Lataa Ohjelma (MP3)

Eeppisen mittaisessa juhlajaksossamme esitellään uusi tunnari, palkitaan kommentoijia ja ennen kaikkea käydään läpi panelistien Top 10 suosikkielokuvat kautta aikojen. Mittaa jaksolle tosiaan venähti melkein kolme ja puoli tuntia, mutta älkää säikähtäkö. Annamme tämän kuunteluun kuuntelijoille muutaman viikon kuunteluaikaa ennen uusia jaksoja ja podcastia voi kuunnella vapaavalintaisissa osioissa.

Juhan Top 10 elokuvat:
- Modern Times
- Amélie
- Seven
- Pulp Fiction
- Á Bout de Souffle
- Apocalypse Now
- Dr. Strangelove
- Mies Vailla Menneisyyttä
- Annie Hall
- Requiem for a Dream

Henrikin Top 10 elokuvat:
- WALL-E
- The Great Dictator
- Metropolis
- The Incredibles
- Galaxy Quest
- Close Encounters of the Third Kind
- Manhattan Murder Mystery
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Star Trek: The Motion Picture
- Finding Nemo

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 just watched an AMAZING movie. It’s called A Woman Is a Woman by Jean-Luc Godard and it’s a 1962 French New Wave film. It stars Jean Claude Brialy, Anna Karina, and Jean Paul Belmondo. The movie is supposed to be a tribute to the American musical comedy genre. It’s about an exotic dancer named Angela (Karina) who battles between the two love interests in her life.

It was a complete break from anyway other movie I had seen. It was like a 60’s Wes Anderson film. More appropriately Wes Anderson is more like a modern Godard. This movie is a smart, quirky, colourful and unconventional film, and could be one my favourite movies that I have seen in a while. I found the character of Angela, while extremely stubborn and sometimes melodramatic, to be quite charming. She enjoys reasons for drama, which is fitting as she dreams of being in an American musical movie. Angela seems to be happy when she is by herself, and then puts on an “unhappy” act whenever the two men are around her. I think she likes to have the attention, having two men to choose from, asking, “why are women always suffering”, and always contradicting herself (she would tell Émile that she hated him, and then off to the side she would say she loved him).

An important line in this movie is one that is asked a few times, “is this a tragedy or a comedy?” It’s interesting that one of the characters in the movie is asking this, as I was thinking the same thing as well. While the movie is a comedy, you can’t help but wonder about the severity of actual circumstances in the film. Angela asks her lover consistently and frequently to have a baby, and he calls her an idiot for asking. Both sides of the relationship cheat on one another, however they still end up with each other. One of the most poignant scenes took place near the end when Alfred put on a song by Charles Aznavour, and there was no dialogue for the whole song. All you could see was the sadness in Angela surface, which before this, she only talked about and never showed.

(It also helps that Anna Karina is insanely beautiful and the styling is B-A-N-A-N-A-S).

i just finished watching a movie called breathless and honestly i really liked it and it made me think about richard gere in a totally different and more positive way. his performance in this film is just awesome.

valérie kaprisky and richard gere in breathless

doing a little research on the flick, i learned it’s a remake of à bout de souffle by jean-luc godard starring jean-paul belmondo and jean seberg.
i actually can’t wait to see it.

This series is inspired by an art project by Annette Messager. In the 1970s, Messager made a scrapbook called The Men I Love. She tore out pages of magazines that showed glamorous Hollywood stars and rough Marlboro men, all men who she had never met, but who she was “supposed” to swoon over. She also assembled a companion book called The Men I Do Not Love.

ADDENDUM TO THE ORIGINAL POST:

Original images are not so authentic – we all generate multiples.

Breathless / A bout de souffle (1960)
Director: Jean-Luc Godard
Starring: Jean-Paul Belmondo, Jean Seberg

- por Bernardo Brum

É esse o filme onde Samuel Fuller diz que o cinema é um campo de batalha. E se isso é verdade, Godard age todo o tempo feito o mais psicótico da frente de batalha francesa que pretendia varrer os artesãos da terra e fincar a bandeira dos autores em terra firme. Temos o drama intimista de Truffaut, a suavidade de Rohmer, a moral e o assassinato com Chabrol… e a política com o mais alucinado deles. Se há tempos Aristóteles já disse que nossa natureza animal é mesmo essa, cada obra produzida deveria ser retrato, construção e olhar das revoluções, anseios e contradições de sua época (ou não, como diria o Imperativo Caêniano).

Se a batalha, de fato, acontecia, e se de fato, cada disparo dado era então uma escolha, O Demônio das Onze Horas é um ponto de virada na carreira do diretor – a insatisfação com a vida burguesa que levam Ferdinand e Marianne Renoir são imediata associação com outro insatisfeito – o próprio Godard, que fez porque fez para desconstruir o cinema burguês que pegou o cinema de Eisenstein para construir suas grandes histórias morais daquele século, indo na contramão alguns anos depois do movimento de ruptura que ajudou a criar para novamente ser um vanguardista – desta vez político – no grupo Dziga Vertov. Mas mesmo nesse, já se percebiam claros sinais.

Aqui, através de uma série de inúmeras pirações, Godard dissolve todo o cinema erigido até então em uma narrativa muito particular, construído à base de sarcasmo, polêmica, provocação e confronto na própria forma do filme. Tudo o que Godard tinha experimentado até então – intertítulos, filmes em atos, quebras de de eixo e diegese, edição picotada, números musicais, descontinuidade narrativa, contexto marginal/nômade, está tudo aqui, mas de forma muito, muito mais radical. Se Acossado provocava o cinema careta de sua época, O Demônio das Onze Horas centra seus esforços em inflamar a discussão, não deixar pedra sobre pedra, e nada escapa do alvo – o cinema e o modo de se assistir cinema, a política e o modo de se pensar política e de como isso domina a sociedade contemporânea de forma irritantemente intrínseca.

Não que o diretor passe a mão na cabeça do espectador. Desde o início, a crítica segue progressivamente impiedosa. Quanto mais o cinema é desconstruído, mas o sentido das palavras “sociedade ocidental” escoa ralo abaixo – até terminar na famosa saída “tudo pelos ares” – após os ciúmes burgueses se apossarem do casal, resultando em fuga, assassinato e suicídio, tudo termina em uma explosão seca, em forma de cogumelo. Depois de duas horas de esculacho conscientizado, realmente não imaginaria final melhor.

