… o como incluir a Emma García y Jean-Luc Godard en un mismo post.

I really like Godard’s work.  I’m going to be honest with you…Sometimes I literally get lost in his films, and by that, I mean I don’t understand the plot at all.  He’s heavy on existentialism, and I’m lucky if I can get through 30 minutes of a philosophy class.  Basically, I take pleasure in the pretty faces, unique cinematography and creative typographic sequences.  There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

Godard and New Wave Cinema have been great influences on my own work.  I’m infatuated with Godard’s style though, and I hope to continue exploring his work.

My own work entitled L’Hommage à Godard (Film Sequence 1). It appears to be a rip-off, but trust me it’s appropriated imagery for admiration.  I like to think of it as a new narrative.  My good friend, Kendra, posed for this shoot.  In fact, she posed for a lot of my stuff.  Thanks, Kendra!  haha



Credit to I Love Hot Dogs for these fabulous stills.

For more:
Jean-Luc Godard on IMDB
Godard on Wikipedia

“C’est le délire d’interprétation de la vie” avait écrit Louis Aragon dans un texte magnifique consacré à Pierrot le Fou.

Marianne et Ferdinand
Ma ligne de chance

Alors que venait de sortir en salle Le Beau Serge de Claude Chabrol, souvent considéré comme le film ayant donné le coup d’envoi de la Nouvelle Vague, le chroniqueur cinéma du Monde évoquait dans l’édition du 18 février 1959 « l’ “instinct” cinématographique de la génération récemment arrivée en âge de s’exprimer ». Et de poursuivre : « il y a cinquante ans, un garçon qui avait ” quelque chose à dire ” composait un recueil de poèmes. Il y a vingt ans, il écrivait un roman. Aujourd’hui, il rêve de faire un film ».

Si le cinéma français est dans l’état dans lequel il se trouve aujourd’hui, c’est peut-être que cet « instinct » a disparu et que le cinéma n’est plus LE moyen d’expression pour ceux qui ont « quelque chose à dire ». Cinquante ans après, les nouveaux Truffaut, Godard, Rivette seront-ils des blogueurs ? Réponse en 2059.

Every so often I’ve updated the list of films that I have already seen with brief reviews.  Call it the complete-ist in me, but when I’m done with reviewing each of the films in the book, I’d like to have reviewed every single film in the book.

Anyhow, here’s another batch for you to read.

Enjoy!

Shichinin No Samurai AKA Seven Samurai (1954)

The Seven Samurai is the first movie that I had the pleasure of seeing from the master director Akira Kurosawa, and it is also one of his most praised works. Without a wasted frame, the story takes place over the course of almost 3 hours. Kurosawa, as he does in each of his movies, explores more than just the action and injustice featured in the plot. He is a humanist first and foremost, training his lens on the interpersonal relationships of the characters, tracking growth across this epic. As good as this film is, I would have to say that Kurosawa has numerous films that are even better, check out Stray Dog, Rashomon, Yojimbo, Sanjuro, and my personal favorite High and Low.

The Ladykillers (1955)

Existing as a special combination of dark humor, and slapstick farce, The Ladykillers is exceptionally funny and unsettling. Alec Guinness stars as the leader of a group of criminals staying at the home of a hardy, vivacious older lady under the guise of being musicians. The plan is simple, rob a bank, and utilizing the trusting nature of the kindly old lady, and the remoteness of her home to their advantage, get away with it. Easily my favorite of Alec Guinness’ films (thanks in part to the Star Wars prequels that is), The Ladykillers features a solid cast of great actors, including a very young Peter Sellers.

Bob Le Flambeur AKA Bob the Gambler (1955)

My introduction to the fantastic Jean-Pierre Melville, I was captivated immediately by the cool as ice gangster come gambler Bob. This film is filled with signature Melville-isms. Glorious post war street scenes in Paris. Trench-coats. Honor among thieves. And who could forget the caper. To talk too much about this film is to give too much away, and to do that is to ruin it for those who haven’t seen it. Other classics by Melville: Le Cercle Rouge, Le Samourai, and the recently released in the U.S. Army of Shadows. All are fantastic, and deserve to be in this book! Incidentally, Bob le Flambeur was recently re-made into The Good Thief starring Nick Nolte and directed by Neil Jordan, and while I’m not generally a fan of re-makes, I really, really liked this film. Not quite as good as the original, but it was one of my favorite films of 2002.

Kiss Me Deadly (1955)

The ultimate in hardboiled private eye crime stories, Kiss Me Deadly is a full on assault on decency. Kiss Me Deadly proudly presents itself as a grimy PI story, littered with bodies and intrigue. If you even have a passing interest in film noir, this should be your first stop. Violent, misogynist, brutish, and glorious, Kiss Me Deadly begs to be watched and dares you to look away. I myself, loved it!

The Ten Commandments (1956)

Apparently based on a book, The Ten Commandments is an epic in every sense of the word. Colored in bright explosive candy hues, and featuring huge sets, as well as a cast that number in the thousands, The Ten Commandments is more spectacle than great movie. Certainly not a waste of time, but not my first choice when choosing something light to throw in.

Det Sjunde Inseglet AKA The Seventh Seal (1957)

A classic, and well-loved film by Swedish auteur Ingmar Bergman, The Seventh Seal stars an extremely young Max von Sydow as a knight who faces Death at a game of chess to decide his fate. This film is filled with themes that find their way into each of Bergman’s works, ranging from courage in the face of death, religion, and humanity. The Seventh Seal still holds up to this day, with luminous black and white photography that, thanks to Criterion’s Blu-ray edition, has never looked better.

Note: Don’t be fooled by the similarly themed, but much worse, “Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey”

Kumonosu Jo AKA Throne of Blood (1957)

Kurosawa’s retelling of Macbeth set in feudal Japan. Shakespeare has never looked better as it does in the stark black and white, twisting shadows and swirling mists as seen through Kurosawa’s camera. Toshiro Mifune doesn’t disappoint in the lead role, but the real stand out is Isuzu Yamada in the as Mifune’s opportunistic, poisonous wife. The plotting and scheming starts right from the get go, all the way up till the frenzied end of the film.

Touch of Evil (1958)

One of the many trouble spots on Orson Welles’ resume due to studio interference, and financing issues, still Touch of Evil remains as possibly the best B-Movie ever made. Iconic (and sometimes hilarious) performances by Janet Leigh, Charlton Heston (as a Mexican) and Welles himself as the crooked cop willing to do almost anything to ensure justice prevails (just so long as it’s his justice). The movie is almost as famous for its long tracking shot opening as it is for any of the performances, featuring a nearly 4 minute shot done in one take which travels around cars, actors, and buildings. The film The Player, payed homage to it by mentioning it a few times during a similarly complex shot in that film.

Vertigo (1958)

Flopping on its initial release, Vertigo didn’t gain the acclaim it deserved until much later after it was released on video. Vertigo visits themes present in each of Hitchcock’s other works, including the obsession with blondes, innocence tainted with corruption, and the schlub who get in over his head. Jimmy Stewart plays the schlub, Kim Novak plays the blonde, and gloriously technicolored San Francisco plays the innocence and the corruption. Vertigo has a twisty convoluted story with elements of surrealism, an interesting watch.

