Recommended if you like Godspeed You! Black Emperor
Recommended if you like Godspeed You! Black Emperor
Cobra and phases.
Emptying a sampler.
Always Flaming Lips.
A twist on bass.
The church of Michael Ivins’ hair.
He wrote this.
Bold start to Pauly Deathwish’s 5th album.
Watch for upcoming single.
Hit to death.
Tribute to Jack Johnson.
Steve Gadd slow nerve action.
Tom and Richard.
Hippies cool at CBGB.
Are you experienced?
Paul Simon never sounded this tough.
Always too cool.
But the lyrics give him a run.
Another COVID album.
McAfee didn’t uninstall himself.
A dentist chair in Florida.
Soros’s scumbag Rubin.
Forgot a fuck.
Not for kids.
Not safe for work.
John Paul Jones keys.
Frustration key of E.
The pitched song.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
Remember this connection.
Hal Blaine on Harvest.
Trying to make it pay.
Hotel to Tango.
Stopped in Oklahoma.
Back when concerts were played in Austins.
Tonight’s the night.
Neil in Ontario.
A Canadian pastiche.
The only artist to review his own albums.
Because, you know, fuck it!
9/11 will come out.
Everything building to a head.
First Zeppelin album.
Black mountain side.
Jimmy’s eyes glowing magenta.
They tell me he’s evil.
But you gotta know the story of the blues.
I tried to sell my soul to the Devil.
But I am saved by the blood of Jesus Christ.
Jesus protected me.
Satan wasn’t buying.
Down in the basement of the Gunter Hotel.
I tried to sell my soul for the world.
But God didn’t let it happen.
Thinking it was bad enough.
Only through Jesus am I saved.
The worst among sinners.
Trying to gain the whole world.
Willing to forfeit my soul.
God is good.
And I can out-produce Jimmy Page.
Because God is my guide.
I have a dirty mouth.
Go and sin no more.
We’re in a fucking war.
We gotta put Jesus first.
On the battlefield.
Out greatest stealth.
I don’t know how to make copies.
And my black neighbors don’t know how to use the internet.
Joe Biden can get fucked.
But me, I like women with big tits.
Alex Jones quote.
I don’t wanna be a part of this sick cult.
We need God on the battlefield.
Mercy is waiting even for Jimmy Page.
Turn from the evil ways.
Recognize King Jesus.
The sky is crying.
Second jazz tune.
Straight off blues.
The Monk solo.
Dissonant as a motherfucker.
Is a joke?
Watch for first cover.
Straight into a QAnon song.
Flynn, in fact, did not go to jail.
Bob Marley gets all conspiratorial.
Obama gets arrested at his own birthday party.
Strzok blocked on Twitter.
A bunch of cunts?
Not Seth Keshel.
The real deal.
Will the FBI be shut down?
Department of Justice is the very heart of the Deep State.
Rosenstein is linchpin.
Bill Barr was miss.
Cymbals Eat Guitars.
Each given a chance.
Music like this hasn’t been made in 30 years.
Bowie would be proud.
The debris from the Nirvana signing.
The truly good bands.
Some Boo Radleys here.
Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.
Black (Oak) Ark.
A disgusting record collection.
Lovingly preserved in filth.
Vinyl still good.
Cop shoot cop.
Strong statement against Antifa.
This guy is bold.
Dylan tongue cheek.
Only person to listen to this.
Give the anarchist a cigarette.
This is a fucked up record.
Calling David Lynch.
Gonna be hard for the Left to write off this guy.
This dude troublemaker.
Trail of dead.
We know you, but do you know us?
Deep Pieczenik research.
And the beloved NSA.
More accurately: CYBERCOM.
Not yet split?
Nakasone double duty?
Who could bring down?
Two QAnon songs in a row.
Macca bass line.
Welcome to the revolution.
The jazz and blues build up into rock and roll.
Fort Meade on repeat.
Cheyenne Mountain Alerts.
Air Force Cyber.
Rhythm of the saints.
Tettix Wave Accumulator?
Berry Gordy trippin’ balls.
A Lisbeth Salander ballad.
FBI + CIA.
But serves to delineate.
Interior and exterior.
Smarter than Strzok and Page.
Too fucked up to catch Velvets.
I hear you.