5/5

Ficha técnica: O Demônio das Onze Horas (Pierrot Le Fou) – 1965, França/Itália. Dir.: Jean-Luc Godard. Elenco: Anna Karina, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Samuel Fuller

volevo solo rendervi partecipi che la mia droga si  chiama  grégori…lo so, torno da un lungo viaggio  in argentina a  breve seguirà un racconto  dettagliato excite permettendo e  vi parlo di un  attore francese, ma lo sapete sono fatta così  comunque, veniamo al dunque…grégori questo  sconosciuto…ammetto che il suo nome non è il massimo, il  suo cognome derangère vi dirà ancor di meno…ma come  molti altri con quell’accento fantasticamente fastidioso e  con quella erre francofona diventa un nome  stupendo…ammetto che il suo cognome vi continuerà a dire nulla…resta il fatto che io amo quest’uomo…da tempo la fille de poche come anche tradisce il suo nome ama l’uomo e gli uomini gallici, sia esso un compagno di studi in inghilterra, sia esso il marito di una ben più nota divetta nostrana, sia esso un regista impegnato nato nei quartieri alti parisiennes, sia esso un compositore bretone, sia esso uncantante – o meglio un chansonnier moderno-, sia esso un regista defunto, sia esso un personaggio di unmanga, sia esso un fiorettista niente male, sia esso l’icona sexy di un intero popolo in salsa 60’s, la fille de poche ama e subisce da sempre il fascino dell’uomo gallico. bene, grégori è un attorino che la fille ha scoperto nel lontano 2004 con un film che essendo l’unico insieme a un altro disperso nella filiera home video disponibile dove il bel marcantonio…o sarebbe il caso di dire marc antoine… – come dannazione si dirà bel figliolo in francese?? – recita si tratta di una bella commedia “bon voyage” che a me ricorda l’erasmus e per cui l’amato gregorio ha vinto un césar, il david di donatello d’oltrealpe. la fille de poche sta addirittura pensando di vedere tutti i film del bel gregorio…a proposito grégori ha un sito, e la fille de poche ha anche pensato di scrivergli chissà per dirgli cosa…ritornando ai film…sarebbe un problema perché la fille de poche fa da tempo finta di conoscere la lingua francese solo per fare la fighetta con gli amici, ma da tempo la fille de poche non è solamente attratta dall’uomo gallico, ma è attratta fortemente da tutto ciò sia francese eccetto…qualche formaggio che le dà un po’ fastidio la fille de poche adoRa la cultura francese, per colpa della madre che l’ha fatta crescere a suon di édith piaf, per via del suo amore per la poesia francese, per il cinema francese, per quel piccolo erede al trono di un mondo fantastico, perché diciamolo avremo dante, l’arte e avremo anche colonizzato i galli tanto tempo fa, avremo anche richiesto 3000 volte la gioconda, ma loro furbetti non ce l’hanno mai data indietro – come diremmo noi così francesemente a reggio e chiamali fissa – ma la moda, i profumi li condividiamo con loro…e almeno in una cosa i francesi vincono a man bassa…in permettetemi il francesismo…in charme, la parola è francese ci sarà un motivo….

una fille de poche con gli occhi a cuoricino…vi lascia con una pioggia di grégori dérangère, greg mi faresti un piacere…come sgaggio si scrive il tuo nome…così lo uso nel mio MASH, quel gioco stupido che si faceva alle medie…casa, villa, capanna…etc

citando “sixteen candles”…

“And a big Trans Am
in the driveway

with a ribbon around it.

And some incredibly gorgeous

guy that you meet in France.

And you do it on a cloud
without getting pregnant
or herpes.
I don’t need the cloud.
Just a pink Trans Am
and the guy, right?“

Sixteen Candles, John Hughes 1984

almeno oggi…allez les bleus!

Bisoux,

la fille de poche

(originally posted on: 15/01/07 – modified on 15/10/09)

Pierrot Le Fou (Jean-Luc Godard, 1965)

I haven’t written about any Godard films yet, and it’s probably about time. Two or three years ago I had a big Godard phase during which I watched most of the films from his golden age, but he made so many in the 60s that there are still a few major ones I’ve yet to see. His stuff is so packed with content that it can dazzle and I needed to view this one twice before I got a grip on it.

Pierrot le Fou would be a good introduction to Godard as it bridges his early and later stuff; it’s simulatenously a farewell to the pulpy pop stories and an indication of where he was heading to. The film is bursting at the seams with ideas and it conveys a sense of tension. Its range of references are voraciously diverse; people are always recounting anecdotes, spouting cod philosophy. Narrative cinema about a murder, robbery or other maguffin is no longer big enough to contain his curiosity, his restless impatience.

The references to Céline might be a clue towards the form of the film. No doubt it seemed odd to namecheck a persona non grata fascist novelist in 1965, but the defining character of Céline’s books was always their avant-garde style. Chatty, digressive, cut-up, he embraced argot and paid less heed to plot -or basic sentence structure- as he went on. They said that he had “blown a hole in the ceiling” of stuffy classical literature. With his vaulting ambition to experiment and push out boundaries, Godard was trying to do something similar to cinema.

The film does still (just about) employ a criminal-couple-on-the-run storyline, but in the loosest sense possible. The interest is elsewhere and when the plotty action bits take place, poetic voiceovers and jarring soundtracks are placed over the top; it’s easy to miss what’s actually happening. Like Le Mépris it has lovely photography of the Mediterranean coast; sunshine, bright primary colours, lots of beach hotels and motorboats. It also resembles said film in that it’s preoccupied with the end of a love affair, the impossibility of a man and a woman getting on with each other long-term.

The film casts Godard’s most iconic actors, Jean-Paul Belmondo and Anna Karina, just as his marriage to the latter was ending. This is another cause of the restless feeling; in moments of tranquility the two leads agonise over the unknowability of one’s lover, their failure to truly understand one another.  Amidst all the culture and politics some personal stuff is being worked out here. 

One could say that it’s a clash between Old Godard and New; Marianne (Karina) throws herself into the Bonnie & Clyde routine and wants intrigue, action, dancing and music. She rows with Ferdinand (Belmondo) because he’s put aside childish things and wants peace and quiet in which to read, write and think. She suggests Monte Carlo, Vegas or Miami for possible destinations, he prefers Athens or Florence. 

Politics don’t quite dominate the film, but they are already barging into places we wouldn’t normally expect them and throwing their weight about. Although it has nothing to do with the characters or the story, there’s a tourettes-like compulsion to talk about the Vietnam war. Politics would soon take centre stage for my two favourite Godard films, La Chinoise and Weekend, before the tension between his Maoist callings and the set-up of commercial cinema got too much and he had to pack it in. It’s when the tension was at its greatest, though, that he produced his most thrilling work.

We begin with playful credits, an alpahbet soup of neon letters as mournful, noirish music with a touch of Bernard Hermann plays; this theme will recur throughout. Belmondo reads a poetic voiceover about Velazquez as we see girls play tennis, JPB in a bookshop, a sunset over a harbour.

