Like many youths I was once fascinated by existentialism. At the centre is a simple idea, you are responsible for creating your own meaning in life; this idea sounds more radical when you define who is not responsible for creating your meaning: meaning does not come from outside of you, for example you are not responsible to God or society. There is also an ethical component to this religion-free philosophy, if you freely take on a responsibility, it is your duty to live up to it. In the philosophical novels of the existentialists, where practical examples are given, it might mean developing an interest in the circus (authentically becoming an enthusiast for certain niche subects or activities), or a lack of (feigned) grief at the death of a family member (failure to display the correct emotions required by society). There is also a mental healh connection in that the works of the existentialists have appealed to the depressed, or maybe to be more even-handed, to those who are upset when they first realize the hollowness their social environment.
Jacques Valin, protagonist of La vie à l'envers, tires of his relationships and shuts himself away in his apartment. In doing so, he takes the concept of existentialism much further, here there is no requirement to keep to one's freely accepted responsibilities, no requirement to even accept the existence of the material world. Except for keeping the body warm and nourished, Jacques becomes a creature of pure meditative exploration, an oneironaut.
We can of course write him off like some write the existentialists off: they are depressed and Jacques is psychotic. But to some extent many mental illnesses are social constructs, for example a child diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, because they can't sit still in a classroom, may be perfectly aligned with an outdoors life. Society in that case is the "illness". Jacques then, would not be viewed as psychotic, simply as clear-minded.
Much of his journey away from the world is beautiful, a significant amount of time is taken to show his appreciation of form without meaning. The filmmakers show a close up of a slice of bread, which rather becomes a landscape of forms (extrusions, blurtings, sponginess, contrasts of light and dark), and Jacques also spends time staring at a particular tree, marvelling more at its form (its whorling, branching, fractality) than at its conceptuality (photosynthesiser, taxonomic item, provider of shade, provider of carpentry materials).
Despite the beauty there is also a whiff of suphur, in, for example, Jacques' easy misogyny. His philosophy, as shown in the movie, did indeed remind me of some hot springs, clear, beautiful, sulphurous, and incredibly dangerous. The point, however, is the ease at which Jacques withdraws from society, the ties that bound him were weak. The movie then is viewed best, as a critique of the ways and mores of 1960s French society, undergoing a descent into consumerism. It is also a cleansing watch, that helps one to take stock of one's own situation and root out the sources of angst.