It’s a bitch.
Thom Yorke knob twiddler.
Eno in Roxy.
The big sleep date.
Noir and chill.
The harder they fall.
Shoot the piano player.
We are here in San Antonio.
We are making the best of it.
Eating ZZ Top nachos.
Beer drinkers and hell raisers.
A real jalapeno.
Australia to steam like teapot.
Comes with new iPhone.
An anthem like U2 ain’t written for a bit.
This is Dublin territory.
Sexy God believers.
And Jack Nitzsche.
But Bono can sing opera.
A good dude.
Needs to drop the carbon bullshit.
Global warming is giant fucking hoax.
Just like COVID.
The Edge knows.
Grow some balls.
Stop kissing the Pope’s ass.
This commie Pope is a fucker.
Pauly can play guitar!
Album builds up to last song.
Even last song builds up.
Inspiring fear and respect.
That Swiss-Maoist asshole is my hero.
In many ways.
But which Godard?
If I were to say “late Godard” (and that would be my natural, truthful answer), Monsieur Godard would likely point out the merits of his early films…just to annoy me.
If I spoke lovingly of Vivre sa vie, he would probably proclaim that it is shit.
Jean-Luc Godard is a very complex individual.
And I can wholeheartedly identify with that.
A walking civil war.
This film never makes reference to Cahiers du cinéma.
It doesn’t need to.
This film covers a period of time which Wikipedia classifies as Godard’s “revolutionary period”.
When did Godard stop writing for Cahiers?
He never stopped being a critic.
We know that.
And I see his point.
This is shit.
Because we want to invent new forms.
Breathless was like his “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”.
Or his Bolero.
He couldn’t escape it.
Couldn’t lose it.
Must be nice.
But maybe not.
“Play the hits!”
Did politics ruin Jean-Luc Godard?
But it was necessary.
It was his process of growing up.
His process of attaining wisdom.
Trial and error.
But not the last word.
I don’t agree with Godard’s politics.
Perhaps at some point in my youth I did.
But not very much.
Because I never really understood them.
But I too am a revolutionary.
In these days.
After the 2020 election.
You may call me a reactionary.
I don’t care what you call me.
I think George Washington is cool.
I think the United States of America is worth saving.
And the American Revolution has recommenced.
Same goals as the founders had.
Love it or leave it.
Godard did not show up in 2010 to receive his honorary Academy Award.
Good for him.
Give me the old stuff.
Not this new crap.
Perhaps you see where me and Godard overlap?
Too rashes like a Venn diagram…with a particularly-irritated common ground.
The skin is red and peeling.
I scratch my arms.
I’m running out of real estate on my body for these nicotine patches.
You thought it was something more interesting?
Where does the former President of Peru come in?
Pedro Pablo Kuczynski.
Godard’s first cousin.
I too had cousins.
Who are as far off as Peru.
But always close in my heart.
Kuczynski is 82.
Godard will be 90 in one week.
I will be 44 when the Electoral College meets.
Anna Karina died on my birthday last year.
She was 79.
But this film doesn’t deal with the wonderful Ms. Karina.
No, this film deals with another stunning beauty: Anne Wiazemsky.
Wiazemsky died three years ago.
The same year Redoubtable came out.
In the English-speaking world, we know it (ironically) as Godard Mon Amour.
Sounds more sophisticated to have the subtitled film with a more commercial FRENCH product label.
Redoubtable is too vague.
Godard Mon Amour sells itself.
[that’s what the advertising guys must have said]
Godard and Wiazemsky were married for 12 years.
Godard and Karina married for a mere 4.
I’ve never read Mauriac.
I have nothing against Catholics.
I adore Olivier Messiaen’s music.
So it bears mentioning that one of the smartest, most unique artists in the history of the world was a French Catholic [Messiaen].
Which is to say, believing in God does not make you boring.
I believe in God.
The same God.
The Christian God.
God who gave us Jesus.
God who gave us synesthesia.
Combat didn’t like La Chinoise.
De Gaulle withdrew from NATO.
Will Trump win?
De Gaulle supported sovereignty.
The European Union is the antithesis of what de Gaulle wanted.
De Gaulle criticized America’s war in Vietnam.
But that wasn’t enough for revolutionaries like Godard.