Ferdinand is disclosed sitting in a bath, reading about Velazquez to his little daughter. The painter lived in a blighted time- at the King’s court he was “surrounded by idiots, dwarves and invalids”. One senses that Godard is inviting us to draw comparisons. The flat is luxurious. Ferdinand’s nagging wife tells him he must come to her parents’ tonight to meet a man from Standard Oil who might give him a job. Her friends bring Marianne, the babysitter- a schoolgirlish Karina with her hair done up. Ferdinand starts ranting to the bemused couple about Balzac and Beethoven; with a quick blast of the Fifth, they head out.

At the party, suave guests (almost Marienbad dummies) recite bland advertising blurbs about different products in lieu of conversation. Everything is put through filters of blue, red, green. In a famous cameo, Samuel Fuller tells Ferdinand that cinema is “love, hate, action, violence, death- emotions”. A couple of women with cocktails and fancy necklaces are topless. All look languid and bored, but none more than Ferdinand. “You speak too much, listening to you is tiresome”, one of the ladies tells him.

Ferdinand goes home early and offers the doe-eyed Marianne a lift home. We see them sit in a fake car on a stage set and we learn that years ago, the pair were lovers. Ferdinand tells her he’s been “too lazy” to divorce his wife. Marianne doesn’t want to recount her life story and turns on the radio- atrocities in Vietnam. She confesses her love, Ferdinand plays it cool; fag in mouth, eyes on the road.

The next morning, Marianne is walking around her bare flat and cooking breakfast for Ferdinand, who’s smoking in bed. There are prints of Modigliani and Renoir on the wall, plus magazine photos of African soldiers, rifles everywhere and a bloodied corpse in the other room. In a dressing gown Marianne sings a love song whilst Ferdinand struggles to look tough and indifferent.

Most of these more conventional scenes are linked by voiceover segments; a piece of dramatic music, Belmondo and Karina sharing fragments of conversation or some abstract poetic images, and action shots interspersed with a mélange of classic paintings, cartoon strips and other random images flashing before us. One such segment appears here; we see a man discover the body, Marianne concuss him with a bottle, and the lovers flee Paris. We’re able to discern from the voiceover that Marianne is somehow mixed up in arms trafficking to Angola, and needs to find her brother Fred (like Holly Golightly). On the road the pair embrace their newfound outlaw status by punching out three petrol station attendants.  

Now Marianne is driving and Ferdinand looks redundant. “Have you ever killed a man? You won’t like it,” she warns him. In a voiceover segment we see them stop in a small town and learn that the police are in pursuit. They need money and decide to tell the townspeople stories about some esoteric historical subjects, such as William of Orange’s nephew. The villagers introduce themselves to the camera; a Hungarian refugee, a redhead shopgirl, an old man who’s working as an extra in a film.

To throw off the police, they want to get rid of their car by faking an accident. Fortuitously they come across a capsized car with two corpses and decide to set fire to their own. “It must look authentic, this isn’t a film”, scolds Marianne. The soundtrack is filled with birdsong as we see a long shot of smoke from the car filling the sky, Ferdinand and Marianne disappearing into a field of crops.

Next is the surreal image of the two, in a suit and a dress, wading down the middle of a river. They’re carrying a comic book and a toy monkey (because we’re all big kids?). They steal a sleek convertible from a garage and soon they’re at the south coast. The radio plays sprightly baroque music, Karina’s hair looks blondish in the sun. She accuses Ferdinand of missing his wife; he smells death ”in the landscape, women’s faces, cars…”. They sleep on the beach. Marianne points to the Man in the Moon, whom Ferdinand tells her is off; the space race has got him pestered with Lenin and Coca-Cola and he’s going to leave both ”to shoot it out”.  

At this point, Godard decides to turn the film into Robinson Crusoe. They have a cabin, Ferdinand keeps a journal of their “hunting and fishing” and they indulge in light agricultural work. He has a parrot who sits on his shoulder, Marianne has a baby fox whom she lets lick her plate. The camera trained on her, Marianne looks away guiltily as she promises never to leave, then gives us a shy smile. Ferdinand reads Céline to Marianne then addresses the camera with a rasping old-man’s croak, talking about the novel he’s got planned. He tells her off for bringing home a record; “You’re only allowed to buy one record for every fifty books. Literature is above music”.

Ferdinand is thriving. On a forest walk, he asks to borrow Marianne’s lipstick and uses it to jot down his ideas. Marianne feels estranged and moans about her boredom whilst stamping along the beach (“You talk to me with words and I look at you with feelings”. “Feelings are no good, you need to have ideas”). As well she might, Marianne soon gets fed up with all of this and tries to change the film back to Old Godard. She’s bored of living in “a Jules Verne” story and longs to go back to being in “un roman policier”. To do this, they’ll need to raise money from the tourists (“ésclaves modernes”).

To entertain the American tourists in Nice, they put on a little play about (what else?) Vietnam. With a bottle of bourbon and a general’s hat, Belmondo points a gun and shouts “Oh yeah! New York! Oh yeah! COMMUNISTE!”. Her face painted bright yellow, Karina snaps and whines in mock-Chinese speak. The watching American sailors declare this to be “damn good”. Afterwards each confides to the camera. Marianne wants to go dancing; Ferdinand doesn’t understand her and she just wants to live a bit. “Who cares if we get killed?” Standing amidst tall crops, Ferdinand muses on this “age of double men” and how he’s never quite sure what his girlfriend is thinking. Welcome to our world, pal.

After this interlude, the nominal story rears its head in the form of a dwarf who has something on Marianne. In blazer and tie, carrying a walkie-talkie and a bottle of Coke, he trains a gun on the camera and threatens her with a napalm bath “comme a Vietnam”. Ferdinand visits a café where a familiar-looking chap tells him, “Last year I loaned you 10,000 Francs and you slept with my wife,” before walking off grinning. I’m guessing it’s a reference to a Belmondo film I have forgotten or never seen. When he walks into their flat, the dwarf is dead; Marianne has stabbed him with scissors. Two gangsters show up and torture him in the bath-tub; we see details of a painting as we hear him being overpowered and beaten.

Ferdinand sits down on train-tracks, but jumps away at the last moment. A Karina voiceover informs us that he couldn’t find Marianne anywhere. We see him in a cinema, with J-P Léaud and a sailor. There’s a newsreel of Vietnam and Ferdinand dozes off, then starts reading. He only gains interest in the cinema screen when Jean Seberg shows up; now that’s definitely a reference to an old film.

In Nice harbour, Ferdinand chats to the exiled Queen of Lebanon (don’t ask me). When she leaves, Marianne turns up and professes delight to have found both him and her “brother” Fred. He reminds her they are wanted for murder, then reluctantly agrees to rejoin the “tale of sound and fury”. They board a speedboat; the adoring camera is fixated on Karina, sunlit sea and a flapping French flag behind her, as she answers Ferdinand’s practical/banal questions about the truth of her background and all this gun-running stuff.