Mon Oncle AKA My Uncle (1958)

My favorite of Jacques Tati’s Monsieur Hulot films, Mon Oncle was also the first of them that I had seen. Tati, playing Hulot, is a master of visual comedy, and not in the same way as the Three Stooges, or even Buster Keaton. Tati is an artist whose work is appreciated the longer you watch. The plot of the movie is not so much important to the film as it is simply a guide to get our characters into interesting situations so we can watch them get out. If you liked this film, check out other films featuring the bumbling Mr. Hulot, including Trafic, Playtime, and Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot.

Les Quatre Cents Coups AKA The 400 Blows (1959)

My personal favorite of the French new wave movement was this small-scale film, personal piece from Francois Truffaut. Featuring the director’s alter ego, Antoine Doinel, The 400 Blows is the first in a series of movies, each about a different stage of life and the challenges that go along with them. The period from childhood to young adult is covered heart-breakingly here, following Antoine through the rough waters of his home life and his interaction with the outside world. Later chapters deal with finding love, getting married, having children, and growing old, but Les Quatres Cent Coups remains the directors most personal and his best.

North by Northwest (1959)

One of Hitchcock’s best, North by Northwest features Cary Grant, suave as ever, being mistaken for a government agent by a group of foreign spies. Just like in Hitchcock’s most famous works (of which this is one), the witty one-liners, suspense, and drama are heaped on generously. I can’t help but feel sad that a similarly themed, but better film featuring Cary Grant was left off this 1001 list. Charade, also featuring Audrey Hepburn, James Coburn, and Walter Matthau, is one of my favorite movies ever! Check out both Charade AND North by Northwest as a double feature! You won’t be sorry.

Some Like it Hot (1959)

Now this is an example of a classic, well-loved film, with actors that I really love (Jack Lemmon I’m looking at you), a premise that is more than suitable, yet the finished product never really caught me. It’s sort of like Hitchcock’s To Catch a Thief. I never really saw what all the hype was about. That being said, I didn’t hate it either. It never made fun of me when I had braces, or turned me down for a date, my affections and this film have just always been mutually exclusive. Perhaps it deserves another watch…then again maybe I should just watch The Last Boyscout again.

A Bout De Souffle AKA Breathless (1959)

Jean-Luc Godard is nothing if not a sacred cow of French cinema, and while I have loved some of his other films (Le Mepris, Bande A Part, and Masculin Femenine), Breathless or A Bout De Souffle never really did it for me. I can still rationalize why it was so revolutionary (use of jump cuts, editing, non-actors, and subscription to the aesthetic of the French new wave style), and see it’s importance, but I prefer other examples of New Wave cinema. If you are interested in seeing a Godard film, try Masculin Feminine, it is just as revolutionary and a bit more accessible.

Psycho (1960)

A prime example of Hitchcock in his prime. Psycho was so good, and so affecting that some of its actors were type cast just on the strength of this one film (Anthony Perkins, and Janet Leigh), so much so that without a little research it’s hard to think of what other films either of them has been in. Psycho may not be as visually shocking and gory as horror films of today, but it still manages to hold up over time and be just as unsettling as it was back in its day. Hitchcock has always excelled at making the comfortable un-comfortable (motels, birds, tea, dreams, the list goes on…), and the subtle touches in this film work perfectly. Consider for a moment that Perkin’s Bates is an amateur taxidermist of birds, and then that Janet Leigh’s name is Marion Crane a type of bird, or the fact before the crime Marion is wearing a white bra and a white purse, while after it she is wearing a black bra and purse. His attention to detail, and knack for foreshadowing is demonstrated in full force in Psycho and remains one of his best films. Despite all the uproar over the Gus Van Sant remake, I thought it actually did some justice to the original film and if nothing else brought it a little more deserved attention.

Note: This film also has the distinction of being the first American film to ever show a toilet flushing on-screen.

Peeping Tom (1960)

Released the same year as Psycho, and dealing with similar subject matter, Peeping Tom wasn’t received with the same acclaim and attention that the former was. On the contrary, Peeping Tom was seen as subversive, perverted, and generally too shocking. The story revolves more around the killer than the victim in this one, whereas Psycho is presented more from the victim’s point of view. Either way, Peeping Tom is a fine film, one worth watching, however it is so similar to Psycho that I’m not sure it needs to be on the list of 1001 films.

The Apartment (1960)

As far as light-hearted, touching movies about someone recovering from a bout of depression, this one is my favorite. Billy Wilder directs Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon in a sweet touching comedy without losing any of his trademark cynicism or the pointedness of his dialogue. The Apartment is another chance for me to champion the somewhat maligned talents of Mr. Fred MacMurray as Lemmon’s boss. MacMurray plays a fantastic creep who really defines the term “heel”.

Spartacus (1960)

Containing almost none of the trademark elements that make up a Stanley Kubrick movie as we know it (Kubrick apparently dis-owned the film before it’s release), Spartacus remains an interesting movie that isn’t great. It is, however, another example of a film that enabled an up and coming filmmaker to gain his voice, and define himself later on in his career. If only for that reason, Spartacus is a great film, but luckily for the studio, it has some other things going for it. Kirk Douglas plays the title role of Spartacus, and despite all the lavish set production, and concentration on spectacle, brings some heart to the slave who defied Rome.

Jules Et Jim AKA Jules and Jim (1962)

One of director, Francois Truffaut’s most well thought of films, Jules and Jim may be the Lost In Translation, or Juno of its time. Viewed from a certain angle, the plot is a completely moving and emotional story that you believe, so much so, that you can see yourself and those around you in the roles that these characters embody. Viewed from another perspective, it can seem a little precious or purposefully manipulative. Depending on what is happening in your life (I’m mostly thinking about whether or not you are in a relationship, and if you are happy), this movie can preach the glory of love and the pain of rejection. On the flipside, if you have shaken free the angsty, teenager-esque feelings everyone has had in their youth, you may feel like you’re being talked down to.

Cleo De 5 A 7 AKA Cleo from 5 to 7

Taking place, as the title suggests, from 5 to 7, we get a slice of the life of Cleo played out before us. Sometimes we, along with Cleo herself, are a voyeurs into the lives of people around her, and other times we are focused on her as she roams around Paris. By and large Cleo lives a carefree, spoiled life, yet we still sympathize with her when times are hard, and cheer for her when they are good. This is a small film in a lot of ways, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t impacting and beautiful.

Lawrence of Arabia (1962)

I have to admit.  I didn’t like Lawrence of Arabia that much.  Perhaps I was too young to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of Lean’s desert panorama camerawork, or just maybe it was the epic length that decided it for me.  One way or another, I didn’t appreciate it as much as everyone else seems to think I should. 

The Manchurian Candidate (1962)

Overly reliant on gimmicks and quick editing techniques, The Manchurian Candidate doesn’t flesh out the story nearly…wait, no that was the terrible re-make that came out in 2004.  The original 1962 version, is just as taught, and well executed today as it was at its release.  While the story between the two versions remained virtually the same, the consistent building of tension and anxiety, combined with the pitch perfect acting of Lawrence Harvey, Frank Sinatra (yes…Frank Sinatra), and the devilish turn of Angela Lansbury as the Queen of Hearts, makes for a fantastic film.

