Which brings us to the other big reason Noé’s films are so often despised: His protagonists are often despicable. It’s only fair to point out that Noé detests them, too, despite the fact that most of them, like Boutella’s thwarted pursuer in “Climax,” are based on him, or at least the most odious version of him. In Noé’s movies, men destroy everything. “They’re pretentious, and they always end up losing.” He is drawn to these men, he explained, “because I think there are more losers in this world than winners.”
To hear Noé tell it, he was put on this earth to provoke. Born in Buenos Aires, the son of a celebrated Argentine painter, Luis Felipe Noé, known as Yayo, he lived on Bleecker Street in SoHo until he was 5 and has fond memories of peeing from his balcony onto passers-by below. His family returned to Argentina, then fled to Paris in 1976 to escape the coup.
As a teenager Noé discovered Kubrick and Scorsese. His hero was Travis Bickle, Robert De Niro’s deranged antihero from “Taxi Driver.” “Especially the second part,” he said, then cackled madly. He studied filmmaking at Louis Lumière College, showed a horse being slaughtered in his first movie — a 40-minute short called “Carne,” about an incestuous butcher and his mute daughter — then fell in love with his producer, now wife, Lucile Hadzihalilovic. (They do not have children.)
From his earliest work, Noe possessed a redemptive gift for tenderness and intimacy, and for using the full arsenal of film language to evoke life’s most extreme sensations, not just the horrifying ones.
Even before the LSD kicks in, “Climax” plays like a fever dream, only the drug is pure kinetic energy generated by dancers doing what they love. Near the grim finale, a quotation flashes on the screen: “Life is a collective impossibility.”
“This movie,” though, Noé said, “proves the contrary.”
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