En janvier 1954, François Truffaut signe dans le numéro 31 des Cahiers du Cinéma son article le plus célèbre, “Une certaine tendance du cinéma français” dans lequel il tire à boulets rouges sur la “Tradition de la Qualité” du cinéma français. En Une du magazine, la photo d’un petit garçon tiré du film Le Petit Fugitif sur lequel André Bazin, père spirituel de Truffaut, signe un article de 4 pages…

Si on sait l’admiration que les jeunes turc des Cahiers vouaient au cinéma américain, Hitchcock et Welles en tête, on ignorait en revanche qu’un film que personne n’avait revu depuis plus de cinquante ans ait eu une influence déterminante sur leur vocation de cinéaste : « notre Nouvelle Vague n’aurait jamais eu lieu si le jeune Américain Morris Engel ne nous avait pas montré la voie de la production indépendante avec son beau film, Le Petit Fugitif » déclara un jour Truffaut.

Ce film primé en 1953 à Venise est ressorti en salle le mois dernier. Tourné avec une petite caméra fabriquée pour l’occasion et permettant de filmer sans être vu, en décor naturel (Brooklyn et la plage de Coney Island), avec des acteurs amateurs, Le Petit Fugitif est un véritable petit chef-d’œuvre. Persuadé d’avoir causé la mort de son frère au cours d’un jeu, Joey, 7 ans, s’enfuit à Coney Island, immense plage new-yorkaise dédiée aux manèges et à l’amusement. Il va passer une journée et une nuit d’errance au milieu de la foule et des attractions foraines…

Claquant les quelques dollars subtilisés à sa mère avant de prendre la fuite, Joey découvre le monde enchanté de l’immense fête foraine de Coney Island, entre barbe à papa, tour en poney et saut en parachute. En 24 heures, le petit héros fait l’expérience de la vie et de la débrouille dans un monde qui s’apparente à un spectacle. Les plans de ce film, tous plus beaux les uns que les autres, nous rappellent que le réalisateur et sa femme étaient des photographes de talent. On pense à Weegee ou Robert Franck et à leurs clichés réalistes de l’Amérique des années 50. Ce récit d’apprentissage, bricolé à rebours de la machine hollywoodienne, est un pur enchantement visuel que l’on regarde avec les mêmes yeux éblouis et naïfs que Joey.

Preuve que Truffaut n’avait pas oublié ce film en se lançant dans la réalisation : son premier film, Les 400 coups, s’appelait au départ La Fugue d’Antoine.

Visite guidée dans le Coney Island des années 50 au son du Coney Island Baby de Lou Reed.

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.

Au lieu d’avoir les yeux rivés sur les cours de la bourse, le patron de General Motors aurait été bien avisé de braquer son téléobjectif sur la filmographie d’Alfred Hitchcock. A l’heure où le géant américain de l’automobile s’apprête à mettre la clef (de contact) sous la porte, un petit détour sur Rear Window (Fenêtre sur cour), le chef-d’oeuvre voyeuriste de Hitchcock (1954), s’impose en effet.

Le photographe Jeffrey (James Stewart), immobilisé chez lui suite à une accident, reçoit les soins d’une infirmière à domicile. Tandis qu’il espionne tranquillement ses voisins d’en face, celle-ci lui raconte comment elle avait prévu le krach de 1929. Comment ? En observant l’un de ses patients, le patron de General Motors, tout simplement.

« I asked myself : what’s General Motors got to be nervous about? Over production, I say. Collapse. When General Motors has to go to the bathroom ten times a day, the whole country’s ready to let go. » En résumé : en surveillant les allées et venues du boss de GM aux toilettes, on aurait pu éviter la catastrophe. Coût total des frais de consulting : une place de ciné.

Les dialogues particulièrement subtiles et souvent à double sens de ce film, notamment les remarques teintées d’un humour noir typiquement hitchcockien de Stella l’infirmières, sont signés John Michael Hayes, décédé cette semaine à l’âge de 89 ans.

Fenêtre sur cour, c’est comment le cinéma donne à voir la réalité et la déforme pour en faire un film. La Bourse, c’est comment les patrons donnent à voir un film et le déforme pour en faire la réalité.

• Sonorama : écouter le 20e épisode des entretiens Hitchcock/Truffaut dans lequel est analysé Rear Window ainsi que Dial M For Murder.

• Diaporama : le film en 1000 images.

• Interview : John Michael Hayes.

Qui est Antoine Doinel ?
Peut-on seulement répondre à cette question alors que lui se la pose devant son miroir? François Truffaut esquisse une réponse “Antoine Doinel est devenu la synthèse de deux personnes réelles, Jean-Pierre Léaud et moi” mais il précise “progressivement Antoine Doinel s’est éloigné de moi pour se rapprocher de Jean-Pierre”.

Pourtant, derrière ces citations on décèle la pudeur du cinéaste. Le créateur retient la vérité de son personnage pour laisser l’émotion du spectateur effacer l’intention du réalisateur.

Alors la question reste. Qui est Antoine Doinel?
Truffaut? Léaud? Une incarnation des flottements de la jeunesse? un écho à l’enfance disparue?

Je n’ai pas de réponse, je ne veux pas de réponse. J’aime ce personnage si particulier, si loin des caricatures américaines, si proche de nos fragilités. Je veux le laisser flotter et continuer d’essayer de le saisir pour qu’à nouveau il m’échappe. C’est un personnage en fuite perpetuelle.

Ainsi, en guise d’exploration, je vous propose le regard d’Avedon sur cette éternelle question : qui est Antoine Doinel ?