Lolita (1962)

It took me forever to finally see Lolita.  I have known the basic story (older man, younger girl) but had just never gotten around to seeing it.  And while I’ve been told that the book is much better, I thought the film was pretty good.  Not great, mind you, but definitely solid.  The shocking and controversial nature of the relationship was toned down a bit for the screen, and maybe as a result doesn’t seem all that shocking in today’s day and age.  Memorable turns by Peter Sellers, and Shelley Winters, not to mention it’s an early film of Stanley Kubrick.

The Birds (1963)

Despite being one of Hitchcock’s most popular, I actually think that The Birds is one of his most over-rated.  I think I owe it to myself to give this one another look someday, but right now I feel that it was too heavily based on the gimmick that had to rely on special effects.  Though it is not necessarily the fault of the movie, but the special effects seemed particularly dated and old fashioned.  Worth a watch, but not my favorite by a long shot.

8 1/2 (1963)

Federico Fellini is, by most accounts, a master of cinema.  One, that I have always had a little trouble getting fired up over.  It’s not that I don’t like his films once I’ve seen them, the problem comes in when it comes to motivating myself to see them.  I couldn’t tell you why, but his films consistently get pushed off when they come up on my Netflix Queue or when I see the one or two I have on my shelf.  I shouldn’t feel this way, considering I really loved the moving poetry, and soul baring passion in 8 1/2, yet it still happens.  One very definite reason to watch this film is the man-crushable Marcello Mastroianni, swaggering through as the alter-ego of Fellini himself.  Dealing with all the reservations with women, making movies, childhood, and the future that the director very famously dealt with himself, Mastroianni embodies a certain cool, yet believable character that begs to be watched.  Combined with imagery that leaves the audience wanting more, 8 1/2 is a fantastic film.

Well, that’s it for this time.  Thanks for reading!

She once said, “A story that is full of humanity will eventually lead you to religion.”

Q: What do you think of death?
Welles: As a marxist, I never give it any thought.

Fuck it good or don’t fuck it. Don’t half fuck it. If you are already on the way, keep going. There is no point in falling from a first floor when you can fall from the top. Fear smells like shit. Kiss her or be her friend for the rest of your life. Live dangerousluy until the end. Be a Jean Paul Belmondo in Breathless.

Tunes:

Nothing really matters – Los Superelegantes

[I gave this paper at the Film-Philosophy Conference in July 2009, this is the unedited final transcript (I did read out most of it, even though I tried to improvise - or at least tried to pretend to improvise!) - Plus, it includes almost entirely earlier section on hope from the blog - here, I've confessed it all!]

Godard’s La chinoise and the apprenticeship of hopefulness (without hope)

Godard’s La chinoise, made in 1967, concerns a small group of student-militants, Maoists, who, having a bourgeois flat at their disposal over the summer, read, discuss and perform Marxist theory in order to be able to put it into practice: an attempt that, at least in the confines of the plot of the film, fails. This is a most banal outline of the plot, the simplest that one can abstract from the plethora of images, colours, dialogues, texts, sounds, ideas and more that dominate and complicate the plot of the film. In a way the plot is both primary and secondary: the film has a clear narrative, it leads to a dénouement, and so the plot structures the film. But the plot is secondary to the atmosphere of the film, the spirit of the film, which is constituted by what Rancière calls the “represented matter” of the film: Marxism, or Maoism, as “a catalogue of images, a panoply of objects, a repertoire of phrases, a programme of action: courses, recitations, slogans, gymnastic exercises”. As Rancière says, “Godard is not filming “Marxists” […] he is making cinema with marxism [Il fait du cinéma avec le marxisme]”.

Like most of Godard’s films, La chinoise is a didactic film, its main aim is to teach both the characters, who are being “educated” in Marxism-leninism, and the audience, who is supposed to engage critically with the “represented matter” of the film (and not just enjoy its aesthetics). It is a film “in the course of being made” as the inter-titles keep reminding us. How do we understand this? First, it draws our attention to when the film was made: it was made in 1967, and placed itself very much in the situation at the time. It was a critical engagement with what was happening at the moment in France, which as everyone knows, culminated in the movement of May 68. It is thus a film in the course of writing itself, in its time.

The inter-title also points to the fact that despite having a “completed version”, the film is incomplete: it is in the course of completion. It needs an audience, an audience that is called to listen, see, read, feel with the characters, all the while distancing itself as a critic, so as to not get too taken by their enunciations, in order to keep in view the contradictions that lead to the dénouement. However, as the audience, we must also place ourselves within the discourse, if we are to grasp at all the essence of the argument. For the plot is an argument, a critique of the student movement, an exposition of the inherent problem of the dialectic of theory and practice, a questioning of the naïve call for authenticity in Mao’s On Practice (or in a different reading, it could be a critique of the dogmatic deviation (from Mao), i.e., taking words and phrases from Marxist theorists, torn out of context, and repeating them blindly, dogmatically); it is moreover, a criticism, constructive, of the rush in which the characters find themselves, their unchecked, onanistic, indeed, dogmatic optimism (for it is not merely an “optimism of the will” here, but a naïve and dangerous optimism of ‘knowing’ that one is on the right path, a ‘knowledge’ that brooks no questioning).

All the same, the attempt at an Althusserian “autocritique” is not absent; it is simply not accomplished well. Within the closed confines of the bourgeois flat where they find themselves, the outside enters only in flashing images, in memories that cut through occasionally to show that there is indeed a world outside. However, this flash of the outside world is evanescent, even uncritiqued until the end of the film (where we suddenly and uncomfortably enter it). The slogan on the wall enjoins us to confront vague ideas with clear images, but this confrontation is something the audience must try to accomplish, it is not something that the characters can do very well: the onanism of their ideas confined within phrases thrown at each other, all the while never leaving the stark primary colours of their flat, necessitates their remaining vague. Outside the flat, the “reality”, the “unclear images” that they must confront is more impure, more complex, than the pure colours, the apparent clear simplicity (but really, vagueness) of ideas that the confines of the flat allow.

Clarity is afforded near the end of the film in the dialogue in the train between Francis Jeanson and Véronique (Anne Wiazemsky), the first proper scene that takes place outside the flat. But this clarity is only for us, the audience. It illuminates to us what has gone before, and is thus a retrospective clarity. It puts into perspective all that we experienced and thought in the flat. It gives us a chance to dissolve the boundaries of the pure colours of the flat, confronting it with the impure reality of the situation. If up to this point we were overwhelmed by the plethora of ideas thrown at us in the flat, we get a chance to suddenly confront the impurity of the situation – a situation which would not allow for a simple unmediated application of ideas, which for all their analysis remain painfully insufficient when it comes to the actual situation. This is what Véronique refuses to see, and what drives the plot to its tragic dénouement. The plot is tragic in a very basic sense: the dénouement is a necessary outcome of the very explicit tragic development of the plot. We even have a prediction: the words of Francis Jeanson in the train: “The way you’re going you won’t last a week, as I see it. I think you’re heading to a dead end”. Which gets us to the other clarity afforded to us, this time an anticipatory one. But this anticipation is not limited to the plot of the film, to what actually passes in the film. The anticipation is the fictional logical unfolding of the characters future, of which we are afforded but a glimpse in the last part of the film. The anticipatory clarity illuminates the necessity of “apprenticeship” and of patience. For us, the audience, it is a question of “knowing that suffering produces patience, and patience produces enduring fidelity, and enduring fidelity produces hope, and hope does not disappoint” (Badiou quoting St. Paul).