On a beach, Marianne tells Fred that “he’ll do anything I want”, then the film drags itself through the rushed motions of plot/action in an extended voiceover sequence. Belmondo and Karina comment on the images and compare them to stock clichés from novels as the two gangsters drive around, a suitcase is exchanged, and Belmondo has another skirmish with them. “There’s no reason why soft thighs and breasts should stop you from killing everyone”, Marianne tells us as she shoots the gangsters with a long-distance sniper gun. We see her grin in satisfaction.

They meet in a bowling alley; Ferdinand has two plane tickets for Tahiti. Marianne agrees but we don’t quite believe her. Soon she’s back on the speedboat kissing Fred; they pull out from the harbour just as Ferdinand arrives, and he’s left to hear some crazed random tell a very funny story about the record that has haunted him all through his life. It’s playing in the background; Ferdinand insists to the man that he can’t hear a thing, but he hums it to himself as he hitches a boat ride to the offshore island.

He shoots Fred and Marianne (Le Mépris again), then carries the girl to bed and tells her “It’s too late, you brought it on yourself.” Her face is covered in blood. Crazy with grief, a bawling Ferdinand paints his face blue then ties two bundles of dynamite around his head. After the fuse is lit he has a moment of clarity (“Shit, what an idiot I’m being!”) but cannot see to stamp it out. The camera pulls back and we see an explosion on the coastal rocks. The camera calmly moves right to take in the sea, the horizon and finally the sun. There is silence, before our stars share one last whispered voiceover; “It’s ours again. Eternity.”

The film is slightly overlong and Godard can be like Herzog in that you have to sit through an amount tedium to get the inspired bits of brilliance that one just doesn’t see most films; and it is a quite brilliant ending, with images that will stay with me. However it’s belligerent, it points a great big arrow towards my favourite period of Godard and it’s a film with one hell of a lot on its plate- and more still to say, if you listen. I watch stuff like this and come away thinking what a travesty it is that A bout de souffle is his best-known film.

One aside- I remember that one of Kenneth Williams’ more angst-ridden diary entries describes a visit to the cinema for Pierrot Le Fou. He was deeply wounded that when asked “Who are you?”, Belmondo jokingly replied “un homosexuel” and got a big laugh from the crowd. At one point in the film, Karina does indeed ask Belmondo who he is. I’m fairly certain he answers, “un homme sexuel”.

Samuel Fuller and Ferdinand Griffon (Jean-Paul Belmondo)

Godard makes movies as if he’s got a love-hate relationship with cinema, and in this case, he’s madly in love with it. Intoxicated with the possibilities of film language, Godard executes a full-on assault on movie conventions, and he performs it with gleeful precision.

Early on in the story, Sam Fuller makes a cameo appearance and lays out his definition of film. He covers every aspect – (“love, hate, action, violence, death. In one word EMOTION.”) – and Godard runs through all of them without caring for something as trivial as, oh, plot.

Marianne Renoir (Anna Karina)

When we’re introduced to Ferdinand Griffon (Jean-Paul Belmondo), he’s dragged to a party where every guest regurgitates ad copy. When he runs into an old flame, he jumps ship – not just from his life but from the movie itself. One thing leads to a murder and the next thing you know, they’re on the run, role-playing their way through gangster shoot-outs and musical interludes. (At one point, they even act out cultural caricatures for a group of American tourists.)

Pop culture may have been a deadening influence on the materialistic bores ditched by Ferdinand at the beginning of the film. But for the rest of the picture, pop culture becomes invigorating in its artificiality, flipped in reverse as an expression of Pierrot and Marianne’s id.

A delirious, anarchic masterpiece, this is a gorgeous landmark of the ’60s and possibly Godard’s most enjoyable work.

Jean-Paul Belmondo and Anna Karina step into some new roles

Natty Tardivel fosta sotie a actorul francez Jean-Paul Belmondo îi interzice acestuia să poata să-şi viziteze copilul la sfârşit de săptămână sau în vacanţe.

Belmondo s-a văzut nevoit să depună o plângere la poliţie.
El s-a deplasat marţi, la un comisariat din Paris, unde a depus o plângere pentru dreptul său legal de vizitare a fetiţei.
Mama copilului, Natty Tardivel, care deţine custodia, a declarat că decizia ei provizorie de a nu-şi lăsa fiica în grija tatălui ei este direct legată de ameninţările cu moartea pe care le-a primit.
După ce au trăit împreună 13 ani, Jean-Paul Belmondo s-a căsătorit cu Natty Tardivel pe data de 29 decembrie 2002 şi au împreună o fetiţă de şase ani, Stella.
Cei doi au divorţat anul trecut (2008).

- por Bernardo Brum

Godard é chato, é hermético, é pretensioso, é complexo, é arrogante, não é lá aquilo tudo, é complicado demais, viaja na batatinha demais, só faz filme para crítico de cinema, é pior do que Truffaut e não sei mais o quê… Quem é fã de Godard, feito eu, provavelmente já deve ter ouvido esses adjetivos e definições que doem na alma.

Claro que daria para ofender esses pobres coitados sem pensar duas vezes com adjetivos, definições e interjeições ainda mais grosseiras e mal-educadas. Mas aí, depois de refletir por alguns segundos, dá para entender. De fato, não ter visto um musical de Anna Karina, ou melhor, Ângela, avec Cyd Charisse and Bob Fosse deve fazer uma falta que só.

Pela fotografia em tons brancos, vermelhos e azuis, dava pra dizer que Uma Mulher é Uma Mulher é um filme sobre a mulher francesa. Mas a protagonista é interpretada por uma atriz que vem da Dinamarca, e que em certa sequência é sacaneada por não conseguir falar o “R” feito alguém da França. Poderia ser sobre a mulher européia, mas a mulher moderna, que derruba os tabus, que choca os homens, que é espetacularmente sensual em sua grande ousadia e desvairada ousadia que Angela não é apenas uma mulher, francesa, ou européia. Era do mundo, de todos. Ela tem suas filhas. Na Inglaterra, tem sua filha com John Schlesinger, Darling. No Brasil, ela segue a dinastia dos nomes, e gerada por Rogério Sganzerla, ela é Ângela Carne e Osso, frenética, vulcânica e chegada numa pornochanchada.

Se os boêmios de plantão (incluindo o toureiro afrescalhado feito por Paulo Villaça) e os ricaços da alta comeram o pão que o diabo amassou com Helena Ignez e Julie Christie, aqui a Angela francesa (ou dinamarquesa) faz gato e sapato dos maiores galãs da nouvelle vague, Jean-Claude Brialy e Jean-Paul Belmondo. O primeiro como marido e o segundo como amigo/amante tem que aprender a sobreviver ao temperamento caótico, impossível e mais do que charmoso da mulher pela qual ambos se apaixonaram.

