The film opens with a static long shot of a private villa nestled between buildings of lesser standing on a quiet Parisian street, over which the credits appear in a teletypewriter fashion. Nothing is happening except for an occasional passer-by hurrying across the screen. After a while, the image is shown going backward: we then realize that we were watching a video recording that protagonist Georges Laurent (Daniel Auteuil) is rewinding on his VCR, after having viewed it on his television set. We then see, this time from the point of view of the camera, Georges and his wife Anne (Juliette Binoche) watching the video of their own villa on their television. This VHS tape, sent anonymously, had materialized mysteriously at their doorstep.
Georges is a prominent television personality who hosts a literary program, and Anne works for a publishing house. They have an adolescent son, Pierrot (Lester Makedonsky). Together, they form a family of ordinary bourgeois, living a quiet and comfortable life, protected from the outside world by money and culture, surrounded by an homogeneous circle of friends. Soon, another tape appears, wrapped in a childish drawing of a child throwing up blood. Pierrot is also the recipient of the same drawing at his school. Later on, as the Laurents are hosting a dinner, someone rings the front door bell: nobody is at the door but another videotape is left, once more wrapped up in a childish sketch depicting a bird (a chicken?) with its neck cut off and bleeding. This video, shot from inside a car, shows a country road leading to the farm of Georges' parents, where Georges was raised.
Who is filming? What at first was thought to be a prank or some kind of bad joke starts to worry both Georges and Anne. They go to the police, who refuse to do anything, since there has been no overt threat or blackmail of any kind. A climate of tension and paranoia settles in, and Georges decides to solve the mystery himself. Obviously, the author of these videos appears to know a lot about Georges and his past. Little by little, Georges seems to remember some childhood events involving Majid, the son of Algerian farmhands who worked on his parents' farm.
The Algerian couple had been killed on 17 October, 1961, during a peaceful demonstration organized by the Algerian National Liberation Front (FLN) against a curfew imposed on all Algerian citizens in Paris. France Interior Minister Frey and Police Prefect Papon ordered that this demonstration be handled "properly," an order which resulted in the death of up to two hundred Algerians, most of whom drowned when they were thrown by the police into the Seine. One must also recall that during WWII, the same Papon served under the Vichy Government in the same capacity, and was directly involved in the deportation of the French Jews to the German concentration camps-- if one thing can be said about Papon is that he was not a racist: Moslems, Jews, all the same to him. (Papon was FINALLY sentenced in 1998 for crimes against humanity, but only served three years...)
Following the death of his parents, Georges' parents were ready to adopt young Majid (Walid Afkir). However, the six-year-old Georges strongly resented his new bother-to-be and tried his best to discredit him in the eyes of his parents. First, Georges pushed young Majid to commit a violent act toward a farm animal, a rooster, and then told his parents that Majid was spitting blood and thus was most likely infected with tuberculosis. Confronted with this apparent truth of young Majid's character and his physical condition, Georges' parents did not adopt him, but instead sent him to an orphanage. Georges never saw Majid again, but he becomes more and more convinced that Majid has re-appeared, seeking to revenge the wrong done to him.
The situation created by these disturbing drawings and videos shows how much Georges and Anne, contrary to the appearances, have drifted apart from one another. Georges is not forthcoming about his suspicions, which would also reveal his youthful cruelty. Anne assumes Georges' silence regarding his suspicions indicates his lack of trust, making her question their relationship. Georges seems to have a clear conscience, so much so that he tries to identify the mysterious stalker, but as he stubbornly tries to preserve his social and familial status quo, he only succeeds in getting into deeper trouble.
Suffice to say that if Cache were a Hollywood pabulum production, the rest of the film would be quite predictable. But this is a film by anti-conformist and provocateur Michael Haneke, who is known to play with his viewers, destabilizing them by using non-conventional mise-en-scenes, enjoying putting his viewers in the difficult and uncomfortable position of voyeurs. So, I must stop here my recalling of the film's synopsis, lest I spoil prospective viewers' enjoyment of the film.
Cache is a psychological thriller, clinical and cold, but also fascinating, which invites the viewer to carry on his or her own investigation as the film progresses. It recalls one of the best French thrillers ever made, Le Corbeau (1943), Henri-Georges Clouzot's film about a French village torn apart by a series of poison-pen letters. As with all his other films, the screenplay of Cache is by Haneke. The violence shown here is not physical, as in Haneke's past films, in particular as in Funny Games, except for one flash in a long take toward the middle of the film, which sends the theatre audience gasping in unison. In Cache, the primary violence is psychological, but the result on the viewer is the same as if it was physical. Once more Haneke works with the same material as he did in his trilogy of "emotional glaciation:" a bourgeois family with an adolescent son confronted with an exterior menace, which is materialized by images. From the very first long plan-sequence of an unremarkable scene, an unfathomable, frightening feeling surfaces. As the minutes tick by, it is not the eye of the camera but our own which is alert to the slightest noise, the slightest change. The rewinding of the video tape comes as liberation, but at the same time it confirms our anguish. Haneke mixes up the filmed reality with the reality of the film, depriving us of any point of reference, and we are left with a feeling of anguish, loneliness, and finally distress. Not only are the camera and its operator hidden from view, but the act of filming itself is also hidden from our senses. Nevertheless, everything in the plot follows and develops from the clues left by each drawing and each video tape. The