The characters are thrown into the outside world, where they must confront the quotidian in all its impurity, and enter their apprenticeship of life, the adventure of learning through practice. Guillaume Mesiter, the actor (played by Jean-Pierre Léaud), starts on his “theatrical vocation and his years of apprenticeship and his voyages on the route of a true socialist theatre”. This, I would argue is an apprenticeship of hope.

The tragedy, if we follow Badiou’s categorization in Theory of the Subject, is not Sophoclean but Aeschylean. It is not what Badiou calls “a reversal of restoration”, a return to a “framework of regulations” that is in question here (though such a reading is equally valid, and there are enough signs in the film that point to a Sophoclean end). But in a stronger reading (one that I prefer!) it can be seen as gesturing towards a “reversal of exile”, a reversal that is an “advent”, a “division beyond the law”, “the direction of which is the contradictory advent of justice by the courage of the new”. It is not simply a return to order, though there is a partial return – which is the immediate failure that the characters suffer; there is also the opening up of a possibility of a recomposition of a new order, the advent of hope.

We said that the plot concluded in a failure. But what is it to fail? This is the question which prefaces Badiou’s little book on the communist hypothesis. The answer we get is that of a doubling, a division of the concept of defeat, where the immediate “negative” part of a defeat (death, imprisonment, loss of force; in the film, an apparent “return to order”) is opposed to the “positive” aspect of the defeat: the re-thinking of tactics/strategy, change of models of action, invention of new forms of organisation. As Badiou phrases it, “the misfortune of failure changes into the combative excellence of a knowledge”. This explanation is not far from what Mao gives us in his On Practice, where defeats equal experience, and it is only through repeated failures that one can gain a correct knowledge of the situation. The film’s last act enacts this double aspect of defeat.

Véronique’s problem, in sum, was the problem of gaining knowledge, which is also the pivotal question of the film, the maoist one of the “relation between knowing and doing”. The film begins with positing “the principal problem of socialist strategy”, which is that of “creating the objective and subjective conditions which would make mass revolutionary action possible”. In the course of discussions in the flat, a question is posed (and reiterated): “where do correct ideas come from?” – the maoist/marxist answer is given: “they come from practice, which is class struggle”. In the conversation with Francis Jeanson, this is the problem Véronique struggles with: “if I ever want to acquire knowledge, it is necessary that I pass first through practice […] If I want to know the theory and methods of revolution, then I am obliged to participate, practically, in a revolution”. With the “knowledge” that all knowledge must come from practice, she was impatient, too impatient in fact, to get this knowledge. In the lack of a revolution she could participate in, she was ready to “invent a revolution” – an effort that necessarily led to a tragic dénouement.

But – and here the motif of the meta-plot of the film comes into play – this tragic dénouement is not the end, it is but a beginning. It is indeed the end of a beginning, end of a failed temporal sequence, but more profoundly it is, as Véronique says in the last phrase of the film: “only the first timid step of a long march”: a step that ends a disastrous beginning, but more importantly looks forward with hopefulness.

This hopefulness is of necessity abstract. There is no concrete telos that this hope points to; it is not hope of a “reward”. It is, as Badiou says, “a simple imperative of continuation, a principle of tenacity, of obstinacy”, or in Paolo Freire’s words, it is a hope “rooted in men’s incompletion, from where they move out in constant search”.

Hope is not bound to a telos. Hope is often understood as something that aims at a concrete telos: A hopes for x; if A gets x, the hope is fulfilled; if not, it is thwarted. As if hope could be reduced to an economy of goods. How useful could such an understanding be? Would it not be better to understand hope only in an abstract sense? Hope, understood not as hope for a telos, but as hopefulness.

Abstract hope points not to a reward, but to a future, a future that is not-yet. In the present, this hope is only hopeful perseverance. This hope cannot be reduced to desire – though the two are intertwined. The definition must be circular. Hope is hopefulness. It is hopeful patience, but not a passive patience: hope is a struggle for continuation in hopefulness. Simple passivity can only allow for an absence of hope, a giving up. As Freire says, “as long as I fight, I am moved by hope; and if I fight with hope, then I can wait”. Hope is the imperative: do not give up!

However, hope is not dogmatic optimism, where we are secure in our possibly misguided, and necessarily naïve, “knowledge” that we are on the right path, a “knowledge” that brooks no questioning. Such dogmatic optimism cannot allow for an opening up of a universe of hope – it will necessarily limit it within the contours of its limited (but exalted) knowledge. Hope, which is not naïve optimism, will allow subjectively for a creative unfolding of a world of possibilities.

Hope is the essence of the subject, it “pertains to endurance, perseverance, to patience; it is the subjectivity proper to the continuation of the subjective process” – the subject continues in hope, and the perseverance of the subject is guided by a hope which gestures towards a world of possibility. Hope is an apprenticeship.

It is helpful to compare this concept of hopefulness to the closely related Badiouian concept of courage. Courage, in Logics of Worlds is one of the four subjective modalities, or affects (others being terror, anxiety and justice) that indicate the incorporation of a human-being into a subjective truth process.

[I was playing with the idea of fitting a character of the film with each of these four affects. Véronique-Terror (“desire for a great point, a decisive discontinuity which will institute the new world in a single blow”); Henri- anxiety (“the retreat before the obscurities of discontinuities, the desire for a continuity”); Guillaume-courage (“the acceptance of plurality of points, of the fact that discontinuities are at once inexorable and multiform” – i.e, his search for a “true socialist theatre”); and justice-Francis Jeanson, playing himself (“to affirm the equivalence of what is continuous and negotiated, and of what is discontinuous and violent”)]

But we can go back even further and look at the concept of courage in Theory of the Subject, where courage is “the divisible process of [the subject’s] intrinsic existence” and can be compared to “fortitudo (fortitude of strength of mind)” distinguishing it from mere “audacia (audacity or boldness)”. The subject, moves from mere audacity to a patient insistence that accompanies its incorporation into a truth process, the holding on to the point that as been seized: “the subject as courage, turns the radical absence of any security into its force”. This courage is also hope, which is the principle of the apprenticeship that the characters enter into. This apprenticeship comes in the form of a subtraction from the tragic dénouement of a return to order, the reign of the law, and gestures towards the opening up of a process whose guiding norm is hopefulness.

Two dialogues, made in the course of the fictional interviews with the characters in the flat may give us some sense of what this gesture may be. Véronique declares: “It is because everything is not clear that I continue to study, study to understand, then to transform, but to understand first”. And Guillaume, the actor, the one who, at the end of the film, is explicitly placed under the sign of an apprenticeship, declares: “Are not the words I pronounce, so awkwardly and blindly, part of a great unknown play, continuing through me […] its direction/sense incomplete, searching in me and with me all the actors and all the decors in its great naked discourse.”