E para nos encantar de tantos modos possíveis, Godard não poupa esforços e leva o filme aos limites da exploração do audiovisual. Sem vergonha alguma, ele compõe um musical desajustado, onde brincadeiras com a iluminação,  o eixo, o movimento, a edição e a diegese são feitos a todo momento. Os travellings e panorâmicas passeiam nos seus famosos planos-seqüência por salas, quartos, boates de strip, bares e ruas, às vezes viram subjetivas e outras vezes é puro voyeurismo mesmo. O belo rosto de Anna Karina muda de cor e expressão a cada ambiente (e é impossível não se apaixonar com ela de ombros nus, mexendo no cabelo, com rosto convidativo e banhada em luz púrpura). O que ele faz com as locações são estranhas para compôr algum realismo ou representação – tem um casal imóvel no canto da tela, tem o Jean-Claude andando de bicicleta em um apartamento, o casal se comunicando por títulos de livros, os protagonistas falando e fazendo gestos para o espectador. Legendas coloridas aparecem no meio dos planos completando com detalhes que não conseguimos deduzir apenas pela imagem, participando de forma criativa, quase como aqueles personagens oniscientes que ouvimos a voz mas não sabemos quem é, e tudo utilizado de forma para tirar o espectador passivo do assento e fazê-lo participar ativamente como testemunha. Um simples corte transforma Anna Karina em estrela de musical que chuta a bunda dos galãs, faz ela virar uma stripper de ambientes bizarros (Calma aí, a Anna Karina tirando a roupa e o pessoal fumando com cara de blasé? Pera lá!), trocar de roupa instantaneamente, entre outros truques de prestidigitação que só o cinema permite (começando por Meliés, destruído e reconstruído por Orson Welles – F For Fake, alguém? – e experimentado de forma absurda por vanguardistas e visionários feito o próprio Godard e outros como Alain Resnais, Maya Deren, Andrea Tonacci e tal).  Tem também doses de pura referência ao cinema – “Isso não é uma comédia musical! É uma tragédia!”, exclama Belmondo, no papel do personagem chamado Alfred Lubitsch – precisa dizer a origem do nome e do sobrenome? -, sem contar quando os personagens falam de Atirem No Pianista, que está fazendo muito sucesso no cinema, e Acossado, que está passando direto na televisão (e a deusa Jeanne Moreau aparece para conversar com Belmondo sobre seus homens, Jules et Jim!). Inclua aí uma dose cavalar de charme francês e umas dezenas de diálogos espertos que o resultado final é inevitavelmente genial, como praticamente todos os filmes das duas primeiras décadas de cinema do diretor.

Em seu terceiro o filme,  o primeiro a cores, o diretor que mais provocou celeuma na história da sétima arte (coisa que o Peter Greenaway já tentou várias vezes sem sucesso) fez um biscoito fino de primeiríssima qualidade, com tanto a dizer que daria muito bem para escrever um livro sobre ele – sua importância, sua singularidade e sua originalidade. Quem dera se todos os diretores ditos chatos fizessem filmes tão livres, desimpedidos, divertidos e inteligentes assim. Cada filme de Godard é um verdadeiro laboratório de criação, inteligência, forma, estética e arte – e esse é um dos luminares. O cara ainda iria radicalizar mais as coisas em filmes como O Demônio das Onze Horas e Weekend à Francesa, mas sabe como é, Anna Karina é Anna Karina.

“Je ne suis pas infame, je suis une femme!”

4/5

Ficha técnica: Uma Mulher é Uma Mulher (Une Femme est Une Femme) – 1961, França. Dir.: Jean-Luc Godard. Elenco: Anna Karina, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Jean-Claude Brialy, Jeanne Moreau

11. Kool Moe Dee

An underrated style inspiration for the winter.

12. Knuckle dusters

Regular readers will know I have a thing about jewellery and for me knuckle dusters have always held a fascination. They are physically appealing, protective and unsubtly masculine. Also feel nice on. And the best one is of course by the inimitable Hannah Martin.

13. Ally Capellino

Every style for A/W 09 is ultra special and as much as I hate that cliche about style and fashion (this blog will always be about fashion as opposed to style) they’re outside of fashion. The bags all have great names too; Arkwright would be a tough outsider type with a flesh tunnel; new boys Barry, Richard and Michael pretty dandyish with a penchant for too-short shorts and spotty bow ties in their leathery satchelness. Is that even a word?

And then there’s ‘Wayne’, now in high gloss leather…

14. Lanvin’s felt hat

Like any season you could pick out any random elements from the Lanvin show and blather on about them but this felt (!) hat, from Browns, is quite special. The colour’s just right, isn’t it? What do you mean it’s OVER THREE HUNDRED QUID? It’s probably worth it though, just imagine bombing to the grocer’s in THAT for your morning papers.

15. Nike Air Maxim

Been meaning to blog about these for ages. They’ve been out since July and probably been covered by every blog under the sun already but red, white, blue is classic, toothpaste stripe fresh, they’re a lot lighter than the usual Air Max and they just… well… work right now. You just KNOW THAT. Maybe it’s the mesh, reminiscent of a MUJI pencil case; is it wrong that I want one foot red, one foot blue?

16. Nike Air Max 90

Actually Nike have got some amazing sneakers out at the moment, especially these which – the HORROR – I saw in the windows of FOOT LOCKER yesterday. Is it just me, or is it a 100% more fun experience buying sneakers from foot locker than some wanky trainer boutique in Soho, when more often than not it’s just the SAME PRODUCT?

Whatever: that dirty jeans/white tee/black hoodie/Nikes look is good enough for Alexander Wang, it’s good enough for US TOO.

17. Wood Wood accessories at HANON-SHOP

Hanon-shop always has a gentle, well-planned choice of stock and these Wood Wood accessories are all just the perfect tan/caramel shade; the leather looks perfect, the quality impeccable. There’s a pocket wallet, pencil case and the perfect laptop case (goodbye PC world black neoprene).

18. BIG COATS- as typified by Patrik Ervell

19. Montagne Jeunesse

You walk into a local branch of BOOTS; you need something fun and cheap for your face and it calls out to you. A FACE COVERED IN MUD, 90s Sunset Beach packaging, and a RIDICULOUS ITEM COVERING THE MODEL’S EYES. Cucumbers, bits of chocolate, foliage, rocks… When you get home you put the clay on your face and it turns SCALDING. You wash it off and your skin feels sort-of amazing. All for NINETY NINE PENCE!

Is there anything, really, better than splashing out on a sachet of MONTAGNE JEUENESSE? Even the ludicrous name and the archaic use of ‘masque’ conjours up memories of a certain point at the end of the last century when Celine Dion was eternally on TOTP, Ricki Lake was still on Channel 4 and people still used VO5 hot oil.

20. Jean-Paul Belmondo hair

Begone “Shoreditch monks” (CADFAEL WAS SO 2005) and Alice Dellal undercuts. Has anyone really had better hair than JPB? Yes, but… you know what I mean. I’m buying some hair straighteners, but using them lightly.

