12 seconds. 5 minutes. 2 fortnights. a jiffy.
Really, I shouldn’t have to comment on the commodification of time. Is that not the essence of capitalism?
Into your busy lives cram another blog post. Another sloppy film review. A film.
A more professional critic would start by alluding to the copious literature which points to this film as Godard’s return to form.
A strange phrase. Which form?
Because really, for me, Godard begins here. The known Godard is Parisian Godard…la nouvelle vague.
The unknown Godard is everything else. As an American consumer it is rather inconvenient to obtain all but the classic films from our auteur. After Week-end (1967), the DVDs become exponentially harder to come by.
But, as a rule, I digress. Liberally. Often. Without fail.
This, then, would seem to be Godard emerging from the black forest of political filmmaking and ethical soul-searching to find the inklings of his mature style.
It is not an original thought. The English-language biographies cover this thoroughly. The device in question is (for lack of a more exact term) slow-motion.
It is the playful wonder of a man who still has the curiosity of a boy.
Technology changing. New idiosyncrasies to each bit of gear on the market.
It is the same now. Stash your camera on the top shelf and soon you will not know how to make films.
Your equipment will be obsolete and your knowledge outdated.
But that is all tertiary (tertiary?) in importance.
To our film.
We have characters; plot. A walk in the wilderness and Godard (with the indispensable Anne-Marie Miéville) returned to a somewhat recognizable form. As always, however, the form is highly subverted. One might even say perverted in this particular instance. It is a strange beauty. Incomparable. A triumph. A mere glimpse of things to come.
Always playing on archetypes, Godard casts singer Jacques Dutronc as Paul Godard. There can be little doubt that this character is meant to represent the filmmaker himself. Every marker is there: the ubiquitous cigar, the glasses, the mannerisms, the disheveled college professor sartorial ensembles…
The stunning Nathalie Baye plays Denise Rimbaud. Here is where the ark types. Arc-en-ciel. A panorama of wispy clouds. Yes, Arthur is never far…nor Baudelaire…nor Sartre and Duras. And Marguerite? Faust. Your soul for a job.
Yes, prostitution returns. The grand Godardian theme. Isabelle Huppert plays the role of the sex worker Isabelle Rivière.
The setting? Switzerland. We see the signs at the station. Nyon. Not Lyon, Nyon. It brings us back to that area we visited in Godard’s second film (though it was banned and thus delayed in release) Le Petit Soldat.
The famous scenes are of Baye on a bicycle–of Dutronc in a classroom before a chalkboard reading “Cain et Abel” and “Film et video.”
Yes, the sexual aspects of this film are heavy. This perhaps proves that Godard’s return to mainstream filmmaking was not the end of his rebellious period.
Though there is a plot and there are discernible characters, it is not always clear what is going on. What cannot be disputed is the sadness which Godard brings to light with yet another exposé of whoring. Likewise, it might be gathered that the filmmaker is commenting on the perception of rural Switzerland as pristine and bucolic. The perverse element of our film echoes previous erotic episodes of Pasolini and Buñuel.
Finally, one can’t help wondering whether the film in question had a formative effect on the Iranian director Kiarostami. As in the later Taste of Cherry, Godard has one last trick up his sleeve to end out Sauve qui peut (la vie).
Indeed, Jean-Luc Godard was starting to find his magic touch again with this film…and its traces attested to a talent which was richer and better than ever before.