De Gaulle wanted Québec to be free from Canada.
If you’ve ever been to Québec, you might see why.
It is unlike the rest of Canada.
Except for New Brunswick and Nova Scotia.
But not really.
Île de Chêne?
Starring in a Maoist film directed by Jean-Luc Godard.
And then they married.
Godard was correct.
Au Hasard Balthazar is the antithesis of the Central Intelligence Agency.
But Godard never said that.
So Anne Wiazemsky wrote a book called Un An Après which was published in 2015.
She died two years later.
The same year her book was adapted for film as Redoubtable.
She died of breast cancer.
Less than a month after Redoubtable was released in France.
This film proves that Michel Hazanavicius is a very talented filmmaker.
It proves that he knows his Godard.
But it is flawed.
Aren’t all masterpieces?
Is Redoubtable a masterpiece?
In some ways, yes.
In some ways, no.
It is probably most similar to Sacha Gervasi’s Hitchcock.
Both of them are films of “exorbitant privilege”.
Which is to say, a little out of touch with their subject matter.
Was Pablo Picasso ever called an asshole?
Not if we take Jonathan Richman at his word.
Art contains deeper layers of meaning.
Unless you’re Warhol.
In which case, the meaning MAY be found closer to the surface.
Stravinsky liked this too.
Music has no meaning.
It is just tones.
Little dots on a page.
So we are told.
Jean-Luc Godard and Igor Stravinsky both embraced MANY different approaches to their craft over their long careers.
Because they loved their crafts.
They were addicted.
It was a compulsion.
And, for Godard, it remains so.
Godard married the girl who rejected Robert Bresson.
Do not underestimate the thrill of this.
The thrill of it all.
Bresson was a genius too.
But she was only 18 when Bresson made his advances.
Girls want to live.
Bresson was 65.
Numbers can lie.
Godard and Wiazemsky were only together as man and wife for three years.
Though they were married for 12.
Three years was enough, apparently.
The divorce appears to have been more a formality.
I spoke to Anne-Marie on the phone once.
In exceedingly-broken French.
She was saintly in her patience.
All I wished to convey, as I called Rolle (Switzerland) on my flip phone, was that Godard was my intellectual hero. [it is true] And that his LATE films mattered. That they mattered THE MOST. That he had created beauty. That he had plumbed the depths. I owed it to my master to deliver this message before I (or he) died (God forbid).
I was compelled.
Jean-Luc Godard is my favorite creator this side of heaven.
Even though I don’t agree with his politics.
Bob Dylan is neck-and-neck for this honor.
Dylan is, no doubt, my favorite musician to have ever lived.
Neck-and-neck with Roland Kirk (perhaps).
My favorite jazz artist.
My favorite instrumentalist.
It is never noted that Wiazemsky was in Les Gauloises bleues.
And Godard could be an asshole.
So can I.
So can Trump.
Trump is my ideological hero.
My political hero.
I DO agree with his political philosophy.
And yet, my favorite film director (auteur) remains Godard.
No one is even neck-and-neck with JLG for me.
Brakhage is a distant second.
Welles is formidable.
But they do not hit the mark like Jean-Luc.
Il seme dell’uomo.
Nothing suggestive there.
And then I gave Jacques Demy’s grandson piano lessons.
Or Agnès Varda’s grandson.
More like organ lessons.
You should use Belmondo again.
We see Coutard’s hair early.
Politics entered soon.
Le Petit soldat.
The perfection of Vivre sa vie.
The jaunty, carefree, playful anarchy of Breathless.
And a sadness tied to beauty.
Politics again with Les Carabiniers.
An attempt at commercialism with Contempt.
Equivalent to Nirvana’s In Utero album.
A thorough disdain for the Hollywood system.
And the “tradition of quality” in France.
But something deeper…and more bitter.
Bande à part more like Breathless.
A little like Vivre sa vie.
Down and out in Paris.
Life at the margin of society.
Hazanavicius first really gets going with Une Femme mariée.
Stacy Martin in the nude.
Grabbing the bedsheets.
Brace brace brace.
The resemblance to Charlotte Gainsbourg is striking.
A little Alphaville.
Someone who nibbles Godard’s neck.
The Samuel Fuller scene from Pierrot le fou turned into a fistfight.