These “vague ideas” articulated in the confines of the flat, are now confronted with “clear images” that confusedly whelm the new apprentices of life, apprentices in hopefulness. We are not yet presented with any resolution to the dialectic – only with an anticipation, the anticipation of an opening.

We said in the very beginning that this was a didactic film. Framed as an attempt to answer a question (“how is mass revolutionary activity possible in the present”); its form (the plot) and its matter (marxism) all tried in various ways to answer this question. No satisfactory conclusion was reached (except that “this is just a first step”). Nothing happened. No revolution was on the horizon. Everything went back to order – arguably, there was no opening here of any possibility or of hope. But, in the last act, we are presented with the “apprenticeship” of the actor, searching for a true socialist theatre, in ruins that have “theatre year zero” painted on them. The didactic nature of the film itself became ambiguous, retrospectively: the film “in the course of being made”, became also a film “in search” of its conclusion.

The film ends with a reflection on theatre, and the commencement of an apprenticeship, in search, not only of a new politics, but also of a new aesthetics.

This is how Juliette, at 3.37 p.m., watched the turning pages…
…of that object known in journalese as a magazine
And this is how, 150 frames later, another young woman, her twin…
…saw the same object. Where, then, is the truth?
Full-face or profile? But first, what is an object?
Perhaps it is a link enabling us…
…to pass from one subject to another, therefore to live together
But since social relations are always ambiguous…
…since thought divides as much as it unites…
…since words unite or isolate by what they express or omit…
…since an immense gulf separates my subjective awareness…
…from the objective truth I represent for others…
…since I constantly blame myself, though I feel innocent…
…since every event transforms my daily life…
…since I constantly fail to communicate…
…since each failure makes me aware of solitude…
…since…
…since I cannot escape crushing objectivity or isolating subjectivity…
…since I cannot rise to the state of being, or fall into nothingness…
…I must listen, I must look around more than ever
The world… my kin… my twin

– Godard, Two or Three Things I Know About Her…

Rimandi intertestuali legano anche tra loro alcuni dei film di questo 27° Torino Film Festival con i lavori presentati nel piccolo omaggio dedicato alla nouvelle vague tessendo una sorta di trama sottile, una sottotraccia che non sappiamo dire se voluta dai curatori del festival oppure frutto della devozione di cineasti-cinefili. Facciamo due esempi: il film d’animazione Fantastic Mister Fox di Wes Anderson è stato presentato in anteprima nazionale nella sezione Festa Mobile – Figure nel paesaggio. Ispirato ad un racconto di Roald Dahl, il film riprende l’estetica delle illustrazioni dell’edizione originale del libro e costituisce quindi un lavoro in stile vintage che ben si presta al gioco delle citazioni. In un momento molto vivace del finale, il regista inserisce una colonna sonora che fa da contrappunto e che suscita nel cinefilo un effetto poetico-affettivo perché si tratta di una composizione musicale di Georges Delerue, Le Grand Choral, usata anche da François Truffaut in Effetto Notte. Altra citazione è quella di Vivre sa vie di Jean-Luc Godard da parte questa volta di un piccolo film a bassissimo budget presentato nella sezione Onde, Saturn Returns di Lior Shamriz il quale riprende parola per parola il monologo di Anna Karina sulla responsabilità del singolo in ogni suo atto. Qualche complimento ai programmatori.
s.n.

Para começar o blog, resolvi optar por uma enxurrada de posts que abrange um bocado de coisas que me chamou/tem me chamado a atenção desde que entramos em Novembro. Em primeiro lugar, temos o quadro cinematográfico de Belo Horizonte, que nesse mês de Novembro promete novidades interessantes:

Comecemos pela mostra de filmes “Filme no Baile – Jean-Luc Godard”, que consiste na exibição de três filmes bastante relevantes da (polêmica) carreira do cineasta francês, ícone da Nouvelle Vague. Os filmes do vanguardita estão sendo exibidos na Casa do Baile (Av. Otacílio Negrado de Lima, 751, Pampulha, Belo Horizonte, MG) às 17h (distribuição de senhas com 15 minutos de antecedência a cada seção) dos sábados, de acordo com o seguinte calendário:

• 14/11: Viver a Vida (FRA, 1962)
• 21/11: Alphaville (FRA, 1965)
• 28/11: A Chinesa (FRA, 1967)

Jean-Luc Godard

Outro cineasta francês, Michel Ocelot, vem tendo seus trabalhos exibidos em BH também. Ocelot nasceu numa cidade francesa, mas passou a infância na Guiné. Suas animações são direcionadas ao público infantil, o que, porém, não impede que adolescentes, adultos e idosos apreciem seus filmes, que estão sendo exibidos no Centro Cultural Venda Nova (Rua José Ferreira Santos, 184, Novo Letícia, Belo Horizonte, MG) nos seguintes dias:

• 07/11, às 13h30: Kiriku e a Feiticeira (FRA, 1998)
• 14/11, às 18h: Kiriku 2: Os Animais Selvagens (FRA, 2005)
• 21/11, às 13h30: AS Aventuras de Azur e Asmar (FRA, 2005)

E para quem perdeu os dois primeiros filmes, sua exibição será feita, também, no Centro Cultural Lindeia Regina, de 16 a 20/11 às 10h e às 15h.

Pôster de As Aventuras de Azur e Asmar

Question:
Qui a dit “Les attentats-suicides des Palestiniens pour parvenir à faire exister un Etat palestinien ressemblent en fin de compte à ce que firent les juifs en se laissant conduire comme des moutons et exterminer dans les chambres à gaz, se sacrifiant ainsi pour parvenir à faire exister l’Etat d’Israël”?

Réponse 1: Kemi Seba, le Malcolm X du boulevard Barbès
Réponse 2: Elie Wiesel, principal actionnaire de la Shoah
Réponse 3: Victoria Silvstedt, nouvelle Hannah Arendt
Réponse 4: Jean-Luc Godard, cinéaste
Réponse 5: Le Dalaï Lama, skinhead le plus écouté de la planète

Roulements de tambour.

La bonne réponse était la réponse 4! Si vous avez voté pour le cinéaste franco-suisse le plus mal lavé de l’Histoire (Eh oui, vous l’aurez remarqué, nous avons quelques névroses hygiénistes sur Cestlagene.com), vous avez gagné un lot de 50 sacs à vomi parfaitement biodégradables!

Cette brillante déclaration est rapportée par l’écrivain cinéaste Alain Fleischer dans son livre, Courts-circuits, roman dans lequel il relate ce que Godard aurait confié en off, entre deux séances d’interviews données à l’occasion de la mise en boîte du documentaire Morceaux de conversations avec Jean-Luc Godard.

Là, franchement, Monsieur Godard, je préfèrerais vous savoir six pieds sous terre plutôt que vous voir ramper de la sorte dans le fumier. En effet, je dois admettre que si j’ai toujours trouvé vos films parfaitement irregardables, vous incarniez  néanmoins pour moi ce dont peu d’artistes peuvent vraiment se prévaloir: la liberté.

