible 1988 Dutch film from George Sluizer that presents the inner self analysis of a sociopath and psychopath thrillingly portrayed by Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu.
The film tells the story on several planes and timeframes that align with the different portions of the Tour de France happening as the story is told. The main timeline is the relationship of Rex and Saskia, a couple that seems quick to fight but also quick to make up. They are a Dutch couple on a road trip through the French countryside, and they run out of gas in a long, dark tunnel. Rex walks to a local rest stop they had passed to refill the gas can, and they reluctantly continue their journey to the next roadside rest stop. The bulk of the action of the film happens here. It comprises various interconnected cuts of the major aspects of the crime Donnadieu’s character Raymond commits when he kidnaps Saskia. Sometimes we have Raymond’s point of view of the setup and attempts at the crime (which becomes immediately apparent despite Rex’s heartbreaking search for Saskia the entire film). In the end, it is Rex who experiences the very footsteps of Saskia as he accompanies Raymond on every step, every moment of his crimes.
Several things make this film so captivating. One is the remarkable way it is edited in terms of the timeline and perspectives of the crime. Similar to the way Shakespeare would write and Kurosawa would direct (and this aspect of the film definitely went on to inspire filmmakers timeline work such as Tarantino), we mostly know how the piece is going to end, but it is the journey to get there and the disjointed reveals here and there that make it a masterpiece of suspense. Here is something that happens in the background with Raymond that you didn’t notice the first time when we had Rex’s perspective. It is a ballet of confounding reveals that are so satisfying to watch and rewatch.
Another is the beautiful onion of the characters being peeled away layer by layer, resulting in an analysis of the true emotionless horror of the character of Raymond. We see who he is as a child, as a family man, as a meticulous planner and educator; as we come to terms with everything that make him an outwardly trustworthy family man – even at one point saving a child from drowning by jumping off a channel bridge to save her – it makes his calculated psycopathy so much the more horrifying as it unfolds so matter of factly and calmly. Karma is in the hands of this monster, as if he felt the universe trusted him to do what he had to do. His birthday scene is disgusting yet completely innocuous. The end scene with his folded newspaper as his family plays in the dusty yard of the remodeled country house he ‘worked on’ the entire film, and the camera tilts down to the dirt under the family’s automobile parked outside, the true gravity of his crimes resonate with the audience more than with anyone else. The fact that he was able to walk Rex right into his trap, willingly, is chilling.
Finally, the writing is amazing, recognizing the pedestrian verbality and conversation masking to the mental confusion and plate tectonics happening just below the surface of Raymond’s calm demeanor. The torture of misery in every syllable of Rex recounting and revisiting his tortured loss, on television and in his new relationship with his girlfriend Lieneke who confronts him for bringing her into a menage a trois because he cannot stop searching for Saskia years later. Additionally, in an interview with the writer-director on the Criterion collection’s special features, we learn that there were some major conflicts between the original writer of the novel who was brought on to write the screenplay – the writer was fired for being too confrontational and rigid, the director took over, and we have a masterpiece of tight suspense.
Spoorloos is a remarkable film that has great momentum and appeal to revisit again and again.
Garrett Zecker 