Don’t insult me!
A bit of Macha Méril in the hair.
And a bit more of Chantal Goya.
Getting shouted down by a situationist during the May ’68 occupation of the Sorbonne. Lumped in with Coca-Cola.
Things go dark with insults.
On the blink.
Made in U.S.A.
Two or Three Things I Know About Her.
“You ruined my shot!”
Eating Chinese food.
A rather unfortunate outburst directed at a war hero.
And his wife.
These are the things we do.
When we’re young.
What is striking is the humor in Redoubtable.
The broken eyeglasses.
The slipping shoes.
And their replacement.
I must give credit to Louis Garrel.
He really does convey the mania and eccentricity of Godard.
While Stacy Martin is very good here, it is a shame that Hazanavicius chose to lovingly evoke every detail of Godard’s life…except Wiazemsky’s red hair.
Here is filmic perfection.
Excuse my Tourette’s outburst.
But it’s like a geyser.
Because this film really, really (REALLY) got me!
[the boy who cries wolf must get ever more creative]
A big, bad, beautiful wolf here…
I had no idea coming into this film–what I was getting into.
No idea about country of origin.
No idea about actors or director.
No idea about language.
Just the least thumbnail sketch of plot.
But other than that.
In French it’s shorter.
Nothing is even less of a thing in French.
By three letters.
An economy of means.
And that serves as as good a point as any (whew!) at which (yikes!) to start talking about this MASTERPIECE MASTERPIECE MASTERPIECE.
Because I don’t have to get drunk.
I don’t drink.
I don’t have to get high.
I only take my boring medications.
But you know what really lights my fuse?
And love when it is cinematic.
The hope of love.
The promise of love (however distant the possibility) when it is expressed cinematically.
In a film I feel like I’m the only one watching.
So i must first [sic] thank the universe for Julianne Côté.
As Borat would say, wah-wah-way-woe!
For nerds like me.
That little in-between haircut.
But fuck it…
Hair doesn’t matter.
It’s shining through.
Ms. Côté is a very attractive girl.
But not in the meretricious sense.
That is left to the less-than-sterling character played by Catherine St-Laurent (who’s also great in this film).
Every film needs a villain.
As the singularly-poetic Liam Gallagher once penned (and sang):
“You could be my enemy/I guess there’s still time”
But we need to get back to Julianne Côté.
Because she changed my DNA with this film.
She wrecked me (as Tom Petty might have said).
She took my soul and balled it up like dough and made gingerbread men out of it.
[ok, that’s stretching it…]
Because Catherine St-Laurent is the magazine cover girl.
It’s no accident we see her in a bikini…poolside.
But Ms.Côté just floats on the foam spaghetti.
Her face as beautiful…as the moon.
I MUST STOP HERE TO SAY THAT A GOOD MANY OF MY MORE SUBLIME THOUGHTS JUST DISAPPEARED DUE TO SOME COMPUTER GLITCH
And it is only appropriate.
As Nicole’s life is a grand series of fuck-ups and almosts.
Yes, thanks a fucking lot, WordPress.
Ten minutes of writing down the drain.
Ok, so the milk is spilt.
How to get back on track?
I don’t know where I was.
I spun my loveliest sentences.
Turned my most gossamer phrases.
And hit “Save” ever fucking second.
But it didn’t matter.
So we will go to tech metaphor.
Always fall in love with the typewriter.
Even the electric typewriter (like Histoire(s) du cinéma).
And give Microsoft no quarter.
They are, for once, innocent.
The answer is.
There is no getting back.
Not some Thomas Wolfe trip.
But simply to say that nothing I can write will sum up the brilliance of Stéphane Lafleur’s direction.
I am exercising zero hyperbole when I say that THIS IS A PERFECT FILM.
And nothing will ever sum up my admiration (yes, love) for Julianne Côté’s performance.
Nay, for her.
Let’s quote Elton John…
“Someone saved my life tonight…”
Thank you, Julianne!
I will just say Julianne from now on…because my computer doesn’t like diacritical marks 🙂
I’ll say it again a few times.
Tu dors Nicole has changed my perception of film.
Of what a movie can be.
It’s that good!
It’s that important!
