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Numero deux [1975)

Back.  Return return.  Long absence.

Unrestful battle to the death with corporate finance.

And Jeannot mentions Georges.  Beauregard?

Yes, almost certainly.

And so politics becomes sex.  But sex remains politics.  The two phenomena simultaneously.

Like dependent events and statistical fluctuations.

Ah, statistics…

Not the fun stuff of batting averages.  No, we mean correlations and covariance and stultifying minutiae.

And that’s where the money comes from.

Godard after 45 years had finally finished with Paris.  Done.  Fin.

Il y a equals = Grenoble?

A new era with Anne-Marie Miéville.  Sonimage.  Mon ton son image son.

Wordplay cures illnesses.

The glissando of sliding meaning.

Slippage.

I want to write film criticism as if I am writing a viola sonata.  Everything is possible.

Amazingly…amazingly…Wikipedia gives a synopsis.

Thank you kind soul…kind, fastidious soul.

Is it the same in France?  Numero deux est la merde?

Yes, Godard finds a way to shock…again.  Like Salò, but in a mundane grocery store of quotidian pain.

Wordplay and illnesses.

Is it Sandrine Battistella?

Is it Pierre Oudrey?

Are the child actors the best players in this film (in the tradition of Bresson)?

And Alexandre Rignault.  The old man?  I am too lazy.  It is already a service.  Mon beau souci.

The anarchy of breasts.

Both enjoy in different ways.

Pain is not simple.

It was this point at which Godard became a true revolutionary.  With his army surplus jacket.  Inconsequential.

Having survived the revolution.  The upheaval.  To live on into the era of Bruce Lee kicking Chuck Norris’ ass.

We see briefly.

But mainly we see fatigue.  The fatigue of Beethoven.  Facile technician.  Adjusting color timing instinctively.  Habit.

Sometime you must take a break from James Bond to question the fundamental things.

White people problems, they say.

No, I see the same in true cultures…in China…in Africa.

Unique modes of expression.  Unlearning.

The greatest service is to convey the feelings of the film.  If these feelings harmonize with the dissonance of your pathetique lives, then you are like me.  Searching for small miracles.

Actors cannot touch non-actors.  Praise be to actors who appear to have no technique–who appear to be non-actors.

Either way.  Doesn’t matter.  Matters.

-PD

14 responses to “Numero deux [1975)

  1. Good one I didn’t see that one yet. Now I have to look it up. Thank you. Nice review.

  2. This post reads like a breathtaking and fragile work of glass art. C’est magnifique with a dash of Les Fleurs du Mal. Merci beaucoup, mon ami.

    • Thank you so much! That is very kind of you. I am a great admirer of Baudelaire. –Paul

      • As am I. Not necessarily the decadence-to-the-point -of-dissolution lifestyle he promoted, but his poetry is a work of dark art that simply cannot be ignored. I always feel I can imagine an old (yet still young) Dorian Gray writing his poetry under the ‘pseudonym’ Charles Beaudelaire. I suppose Wilde and Beaudelaire did have a lot of mutually shared philosophies…

      • I should read more Wilde. He seems like a figure with whom I would have a certain simpatico.

  3. BeeHappee

    Maybe you can do Wiki synopsis for the missing Godard films? 🙂
    Socialist housing complex… sounds familiar. We’d use cups against the wall to listen in to neighbors talk. Or would just pretty much know everyone’s issues from the yelling we could hear. Sometimes we could talk code with our neighbor kid friends by tapping on metal radiators – a code for meetup outside in 5 minutes.

  4. That Salò line will be with me for weeks at least. It must be boring to see me type my appreciation for your work again, but you continue to make an art out of something that is mostly thought of as merely descriptive.

    As before, I’m glad you exist.

    • Thank you friend! Never gets boring reading your feedback. I remember renting Salo long ago and the video shop employees made sure to ask me if I was sure what I was getting into. Quite humorous!

      • It’s a unique film to say the least. Really, I find Jodorowsky’s work far more disturbing, but when I saw it I had only seen Pasolini’s Gospel. I would’ve appreciated the warning, though it wouldn’t have changed a thing.

      • Yes, Jodorowsky is a force to be reckoned with…”the mother lode of unholy awe” to borrow a phrase from Lester Bangs (least I think it was Lester).

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