Hidden (or Caché, to give it its French title) is regarded by many as Austrian auteur Michael Haneke’s definitive masterpiece—and with good reason. This is a frighteningly intelligent, grown-up thriller, and one that rewards multiple rewatches. It is our good fortune, then, that it was included in COMPLICIT, a recent retrospective of Haneke’s oeuvre at Spazju Kreattiv.
It is impossible to watch Hidden without thinking of David Lynch’s Lost Highway (1997). Both films share a similar premise: a couple with a strained relationship begin receiving mysterious videotapes of their sleek, modern home from an anonymous stalker. It’s a creepy setup regardless, but Lynch and Haneke approach the concept in startlingly different ways. While Lynch’s vision is a surreal noir nightmare, Haneke’s gaze is far more voyeuristic—suitably enough. This is stripped-down filmmaking. Haneke chose to shoot it on high-def digital cameras, still a relatively revolutionary move for a major feature in 2005, and the unglossy, clear look of the film lends it an unsettling realism.
Haneke once again eschews a musical score to spoon-feed us emotion, nor does he use flashy editing or camera moves. Instead, we watch the drama unfold in long, static shots: we are spies, observing a married couple in crisis. The subtlety of Haneke’s direction means that when moments of violence do occur, they pack a serious punch. One scene in particular has gone on to be regarded as one of the most shocking in modern cinema. It’s not about the bloodshed—it’s because the realism offers us no protection or easy answers.
Key to this realism are the leading performances by a powerhouse pair of French actors: Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche, playing Georges and Anne respectively. They are the very picture of a bourgeois couple: intellectual, wealthy, cultured. Georges is the host of a literary TV show, while Anne is a publisher. They seemingly lead a perfect life in Paris, yet it’s clear their relationship is strained. There are hints of infidelity, of Anne feeling overshadowed by Georges’ celebrity, and the stress of parenting their twelve-year-old son, Pierrot. Auteuil and Binoche are perfectly cast—each looks as though they have a reservoir of secrets behind their eyes.
Hidden may be, objectively, a thriller, but it’s really an examination of class, family, and fate. It explores the uncomfortable divide between the haves and have-nots, and the way we brush aside the darker sides of our past. It’s a deconstruction of privilege—and the cost that has on others feels more pertinent than ever.
The less said about the plot, the better: this is a film that deserves to unfold in front of the viewer unspoiled. Hidden is, put simply, one of the masterworks of 21st-century cinema, and it demands to be seen.