Votre engagement en faveur de la cause palestinienne est tout à fait respectable, mais je ne comprends pas pourquoi, soucieux d’une plus grande efficacité dans votre combat, vous éprouvez le besoin de faire tremper votre beau keffieh dans la fange révisionniste: cette idée qui associe les kamikazes d’aujourd’hui aux victimes du nazisme d’hier ne relève pas d’un de ces fulgurants aphorismes qui ont fait votre gloire, mais au contraire d’un des lieux communs les plus éculés du discours judéophope contemporain. Toute une vie consacrée à faire des films mythiques pour finir, en clodo sénile que vous êtes, par débiter des fadaises du type “Les youpins d’aujourd’hui sont les nazis d’hier”, c’est bien triste.

Comparer, d’un coté, des individus (certes, souvent très endoctrinés) qui ont fait le choix de l’action meurtrière en se faisant sauter au beau milieu d’une population civile afin de faire le plus de morts possibles dans les “rangs” adverses (encore faut-il considérer les femmes et des enfants victimes des attentats comme des soldats grossissant ces fameux rangs) et, de l’autre, des personnes qui ne savaient évidemment rien de ce qu’était Israël (puisqu’Israël, entre 1939 et 1945, ça n’était rien), qui n’ont eu d’autre choix que celui d’être assassinés et qui n’ont jamais eu le désir d’emporter quiconque avec eux dans la mort, est la marque d’une escroquerie intellectuelle d’envergure.

Non, la Shoah n’est pas l’Intifida.

Car, Monsieur Godard, si on vous écoute, il faudrait arrêter sur le champ Simone Veil et l’extrader vers Israël. Le condamnation de cette kamikaze ayant lamentablement échoué dans sa mission qui était de “se sacrifier”, ferait la joie de cet Etat qui s’est bâti sur les morts et qui, selon vos dires, n’a de reconnaissance qu’envers eux.

Votre petite phrase, cher monsieur, illustre une fois de plus ce cruel relativisme: les tragédies humaines se valent toutes; les assassinés d’hier sont des suicidés et les assassins d’aujourd’hui sont les victimes d’hier. En niant aux victimes du nazisme leur spécificité historique et leur statut de victimes; en en faisant des acteurs, maîtres de leur destin, choisissant la mort dans le but de créer un état, vous relayez un présupposé qui ne déplairait pas à Robert Faurisson (qui, chose amusante, vous ressemble beaucoup), selon lequel les juifs ne subissent jamais, mais sont à l’origine de tout.

Avant de conclure, j’apprends que vous auriez l’intention d’adapter au cinéma, le magnifique livre de Daniel Mendelsohn, Les Disparus, formidable récit d’un homme qui replonge au coeur de la Shoah, pour reconstituer des bribes de son histoire intime et familiale. Je sais que vous rencontrez de nombreuses difficultés pour acquérir les droits du bouquin, aussi je vous conseille chaudement de contacter directement l’auteur et de lui faire part de vos vues sur cet épisode de l’Histoire. Je suis certain que Mr Mendelsohn sera enchanté d’apprendre que ses chers Disparus ne sont rien d’autre qu’une bande de kamikazes fanatiques. Emu par tant de révélations, il vous cédera gracieusement les droits de son livre et vous laissera le soin de remanier son récit à votre sauce.

Si ça ne marche finalement pas, je vous recommande de prendre vos petites pilules vertes (oui, celles avec une tête de mort gravée dessus) avec un grand verre de Destop et d’aller vous allonger.

“bande à part” de godard reproduit par tarentino … il ne faut pas toujours être deux pour danser …

Este un scurtmetraj de Jean-Luc Godard.

Tema?

Crima.

Crima sub toate formele ei.

Crima ca cea mai lejeră şi rentabilă metodă de administrat o ideocraţie.

Crima ca masochism civilitar.

Crima ca raţiune de-a fi a oricărei mutaţii sociale, regresive sau progresive.

Crima ca show.

Crima ca datorie de servici.

Crima trăită ca penitenţă, dar exprimată doar ca un neajuns. 

Crima ca voluptate.

Crima ca act al posesiunii.

Crima ca amânare.

Crima ca realizare. 

Crima egalitară.

Crima ca disperare.

Crima ca motor al autosuficienţei.

Crima ca cea mai concretă, ficţionalizată şi îndrăgită confuzie a naturii umane.

Crima ca economie mondială.

Com o lançamento do EP para imprensa que se encontra no nosso MySpace, não tem sido necessário grandes esforços para conseguirmos nossa luz ao sol. Paulo Germano, na sua coluna na Zero Hora (Porto Alegre) é só elogios para nosso trabalho!

Ficamos muito agradecidos, e vamos continuar com os processos de sempre – de fazer tudo o que o senso comum não faz – que é o de produzir um bom material que se venda sozinho.

PS: continuamos a auxiliar os formandos que precisem de dicas para escolher sua trilha sonora de formatura.

To Bathe in Filmic Waters regularly contributes to a hip, new, UK-based film magazine called The Big Picture. The publication is released monthly and copies are available from most large independent cinemas in the United Kingdom. For more details on which outlets stock The Big Picture, please click here. Alternatively, and for our international readers, you can actually download each issue directly from the website. This, the fifth and latest issue of The Big Picture, is published to coincide with the triumphant return to British cinemas of directorial duo Powell and Pressburger’s colourful classic The Red Shoes – recently restored and to be shown in theaters nationwide from the 11th of December. This month, and in honour of Powell and Pressburger’s most famous work, The Big Picture takes up a central theme of dreaming in colour. The issue highlights some of the best uses of colour in film history, including the likes of The Adventures of Robin Hood, which is described as a “true masterpiece of colour” by Scott Jordan Harris in his article Hard Target. He also lists such films as Jean-Luc Godard’s Le Mépris, Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo and Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colours Trilogy as efforts that should be admired for their use of colour.

Download Issue 5 by clicking here >>> http://www.thebigpicturemagazine.com

Quite the amazing performance by the Sharks in their dominant 5-0 win over the Pittsburgh Penguins. My hatred for the Penguins may only be matched by my hatred for the Detroit Red Wings, and to see the Penguins demolished was beyond gratifying.

Where to start?

I was definitely wrong about Evgeni Nabokov. I don’t know what conditioning regiment this guy is on, but put the entire team on it. Three games in four nights and he comes out with a shutout. He stopped all 27 shots he faced. Wow. Can’t give him enough credit.

San Jose battled for every puck and came out with it most of the time. No one relaxed much — even after gaining a 4-0 advantage going into the third period.

Jamie McGinn scored the first goal from a bank-in off Marc-Andre Fleury’s left pad. You could feel something good was going to happen the whole night.

Joe Pavelski, yes, Joe Pavelski, finally came back to the lineup tonight after being out since the second game of the year. He didn’t disappoint. He put up two points (one goal, one assist) and didn’t have much rust. His assist really should have been a goal; the puck was headed in, but Dany Heatley slammed it home when the puck was about one inch from the goal line. Gotta love Heater!

Dan Boyle owned the ice tonight. It was his. No disputing that. He continuously carried the puck from the defensive zone all the way to the net for scoring chances. It looks like that broken thumb is fully healed, and he’s on a mission to contribute. One of those times coming down the ice, he deked a few Pens and snapped a shot past Fleury.  That was the end of Fleury, who was pulled right after. He allowed three goals on 14 shots.