21.Bassike drop-crotch trousers

From oki-ni again- a promising young label that seems to be all about quality and cut rather than hype. As opposed to the obvious drapey/deconstructed context I can see myself wearing them with a nice pair of low-cut Reeboks (maybe Reebok x Alife…), a very old polo shirt in a pale grey with a charcoal crew neck sweatshirt over the top. More on that notion later…

22. Return of photorealism

Courtesy of Comme des Garcons Shirt at colette. In its own way this is really timeless, and as much of a wardrobe staple than the ubiquitous white shirt.

23. HERO magazine

‘Hi Elliott we like the blog’ well that’s good HERO MAGAZINE because THE BLOG likes you too. In an age of dwindling print returns and endless, endless, meaningless online tomes created by this that or whoever how refreshing to see a clear-minded, well-written and beautifully designed tome that, as importantly, as lots of rather attractive young men littering its pages. It’s a magazine about models- the next models, the ones who will influence your hair, your poses, your facial expressions probably. The ones who will litter all the other magazines in ad campaigns etc.

24. Coat of the season

Imagine this, with Portishead’s “Machine Gun” playing in a white, Milanese room. It’s Raf with his Jil Sander hat on; the texture isn’t printed but actually swirls of wool smashed together in a marbled watercolour effect.

25. Leggings for men

Yes, that’s me in the second picture;  in an event that was destined to haunt me forever in cyberspace, I went out in Milan wearing a “Damir Doma/Givenchy-inspired ensemble” which included these Material Boy leggings under denim shorts. WHICH ENDED UP ON “THE CUT“; I felt like a bit of a ‘cut’ afterwards.

EVEN SO… leggings and slim tracksuit trousers are still strong for this season, and next, and the best ones are by TIM HAMILTON who merges the long john with the legging with the tracksuit bottom; failing that, LOU DALTON‘S jodhpur trackies fit the bill nicely.

26. Fanny and Jessy

You know what? Those girls are AMAZING and I’m really sorry I didn’t make the show, god knows what I was doing that night (probably Tweeting) but it doesn’t matter because they’ll probably be showing at MAN next or something and I’ll be standing in the back row probably, unable to see the trousers past the heads of club kids.

Photos are by Christopher James.

27. THAT Sammy Davis Jr. photo

Has there ever been a better hat and glasses combo? Has there ever been a better time to wear hats and glasses?

28. HEDERUS

Every little thing she does is magic.

29. Topman fingerless gloves

Useful, good colours. FIVER!

30. A Suit That Fits.com

Because their suits are bespoke, nice quality and produced under responsible conditions unlike high street suits. This site, launched in 2005, came from founder Warren Bennett’s bespoke suits made by the family he was staying with in Nepal. The same family is making the suits still, made well and for a ridiculously accessible price. I’m planning my perfect ‘fashiony’ winter suit from here- possibly double-breasted grey felt or flannel, or something a bit more Lanvin inspired.

Here is my lovely friend Michael, the best-dressed boy I know and the PR for A Suit That Fits (coincidence? OBVIOUSLY NOT) wearing one of his own pieces and looking dare I say good x 100. Hair colour optional but something I’m toying with…

Hace algo más de un mes os presenté mi particular recopilación de feos de la gran pantalla ya desaparecidos.

Esta segunda entrega la dedico a los que por su edad, aún estando con nosotros, ya no podemos verlos en nuevos papeles, a esos, que aunque mayores, aún trabajan, y a los que andan rozando la tercera edad, y aún pueden dar mucho de sí durante unos cuantos años.

Son feuchos, pero algunos de ellos, entrañables y excelentes actores, y nos han hecho, y nos hacen disfrutar, con sus películas.

Veamos sus fotos, y repasemos un poco sus vidas.

Por su edad, es Ernest Borgnine el que encabeza esta entrega. El no muy agraciado rostro de este norteamericano nacido en Connecticut el 24 de enero de 1917, hemos podido verlo en la pantalla casi sin interrupción durante cinco décadas (su último trabajo lo realizó para televisión en 2007, y para el cine, un año antes, en “La cura del gorilla”). Excelente actor, no siempre contratado para papeles principales, comenzó su carrera para el cine en 1951. Los espectadores de entonces, pudieron acostumbrarse a ver su rostro en roles secundarios, en películas como “De aquí a la eternidad” (1953), de Fred Zinnemann, o “Johnny Guitar” (1954), de Nicholas Ray, hasta verlo interpretar magistralmente el papel protagonista de “Marty” (1955), de Delbert Mann, que en la edición de ese año de los Oscar, consiguió cuatro galardones, uno de ellos, el de Mejor Actor Principal, otorgado a Borgnine. Una larguísima lista de títulos de películas, acompaña a la también larga vida de este actor. En esas películas hemos podido verlo principalmente en papeles de buena persona, pero también en interpretaciones de “malo”, en las que sus chispeantes ojos, se han vuelto acerados, y su sonrisa, que parece exhibir más dientes que el resto de los humanos, se ha torcido en una mueca que nos ha sobrecogido. Borgnine: Un feo pero entrañable buen actor.

Henry Silva, un neoyorquino nacido en 1928, de padres portorriqueños, no ha conseguido a lo largo de su carrera, la merecida fama de Borgnine, pero sus rasgos exóticos, aunque calificables de feos, se han paseado por la pantalla en multitud de films. Esos rasgos no convencionales, nada más comenzar en el cine le encasillaron en papeles de villano, muchas veces dando vida a personajes orientales, como en “El mensajero del miedo” (1962), en la que al lado de Laurence Harvey, interpretaba a un guía coreano. Dos años más tarde protagonizó “The return of Mr. Moto”, en la que daba vida a un detective japonés. Hemos podido verle en westerns, en papeles de indio americano o en roles de mexicano, y ha participado a lo largo de su carrera en varias series de televisión. Lleva alejado de la pantalla desde 2001, en ese año realizó su último trabajo en “Ocean´s Eleven”. El anterior fue en 1999, con un papel en la estupenda película de Jim Jarmusch, “Ghost Dog: El Camino del Samurai”. Silva es de los que su físico no ha mejorado con la edad.

