I dated Brigitte Bardot for awhile. Well, not THE Brigitte Bardot, but it might as well have been her. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Ah, but all those hours on the highway didn’t end happily. No, there weren’t many happy endings for those involved. Anna Karina. Jean-Luc Godard.
Contempt. You must look beyond the characters. Look beyond the actors. And even so, you must take note…Fritz Lang as Himself. It’s like the old U.S. TV tradition of saving that one zinger character for the end of the opening credits. Say, for instance, you’re watching The Jeffersons or Laverne and Shirley…or even Three’s Company…”and Don Knotts as Mr. Furley” [zing!]
But Fritz Lang isn’t funny. He doesn’t wear a powder-blue leisure suit. No, the mood is very grave around here. Even when we relocate to Capri. It all begins with a quote from André Bazin. Twenty-five years later Godard would turn to that quote to kick off his masterpiece Histoire(s) du cinema. “Le cinema substitue…à notre regard…un monde…qui s’accorde.” Cinema substitutes in our eyes a world which harmonizes. Ersetzt das Kino in unseren Augen eine Welt qui harmoniert. Sostituisce il cinema nei nostri occhi un mondo qui armonizza.
This is the world of Le Mépris. Babel. Babble on. Whore. Vulgarity doesn’t suit you. How ’bout now? Does it suit me now?
He commands me…ou il me prie? Le Mépris.
Once again we miss Anna Karina. Two films in a row. Les Carabiniers and now this: replaced by Bardot’s ass. Ass ass ass ass ass. Blue ass. Yellow ass. Natural ass. The tricolor. God save the queen!
This was Godard’s shot at the big time. Like Dune for David Lynch. “Walk On the Wild Side” for Lou Reed. Godard as Neil Young skipped Harvest and went directly to On the Beach.
That’s how it goes. Perhaps it’s why Godard got on with Woody Allen. Yes, Godard the neurotic drove his life and career directly into the ditch. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
He even made the biggest star in France (B.B.) wear the same shabby Louise Brooks wig which his wife (Karina) had worn in Vivre sa vie. Yes, something is amiss with this film.
I feel the Godard/Karina relationship problems bubbling to the surface.
“No, go do it! This is your big chance!”
“But you won’t be mad at me?”
“Why should I be jealous of Bebe?”
“You know I would prefer to cast you.”
“Forget about it. I’m not mad. I’m happy. I just look mad because I’m crying.”
Something like that.
All, of, that, aside,
this film couldn’t be more masterful. It is a precarious film. It threatens at every turn to fall headlong into a sea of shit, but it doesn’t. The waters of Capri blue. Bardot’s golden ennui chevelure. A white Greek statue and a Shirley card in CinemaScope. Go ahead and give Ulysses some sky-blue eye shadow and lipstick. And Penelope. Pen elope. Moravia. Javal. dactylo. caméra–stylo.
The poet’s vocation. Vacation. Terrorist. Tourist. Coutard. Kutard.
Casa Malaparte is abandoned. 99 steps and a bitch ain’t one [hit me] (!) Gulf of Salerno looking out to…nothing. Ulysses sees something I don’t. There is no homeland. Only insecurity. Die Heimat? Fritz Lang would know. Is that a command or a request? Please tell Goebbels that Herr Lang has politely declined the offer to head up the film efforts of the Nazi propaganda program. And by the way, he’s leaving the country. Maybe call up Leni Riefenstahl. I’ll bet she has a nice ass… lagniappe! L.H.O.O.Q.
99 steps from the Gulf of Salerno. that last step’s a doozy [hit me]!