Pittsburgh mailed it in during the third with some late hits and a few scrums. They became frustrated and tried taking it out on Sharks tough guys. Yea, not a good idea. Jay McKee made a run at Jody Shelley, who wasn’t really looking. The two dropped the gloves and Shelley ended up taking McKee down. Well, you think that would be the end for Shelley. He did his job, and can resume his role in the fourth line. Oh, contraire.

Eric Godard tried his hand at Shelley and Mr. Shelley handed Godard’s derriere to him on a bloodied, silver platter. Jersey jabs and right hooks galore from Shelley. Thank you! Come again!

After Joe Pavelski's original shot, Dany Heatley slams the puck home (From SJSHARKS.com)

Jordan Staal, much to Sharks fans’ amazement, took a few runs and delivered an elbow to Douglas Murray. Staal better watch himself in the parking lot. I may not be a big fan of Murray’s, but to deny his skills in fighting and toughness would be ignorant. Come on now Staal. You can’t bring your peach fuzz to a swedish meatball fight.

I got a little worried when the Sharks weren’t putting more goals in. They seemed to be a bit complacent for a stretch in the third, but it was those scrums that fired them back up. So, that would be the only criticism of the night.

I also saw Logan Couture on the penalty kill unit. Can’t say I’ve seen him on it before, but I like he’s getting more ice time. I read that he did move up a couple lines last game to play with Patrick Marleau and Manny Malhotra. Good to hear. (Malhotra, by the way, scored the fifth goal tonight on a shot through a bunch of traffic.)

Home Power Play

The Sharks ranked last in power play efficiency at home, somewhere around five percent. They netted two goals on the man advantage tonight. The entries and forecheck looked better tonight. Passes were sloppy, however, leading to Penguins clears and breakouts.

Injury Bug

NHL GameCenter Live used Pittsburgh’s feed and all the commentators would talk about is how injuries caused their recent play. Give me a break. Take a look at the Sharks who’ve been playing with five key players missing from their lineup, and they still managed to win six in a row. The Penguins just didn’t show effort tonight and looked awful. It won’t kill you to say that.

Other Notes

Hit-O-Meter: SJ 19  PIT 25; Scott Nichol and Murray both led with three hits a piece.

Sidney Crosby now has just one point in four games against the Sharks. Isn’t that great? San Jose has his number, and the Penguins’ number for that matter.

San Jose lost the faceoff battle. They lead the league in faceoff percentage with 56.8, and for them to lose to 19th-ranked Pittsburgh is surprising.

The Sharks get two days off before facing Nashville on Tuesday. The Sharks will look to extend their point-streak to nine games.

–Ray

After watching Week-End (Godard 1968) for our screening this week, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see another Godard film. As an RTF Major, I’m aware of the necessity to be open to many possibilities and see many different styles to become well educated in the film spectrum, but Week-End to an extend was too much for me. The extensive use of narrative ambiguity; it seemed that the plot was going nowhere. Then the drastic political message incorporated in the film along with some of the actions the characters committed made me feel a little uncomfortable. However, I understand that the purpose of this film was to stir the viewer’s attention. It got very annoying at times.

Although both films are part of European Art Cinema, French New Wave to be precise, they are very different. Breathless (Godard 1960) is a more enjoyable film to watch. The story revolves around Michel who has just killed a police officer and then runs away. He turns to Patricia and asks her if she wants to go to Italy with him. Patricia, unconscious of Michel’s situation, accepts and then they hide in a hotel room while Michel is trying to find money for his escape. At the end, Patricia realizes Michel is being “wanted” by the authorities and decides to betray him and calls the police. Michel is killed while Patricia observes his death.

The romance blended with the adrenaline would camouflage this film as a CHC, but the style and techniques sets it apart. The film has a strong sense of documentary style to it. The scene at the beginning of the movie where he has just stolen a car and is driving on the road is heavily influenced on Michel’s psychology. Here, we are quickly introduced to this guy who is kind of “eccentric”. He addresses the camera and “talks to us” about random stuff. The viewer feels as if he or she is right there in the car with him, playing with the fictional and real world. Another scene that it is very “documentary-esque” is Patricia’s interview. This scene did not complement a lot of information to the narrative but it sure gives the feeling that the viewer was watching something else. It was interesting listening to this person answering the questions.

Another important aspect of this film is the editing and the jump-cuts. I was reading the trivia section for this movie in imdb (yes, I do that after every movie I watch) and the discontinuity present in it was probably an “accident.” Godard had to edit the movie since it was too long for distribution, but instead of getting rid of scenes; he just removed little parts from the movie. That is why sometimes the camera angle suddenly changes or we see one thing then we switch to another.

One of the most predominant examples of Jump-cut is the convertible scene with Patricia. While driving around the city, the camera is only focused on her but the angle and the background suddenly change from time to time. This gives a sense of discontinuity and even though it is supposed to be one time and space, it seems as if it is very different places not following a time-lapse.

Also part of the editing, sometimes there was no flow of narration. For example, one shot he was inside a room, and then suddenly he was already in a restaurant. In CHC, we would probably see Michel going to the room, getting ready, actually exiting the room, just going outside and then entering the restaurant to create a sense of space and time. Having just one shot to another construct an elliptical narration very distinctive of European Art Cinema, the viewer is supposed to build conclusions.

What other European Art Cinema troupes are visible in this film?-The use of long takes as in the scene where Michel encounters Patricia selling the newspaper on the streets. The camera follows them from the back while they are walking but then suddenly they turn around and now the camera is following them from the front, getting closer as they walk, all in one shot. It is also very particular how their relationship is being set with just this one shot. Also, it is very noticeable that the film was filmed “on the fly” as in the scene where Michel and Patricia are walking and discussing about how she has to go meet someone. People around are staring at them and at the camera too, it just show how it did not employ very high production values.

The scene in the bedroom was fantastic. Although it might seem that this scene does not provide anything to the plot, it actually connects Michel and Patricia’s relation to an extreme. We see them interact in an intimate space and see how they love each other. The use of jump-cuts and elliptical narration beautifully establishes the emotions and thoughts they have. They go through many different “phases” in just this scene than by the end of it, we feel that we know them a lot.

The ending was a little bit confusing for me. I was not sure if Michel reproaches Patricia for betraying him or he has just resigned to die. Either way, the final shot of Patricia looking at the camera is absolutely fantastic. It transmits a sense of despair that finishes the movie on a great note.

I think that the main reason Breathless is more pleasing than Week-End is that the latter belongs to “Political Modernism” while the former is just “Modernism” through the use of form and stylistic techniques. Week-End is full of “subliminal” messages about government and criticizes a capitalist society. On the contrary, if Breathless is trying to portray a message, it is not so abruptly presented. It gives the viewer the opportunity to “fall in love” with the story and the structure.