El francés Jean-Paul Belmondo nació en 1933. A mediados de los años 50, ya se podía ver en la pantalla su rostro no muy agraciado, pero simpático y con su punto atractivo. En 1960, Jean-Luc Godard, lo eligió para protagonizar al lado de la malograda Jean Seberg, “Al final de la escapada”, pionera de la “Nouvelle Vague” del cine francés. Corta, pero recordada, es su interpretación en “Dos mujeres”, también de 1960, la excelente película de Vittorio de Sica, en la que Sofía Loren consiguió el Oscar a la mejor actriz por su papel protagonista. Dos años más tarde, se ganó a los espectadores aficionados al cine de aventuras dando vida a “Cartouche”, un carismático ladrón que robaba a los ricos para darlo a los pobres. La rodó a las órdenes de Philippe de Broca, con quien ha colaborado a lo largo de su carrera en varias ocasiones, y que ha sido uno de los últimos directores que le ha dirigido (“Amazone” – 2000). Su último trabajo lo realizó en 2008, en el film “Un homme et son chien”. Belmondo, al que se conoció durante años como “El hombre más feo del cine francés”, sobre todo, por la deformación de su nariz, rota durante sus escarceos juveniles con el boxeo, ha trabajado con los grandes directores de su país. Claude Chabrol, Henri Verneuil, René Clément, Louis Malle, François Truffaut y Claude Lelouch, entre otros, han contado con el. La edad tampoco le ha favorecido.

Richard Lynch, que según unas biografías, datan su nacimiento en 1936, y otras en 1940, puede que sea el más difícil de ubicar por algunos de los lectores de “Tierra de Cinéfagos”, y no precisamente por no ser extensa su filmografía. Pero aunque extensa, en contadas ocasiones ha protagonizado un film (de esas “contadas”, en este momento no recuerdo ninguna), y eso puede influir a la hora de reconocerle. Eso, y que, las fotografías que he encontrado para ilustrar su apartado, no hacen justicia a su fealdad. No sé si alguien coincidirá conmigo, pero su rostro plagado de pequeños surcos, sus labios incoloros y su pequeña nariz, siempre me ha producido la sensación de estar viendo unas facciones desdibujadas. Por supuesto, Lynch en sus roles, casi siempre ha estado en el lado de los “malos”, y desde principios de los 70, década en la que comenzó su profesión de actor, hemos podido verlo tanto en la pantalla grande, como en la pequeña, en numerosas ocasiones. Colaboraciones en “Battlestar Galactica” (1978), “Starsky y Hutch”, “Los Ángeles de Charlie”, “Galáctica”, para televisión, y en “Espías sin identidad”, de 1988 (que protagonizaba el desaparecido River Phoenix), o “Scanner Cop” (1994), para el cine, han hecho que su cara nos resulte familiar. No es un actor al que recordamos por sus grandes interpretaciones; nunca hemos podido verle en papeles relevantes, porque las películas en las que ha intervenido tampoco lo son, pero ahí está, feucho, pero trabajando sin descanso, siempre con proyectos entre manos.

Danny Trejo, californiano de ascendencia mexicana, nacido en 1944 y primo del director Robert Rodríguez, no era muy atractivo en su juventud, pero la edad ha marcado todavía más sus duros rasgos, y los surcos de su cara. Es otro de los actores a los que hemos podido ver en multitud de films de acción. Por supuesto, sus roles son los del “malo”. Su carrera cinematográfica comenzó con “El tren del infierno” (1986), película en la que interpretaba a un convicto. Entre otros títulos, hemos podido verlo en “Desperado” (1995), en “Abierto hasta el amanecer” (1996) y todas sus secuelas, en “Con Air” (1997), en “xXx” (2001), y al año que viene podremos verlo protagonizando “Machete”, dirigida por Robert Rodríguez. Este feo del cine todavía tiene mucho que decir…

Nacido en 1947,  californiano y también de ascendencia mexicana es Edward James Olmos. Comparte además surcos en su rostro con Danny Trejo, que son mayormente lo que afean sus facciones. Una de las primeras veces que pudimos verle en pantalla, fue en la ahora convertida en todo un clásico de la ciencia ficción, “Blade Runner”, que dirigió Ridley Scott en 1982. Fue posteriormente el autoritario teniente de policía Martin Castillo en la serie televisiva “Corrupción en Miami”, y realizó un excelente trabajo en 1998, coprotagonizando “The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit”, basada en un relato de Ray Bradbury. Mucho más dedicada su profesión al mundo televisivo, actualmente interpreta a William Adama, el almirante de la flota interestelar, en la nueva versión de la serie “Battlestar Galáctica”.

Gérard Depardieu vino al mundo en 1947 en Francia, al igual que Belmondo, y comparte una parte de la fealdad de este, relacionada con su nariz, también rota y prominente. En 1976, en uno de sus primeros trabajos para el cine, pudimos verle al lado de Robert de Niro en “Novecento”, de Bernardo Bertolucci, y su interpretación nos resultó totalmente convincente. Su físico no lo ha llevado a interpretar papeles de villano, si no, que al igual que Belmondo, la comedia y el drama se han ido entrelazando en su carrera. Compuso un magnífico “Cyrano de Bergerac” en 1990, y en 1992, puso rostro a Cristóbal Colón en “1492: La Conquista del Paraíso”. Al año siguiente rodó “Germinal”, una dramática superproducción, en la que nuevamente exhibió su talento interpretativo. Entre las muchas películas que componen su filmografía, hemos podido verle en los últimos tiempos, interpretando al orondo y entrañable Obélix en las tres entregas que se han realizado sobre el personaje de “Astérix”, creado por René Goscinny (guión) y Albert Uderzo (dibujo). Excelente Depardieu…

Michael Berryman, nacido en California en 1948, es ese actor que no necesita maquillaje para interpretar personajes terroríficos. Padece Displasis Hipohidrótica Ectodérmica, que en sus estadios mas agudos, como es el de este actor, impide la sudoración, el desarrollo del cabello y las uñas, y la alteración de las facciones. Muy solicitado por su físico para películas de terror, principalmente de la serie B, hemos podido verle también en películas como “Stark Trek IV” (1986).

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Podéis ver la primera parte de “Feos”, pinchando en el enlace de abajo

Los Feos del Cine – (1ª parte) – Los que ya no están

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Swanson 

Contrary to Melville’s more well-known films where silence shapes characters and relationships more than conversation, Léon Morin, prêtre (1961) initially disturbs for the inordinate amount of dialogue it has. Also contrary to his usual strictly masculine criminal underworlds are the strange and surprising main characters of a priest and a woman. That said, I have to say I greatly enjoyed this film. In fact, I took a nearly divine pleasure in watching this film unfold.

Léon Morin, prêtre (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1961). With Jean-Paul Belmondo

Apart from heist and gangster films, some of Melville’s other work can be grouped under the heading of “World War II occupation” films. Not such a surprise, since Melville worked for the Resistance. Among them include the moody, eclipse-like epic L’armée des ombres (1969), Le silence de la mer (1949), and Léon Morin, prêtre – based on Béatrice Beck’s 1952 novel of the same name, which is itself based on Beck’s life during WWII.