I can’t believe what I just saw… […]
How do you get that much emotion into a film review? In order to start saying things again, we must stop saying things as we have been saying them.
As much as I might like to find fault with this film, I cannot. Not really.
What for some directors would be their masterpiece is for Godard merely another step in the journey.
We get used to genius.
We expect perfection.
But let us descend from the cosmos to discuss the film at hand.
No…on second thought.
It is the prolongation of the opening titles. Not like James Bond. It is not a formulaic gun-barrel sequence.
It is merely (merely?) the opposite of diminution. Augmentation. A fugue.
There are too many words to remember.
And so Godard takes his sweet ass time telling us about the players.
Quite a cast.
If we come in blind (and cold), each addition piques our interest further.
Was it Alain Sarde who put together this troupe?
Perhaps he only wrote the checks?
No no…it is better to discuss how Godard used this extensive cast.
A cast of thousands. Mahler Symphony #8.
Wikipedia. Poor pathetic Wikipedia.
But maybe not.
If you are accustomed to mainstream fare, this picture may appear to have no plot.
It is the pacing. The cuts. Montage?
No. No diatribe.
On to the cast.
Jean-Pierre Léaud. How long had it been?
And Claude Brasseur! Christ!!
But we really start moving with Johnny Hallyday.
Once upon a time…
I (me)…I was in some city…I believe it was Quebec. Quebec City. Québec.
I had a room at the top of the world for the night. I believe it was the 22nd floor.
Enough to make you shit yourself…
And in the morning, there we were…a band apart. Bleary eyed, perhaps.
And out comes Monsieur Hallyday.
And the press clicked away. The hands went up to shield the bright lights.
And all I was impressed with was that he’d been in a Godard movie.
But let us not forget Nathalie Baye.
She is extraordinary here.
Brasseur is very strong.
Hallyday is surprisingly perfect.
All of these pop stars in films by the former nouvelle vague…
But let us really focus on the viscera.
I have written about her before in relation to Berlin: Live at St. Ann’s Warehouse.
Yes. She is indispensable here.
And Julie Delpy. With the licorice stick.
(that would be, clarinet)
Actresses age. They become harder to distinguish from their former selves.
A stage of facial age.
But really the star (STAR)…(STAR) is Aurelle Doazan.
Sometimes it is her legs. We study every shot in every Godard film.
The market for films. The clearing prices. For rare cinephilia. Paraphernalia. Saturnalia.
Alea iacta est.
Les jeux sont faits.
All bets are in. The die is cast.
The games are done.
Godard here makes an art of either A.) saying nothing at all, or B.) saying everything that can possibly be said.
We happen to know he improved.
This experiment. AGFA. Audio Cassettes……….Video Cassettes.
Making an entire movie in a hotel.
Just deliver the equipment.
Arriflex. Mitchell. Panavision.
Schubert. Liszt. Honegger.
The engine is rattling. Abandon ship.
I took the road less-traveled.
And then I cheated
But there is no cheating this.
A film adrift in the cosmos.
My grasp of French is not good. Watching this film is not the same as ordering a sandwich at Subway in rural Quebec–and I am not very good at that (to put it mildly).
This film is saturated with revolutionary philosophy, theory, literary allusions.
Fortunately for me there were subtitles available…in Italian.
My grasp of Italian is non-existent. Ok, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I can get the general gist by way of Spanish similarities.
My grasp of Spanish is poor.
Wow. What a quandary!
What am I even doing watching this film?!?
Well…because Jean-Luc Godard is my favorite director.
This film, however, might be rightly considered the official starting point of his years in the collaborative collective known as the Dziga-Vertov Group.
But any way you cut it: this is a difficult film.
What are my own thoughts about it?
It is an exercise in minimalism. It’s like Hitchcock’s Rope minus a plot.
But something has replaced plot. That something is context.
As I watched this it became clear that the May ’68 events in Paris were the essential detail about which a viewer must have knowledge to understand this film (especially if said viewer is fluent in neither French nor Italian).
The other aspect which occupied my mind during the viewing (as my brain was blowing gaskets from hearing French and “reading” Italian simultaneously) was the “strategy of tension” connected to the false-flag terror attacks (Operation Gladio) in Italy in the 1970s and 80s.