De l’existentialisme et de l’ennui dans le cinéma français

Pour Joe Queenan du Guardian, les films policiers français pêchent trop souvent par un excès d’intellectualisme… un peu creux : “Si une scène devait résumer l’essence du film policier à la française, on la trouverait à peu près au milieu du classique de 1954 Touchez pas au grisbi, de Jacques Becker. Serrée de près par la police, en disgrâce auprès de ses semblables des bas-fonds parisiens moins recommandables encore, le vieux virtuose du braquage joué par Jean Gabin décide de se mettre quelque temps au vert. S’installant dans un pied-à-terre secret qui prend la forme d’un appartement étonnamment chic, ce fumeur compulsif revêt un élégant pyjama sorti de nulle part avant de s’assurer que René Dary, son complice des mauvais coups, est lui aussi à l’aise dans ses vêtements d’intérieur. La leçon de cette scène est limpide : aussi précaire que soit la situation, aussi incessante que soit la traque de la police, un homme ne doit jamais renoncer à son confort, à commencer par son pyjama.

Les enjeux de qualité de vie sont une des marques récurrentes du film policier français, qui parle autant de joie de vivre* que de joie de tuer*. Qui d’autre qu’un Français pourrait faire un film (Classe tous risques, réalisé par Claude Sautet en 1960) sur un malfrat qui cherche un foyer comme il faut pour ses gamins alors que toutes les polices sont à ses trousses ? Qui d’autre qu’un Français pourrait faire un film (Rien ne va plus, Claude Chabrol, 1997) sur une artiste de l’escroquerie, incarnée par Isabelle Huppert, qui cherche à s’émanciper de son escroc de père en s’engageant dans une relation amoureuse avec un escroc plus jeune et plus séduisant, qu’elle a bien l’intention de plumer ?

Les réalisateurs français ont toujours été obsédés par les malfrats, mais leurs films n’ont pas grand-chose à voir avec ceux qui se tournent aux Etats-Unis ou en Grande-Bretagne. Les films de gangsters américains sont palpitants, mais manquent souvent de profondeur ; les Britanniques, eux, mettent surtout en scène des petits voyous et manquent toujours de profondeur – ce qui explique que les cinéphiles anglophones trouvent souvent les gangsters cool, mais les voient rarement comme des exemples à suivre. Les Français, en revanche, aiment les gangsters philosophes et les films offrant une analyse de la société au sens large, comme si la société avait besoin de l’expertise des réalisateurs français.

Je ne dis pas que les films policiers français sont marqués par une authentique profondeur, mais c’est en tout cas ce qu’aiment à penser les réalisateurs français. Leurs films regorgent de répliques creuses du type “les temps changent, pas les hommes” – ou encore “l’homme naît innocent, mais ne le reste pas”. Le niveau a baissé depuis Voltaire, c’est certain. Le message classiquement délivré par un film policier français est que le plus minable des hors-la-loi est tenu par un code moral qui échappe à la compréhension du citoyen lambda respectueux de la loi – et qu’à leur manière les malfrats ont plus de principes que les policiers. C’est le thème de Mesrine (réalisé par Jean-François Richet, 2008), mais aussi du classique de 1937 de Julien Duvivier Pépé le Moko, d’A bout de souffle (1960) de Godard ou encore du très remarqué Du rififi chez les hommes de Jules Dassin, sorti en 1955. 

L’idée d’un code d’honneur dans la pègre est l’une de ces incongruités qui, depuis toujours, passent pour de la sagesse en France, où un fond d’anarchisme de pacotille cohabite bon an mal an avec des comportements profondément bourgeois à l’égard de toute chose. Dans les films français, les gangsters ont toujours un charme étrange, sont avant tout des gars épatants qui ont perdu le contrôle de leur personnalité quelque part en chemin.

Mais, comme le cinéma ne cesse de le démontrer, les films n’ont pas besoin d’être cohérents ni logiques pour être excellents. Surtout quand ils sont aussi beaux que Le Cercle rouge (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1970), Le Samouraï (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1967) ou Pépé le Moko. Abstraction faite de leurs absurdités philosophiques, les excellents films policiers français sont remarquablement nombreux.

S’ils sont si bons, c’est parce que tout le monde veut en être : tous les réalisateurs – de François Truffaut à Claude Lelouch, en passant par Claude Sautet ou Claude Chabrol – se sont adonnés au genre au moins une fois, et les meilleurs films mettent en scène la fine fleur des acteurs français, de Jean Gabin à Jean-Paul Belmondo, en passant par Lino Ventura, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Vincent Cassel, Yves Montand, Alain Delon, Jeanne Moreau, Gérard Depardieu, plus tout une ribambelle d’acteurs magnifiques mais méconnus hors de France. Vous en avez donc pour votre argent, et cela vaut le coup.

Il serait fâcheux de conclure cet exposé sans parler de l’existentialisme et de l’ennui. Ces deux indissociables pierres angulaires de la civilisation française moderne jouent un rôle clé dans le succès de la version hexagonale de ce genre cinématographique. Avant même la théorisation de l’existentialisme, au début des années 1940, et avant même que l’ennui ne soit inventé et breveté par Jean-Paul Sartre, en 1944, les malfrats français étaient déjà souvent en proie au tourment et à un ennui profond. C’est l’ennui qui précipite Pépé le Moko vers son destin, lorsqu’il abandonne stupidement l’enceinte protectrice de la casbah pour vivre son amour pour une Parisienne aisée et sophistiquée. C’est l’ennui qui conduit au désastre l’étincelant mais effacé Delon, aussi bien dans Le Cercle rouge que dans Le Samouraï. L’ennui, encore, qui laisse Belmondo mort sur le pavé parisien à la fin d’A bout de souffle. Vivre chaque jour comme si c’était le dernier, mais le faire sans enthousiasme, tel est le cocktail de presque tous les films français que j’ai vus. Le seul film policier français dont je me souvienne dans lequel tout le monde semble déborder d’énergie est La Balance, récompensé par une avalanche de césars en 1983. Mais La Balance a été réalisé par Bob Swain – un Américain.”

Joe Queenan – The Guardian – 27/08/09

“All you need for a music video is a gun and a girl.” -The Ghost is Dancing

The newest music video by The Ghost is Dancing (Sonic Unyon), directed and produced by Middleschool (Norman Wong, Aaron Kopff, and Daniel Grant). The video recreates scenes from their favourite New Wave films. Shot at various locations in Toronto including the ROM, High Park, Yorkville, the Henhouse, Dundas Bridge, and Agi’s House in Little Italy. I watch this video about 3 times a day and it always makes me smile. Always.

See other work by Middleschool here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-0-IujnF6I

Hear more stuff from The Ghost is Dancing here:

http://www.myspace.com/theghostisdancing

See you cats tonight!

-Christine

Anna Karina, Godard’s muse – Another one of Godard’s iconic actresses, Karina was born Hanne Karen Blarke Bayer in Copenhagen and then emigrated to Paris at the age of 17. She began modeling, and then movie on to acting with many of cinema’s greatest talents – most notably in Jean-luc Godard’s films during the 60’s, but she’s also worked with Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Jacques Rivette, George Cukor, and Agnes Varda, among others. The video posted above is a great little piece on Karina, combining a few interviews with her and others, and even shot in a very nouvelle vague manner. If you’re suffering from those post-Halloween blues what better way to forget them than with Karina’s gorgeous mug?