The latter stars the very formidable pairing of Jean-Paul Belmondo as the Catholic priest and Emmanuelle Riva as a single, working mother and communist atheist. Due to the constricting conditions of being under occupation, Barny (Riva) is drawn to religion – though not necessarily for devout reasons. With the initial intention to mock the parish, she meets the young priest Léon Morin (Belmondo). He takes her interrogatory, mocking and flippant questioning with such candour, openness, enthusiasm and equanimity that it surprises her.  He challenges her intellectually, tempered also by his other qualities: a sometimes comical self-deprecation, a bit of roughness in word and gesture…and eventually, his agreeable appearance.

Léon Morin, prêtre (1961). With Emmanuelle Riva

I have to admit I was skeptical at the idea of Belmondo playing a priest. I was expecting a stagey, wooden and awkward film all around. But in actuality, it ends up unraveling narratively in the most unlikely seductive way. Now, I’m quite a non-religious person. To bring together “seductive” and religion may therefore ring some off-key notes. In actuality, it’s truly Belmondo’s and Riva’s magnetising screen presence and their performance chemistry that make the film seductive, profound, and even funny at times. An incredible alchemist, that Melville.

I repeat, there is a lot of dialogue and is initially off-putting, especially when it concerns Biblical exegesis. There’s also a lot of dialogue that takes place at Barny’s workplace, operated mainly by women due to the shortage of men either at the war front or the Resistance front. But just when you start to think that the film will take one route, it ends up taking an unexpected one. As Barny and Morin’s friendship and religion-driven conversations develop, the route becomes paved with not only good and devout intentions, but also bawdy, erotic ones. For in a time of war in a village strapped for men who are off fighting, Morin becomes the focus of the feminine contingent. Barny’s colleagues begin to seek counsel in Morin, and become active members of his parish.

Léon Morin, prêtre (1961)

Gradually, Barny gets to know Morin at an intimate level – they have counsel every day, usually in his office but sometimes at her home; he knows her young daughter and presents a friendly, good-natured father figure; she eventually converts to Catholicism. At the same time, other feelings like jealousy, attraction and physical desire surface. Their conversations become charged with an erotic tension that one would have never anticipated at the beginning of the film. It is at this point when the realisation comes for the spectator just how adept, economical, complex, singular and incredible a filmmaker Melville was.

Melville’s cinematic spatial sensibility and deep understanding of mood and atmosphere emerge as Belmondo’s and Riva’s rivals in leading characters. In spite of the different subject matter, Melville’s film noir aesthetic roots eventually take up part of the narrative and emotional drama at work. Variations on the space between, light and shadows, speak for themselves as well as on behalf of Barny and Morin and the growing tension between them. For time and again Melville presents Belmondo and Riva in a two-shot (which could have easily become monotonous) with the changing space, light or shadow between them signifying as much as their body language and facial expressions. The alchemist of desire shakes hands with the mathematician of space. We’re back to issues of space and orientation, so that the world of Léon Morin, prêtre is not so far removed from that of, say, Le doulos (Melville’s subsequent film).

Léon Morin, prêtre (1961)

Léon Morin, prêtre (1961)

Léon Morin, prêtre (1961)

Léon Morin, prêtre (1961)

Léon Morin, prêtre (1961)

The pacing is great, carving out the erotic tension mixed with existential pangs in a subtle way and exploding in unexpected outbursts, until the end initiates a change. But Melville doesn’t let up even in the end. Don’t expect any fireworks-dénouement. Melville avoids a simple one-to-one equation/metaphor of Liberation Day and Morin and Barny’s liberation from religious principle.

As one scholar has noted, Morin himself is not too far removed from Melville’s ascetic, highly principled and highly complex gamblers, criminals and assassins like Bob le flambeur, Jef Costello, Maurice Faugel and Corey. Morin was, after all, the main attraction for Melville’s adaptation of Beck’s novel. Seen through the filter of his Resistance experience, his affinity for the crime film and his smooth interpretation of it like a Brancusi sculpture, Léon Morin, prêtre goes beyond a simple literary adaptation.

Apart from Luis Buñuel, through this film Melville has proved himself quite capable of making a film on religious belief, questioning and quid pro quo actually sexy (there’s even a dream sequence). Don’t take this comment lightly. I use “sexy” in all seriousness, at a visual and intellectual level.

I would go so far as to say that Léon Morin, prêtre goes where Ingmar Bergman’s renowned The Seventh Seal (1957) or a number of Robert Bresson’s films go in the interrogation of any given doctrine and existential pains/quests, but does so with his own stylistic, stylish film noir-ish alchemy that puts desire alongside faith/belief without judgment. A bold statement, yes, but for Melville-philes familiar with only his crime films, Léon Morin, prêtre adds a whole new dimension and shade to his incredible spatial, shadowy cinema.

Après le #50 de notre parcours cinéphilique il était important pour moi de décompresser. Un singe en hiver tombait à pic. C’est d’ailleurs ceci qui est tout à fait excitant dans la rédaction d’un blog tel que Zéro de Conduite, les possibilités quasi-infinies de changement de registre à chaque film. Cela faisait quelque temps que je ne m’étais pas replongé dans un film français. En bon gaulois, amateur de gouaille, la rencontre entre un type comme Gabin et un dialoguiste tel que Audiard a tout sur le papier pour me réjouir. La présence d’un Belmondo à l’époque très en vue étant un autre argument de poids.

Ouverture du film en temps de guerre. Nous sommes à Tigreville, un village de Normandie (imaginaire, le film a été tourné en grande partie à Villerville dans le Calvados), alors en proie aux bombardements alliés et à l’occupation allemande. C’est à ce moment que l’on fait la connaissance d’Albert Quentin (Gabin), folklorique ancien combattant en Indochine sévèrement porté sur la bouteille. L’après-guerre est habilement signifié par la transformation de la nom d’une avenue: l’avenue du Maréchal Pétain devient l’avenue du général de Gaulle. Quinze années nous séparent du début du film. Quentin avait à l’époque promis à sa femme Suzanne (Suzanne Flon) d’arrêter de boire s’ils survivaient aux bombardements et à la guerre. Les deux époux tiennent un hôtel-restaurant où ils voient un jour débarquer un certain Gabriel Fouquet (Belmondo). Très vite, ce dernier s’avère être un buveur invétéré. Il boit pour oublier sa femme qui l’a quitté, pour rêver d’Espagne et de corridas. Petit à petit, Quentin se prend d’affection pour le jeune homme ce qui fait craindre à son épouse Suzanne qu’il ne rompe quinze ans d’abstinence.

Un film drôle et attendrissant qui s’est progressivement imposé comme un des classiques du cinéma français d’après-guerre. Verneuil, avec l’aide de ses deux acteurs vedettes (leur seule et unique rencontre cinématographique d’ailleurs), signe une comédie de bonne facture. Les dialogues d’Audiard sont réjouissants et les dernières minutes absolument inoubliables (le feu d’artifice – à ce propos n’oublions pas la composition de Noël Roquevert, en bouquitier un poil foutraque – et les adieux sur le quai d’une gare). A voir et à revoir.