General strikes. de Gaulle. Latin Quarter. Situationist International. Nanterre. Sorbonne.
Rive Gauche. Molotov cocktails. Agents provocateurs?
Daniel Cohn-Bendit. Nantes. Nanterre. (WESTXLAYERTWO)
Renault. Billancourt. Paris Commune. 1871.
Sous les pavés, la plage!
“Ne travaillez jamais” –Guy Debord (1953)
Wikipedia leaves out the Debord quote, but the article is generally good.
Title: May 1968 events in France
I should however mention that Godard’s exclusion from the cinema portion at the bottom of the article is eye-popping.
So be forewarned: if you want to know the truth you will have to dig deeper.
BETWEEN SUBTLE SHADING AND THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT LIES THE NUANCE OF IQLUSION
IT WAS TOTALLY INVISIBLE HOWS THAT POSSIBLE ? THEY USED THE EARTHS MAGNETIC FIELD X THE INFORMATION WAS GATHERED AND TRANSMITTED UNDERGRUUND TO AN UNKNOWN LOCATION X DOES LANGLEY KNOW ABOUT THIS ? THEY SHOULD ITS BURIED OUT THERE SOMEWHERE X WHO KNOWS THE EXACT LOCATION ? ONLY WW THIS WAS HIS LAST MESSAGE X THIRTY EIGHT DEGREES FIFTY SEVEN MINUTES SIX POINT FIVE SECONDS NORTH SEVENTY SEVEN DEGREES EIGHT MINUTES FORTY FOUR SECONDS WEST X LAYER TWO
strategia della tensione
SLOWLY DESPARATLY SLOWLY THE REMAINS OF PASSAGE DEBRIS THAT ENCUMBERED THE LOWER PART OF THE DOORWAY WAS REMOVED WITH TREMBLING HANDS I MADE A TINY BREACH IN THE UPPER LEFT HAND CORNER AND THEN WIDENING THE HOLE A LITTLE I INSERTED THE CANDLE AND PEERED IN THE HOT AIR ESCAPING FROM THE CHAMBER CAUSED THE FLAME TO FLICKER BUT PRESENTLY DETAILS OF THE ROOM WITHIN EMERGED FROM THE MIST X CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING Q ?
Anni di piombo
Fear, propaganda, disinformation, psychological warfare, agents provocateurs, false-flag terrorists (sounding familiar?)
If you live in the USA it should. Same goes for UK. And Canada. And France. And Norway. Ad nauseam.
But the initial testing was in Italy. One might also mention Greece and Turkey.
Piazza Fontana. Aldo Moro. Henry Kissinger. Threats.
l’Ulivo. 2000 Italian Parliamentary Commission report. Strategy of tension was supported by United States.
On this subject Wikipedia is not very good. It is misleading. It is covering up for something. Of course, I am speaking about the English version.
My initial “cheating” was looking at a translated copy of the Un Film comme les autres page on Italian Wikipedia. The optimist in me hopes that this strange film “about nothing” (most would probably say) inspired the Italians even more than the French. Present availability of this film might bear this out. The pessimist in me sees some Italian opportunists out to make a buck (knowing that this film is available in no other territory). But the subtitles support the former assertion. If you are an English monoglot, good luck!
George H.W. Bush refused to comment. Of course he did! Operation Gladio.
1990. Seems so long ago that the European Parliament had the balls to condemn NATO and the US for the terrorism of Operation Gladio. Here Wikipedia succeeds.
Title: Operation Gladio
That’s cause the EU doesn’t really care about its people either anymore. Yes, we know…European Coal and Steel Community, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseam.
CIA director William Colby was quite candid about this whole operation in his memoirs, it seems… No wonder he died in a “boating accident” in 1996.
On the other hand… “The CIA can neither confirm nor deny the existence or non-existence of records responsive to your request.” Well that’s very fucking helpful, FOIA. Works like a charm!
I recommend Daniele Ganser’s work as well as that of Gianfranco Sanguinetti.
If you’ve made it this far, then you understand the gist of the film under review. That’s what I tell myself. I’m like one of those students in the weeds…trying to understand it all as the sun hits the hair of the beautiful girl in the yellow socks. There are no faces in the summer colors…just glimpses…glints. Memory is black and white. Recollections of a man with a movie camera.