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!

André Vigneau

ANDRÉ VIGNEAU: (1892-1968)

Fotógrafo, pintor, escultor y cineasta francés. Artista surrealista, además de uno de los exponentes de vanguardia. Contrató en su estudio de diseño , durante los años 30, a Robert Doisneau como ayudante.

MAN RAY: (1890-1976)

Nació en Philadelphia (EEUU). Fue fotógrafo , pintor, escultor,ilustrator, cineasta y filósofo. Además  de ser uno más de los representantes del Dadaísmo y el Surrealismo. Fue una persona clave y muy influyente en la fotografía de Robert Doisneau.

ROBERT CAPA: (1913-1954)

Fotógrafo húngaro y corresponsal de guerra. En 1936, junto con su compañera Gerda Taro, inventó la figura de Robert Capa, fascinante periodista estadounidense. Aunque la ficción no tardó en ser descubierta, decidió conservar ese nombre. Murió en Vietnam.

Cartier Bresson

CARTIER – BRESSON: (1908-2004)

Robert Giraud

ROBERT GIRAUD: (1921-1997)

JEAN PAUL SARTRE:

Albert Camus

ALBERT CAMUS: (1913-1960)

Brasaï

BRASSAÏ (GYULA HALÀZ): (1899-1984)

IZIS (ISRAEL BIDERMANAS):

Willy Ronis

WILLY RONIS: (1910-2009)

René Clair

RENÉ CLAIR: (1898-1981)

NICOLE VÉDRÈS:

Truffaut

TRUFFAUT: (1932-1984)

Tavernier

TAVERNIER: ()

Francoise Bornet

FRANÇOISE BORNET: ()

George, Ringo, Jane Birkin and so on. I seem to recall something about Harrison getting into some sort of very minor trouble with the law while attending the festival but I can’t find any information about it anywhere right now.

Festival jurors Louis Malle, Monica Vitti, Roman Polanski.

Claude Lelouch, Jean-Luc Godard, Francois Truffaut, Louis Malle and Roman Polanski. I think at 5′7″, Godard is the tallest of the bunch.

Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate. Cannes 68!

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.

Porque eu não entendo.

Não é à toa que a palavra blasé é importada de lá.

Os franceses são realmente  despojados e desapegados, sem dúvida. Mas toda vez que assisto a um filme de lá, fico embasbacado com a capacidade das personagens terem reações amenas em momentos de grande voltagem emocional.

E olha que eu não estou falando dos cineastas que fazem um cinema mais experimental e conceitual como o Godard. Estou falando dos que se propõem a fazer um cinema sofisticado, mas dentro dos parâmetros de uma dramaturgia mais convencional.

- Sabe, estou traindo você com outro homem. - Não sabia. Dá um trago?

Isso não é, em absoluto, igual a dizer que os filmes são ruins. Muito ao contrário. Mas pode assistir quem você quiser, seja Truffaut, Chabrol, Rohmer, Resnais, Honoré e perceber que os caras são meio pirados, que os padrões de comportamento que esperamos por aqui não contam por lá.

A explicação pra essa profunda inadequação na hora de reagir conforme o momento pede, ou de ser excessivamente fleugmático em momentos de grande intensidade,  certamente não é geográfica, já que a França faz fronteira com a Espanha e Itália, povos reconhecidamente passionais e sanguíneos. Tourada e pau de macarrão não combinam com falar fazendo biquinho.

Sobram exemplos.

Antoine Doinel, o célebre personagem de Truffaut: quantas vezes você espera que ele se descabele e pragueje contra os céus em sua vida desastrada ao longo de todos os filmes da série, mas ele se mantém com aquela carinha amena de alguém cuja maior preocupação é escolher em qual boulangerie vai comer seu croissant?

Em Cléo das cinco às sete, filme da grande Agnes Varda, há uma cena que ilustra isso com precisão. O filme, como o título antecipa, acompanha duas horas na vida de Cléo, que suspeita ter câncer.  Lá pelas tantas ela encontra uma amiga. Elas conversam e a amiga percebe que Cléo está meio triste e pergunta o motivo. Cléo responde falando de sua suspeita.

Pausa. O que você faria se ouvisse uma amiga dizer isso? Como uma personagem de um roteiro que você escrevesse reagiria diante dessa confissão de uma amiga?

A amiga de Cléo, com a mesma tragicidade no olhar de quem acena para um táxi, limita-se a um lacônico: “Desolé”.

E os filmes recentes de Alain Resnais? Medos privados em lugares públicos? Alguém entendeu o que se passa na cabeça daquelas personagens solitárias e ególatras? Eu não.

- Estou grávida. - Puxa, que estado interessante.

O que é maluco nisso tudo é que nessa confusão você acaba se afastando daquele que é considerado um preceito básico de uma boa construção dramatúrgica, que é entender a motivação das personagens, e fica meio à deriva pra especular quais os possíveis encaminhamentos da história. Por outro lado, surpreendentemente, na maioria das vezes, essa impossibilidade de compreender não aborrece, nem faz com que se odeie o filme em questão.

É como se o tempo todo você se perguntasse se o cara vai ficar com a mulher ou a amante, e o cara responde comprando um quadro num leilão de arte contemporânea.

Um fenômeno tão interessante e intrincado que já quero muito mudar de assunto.

- Querida, andei pensando e acho que a vida não vale a pena. Vou me matar. - Desolé.

Tirez sur le pianiste (Shoot the Piano Player)(1960) is Auteur Francois Truffaut’s second feature film after his internationally successful and critically acclaimed French New Wave film The 400 Blows (1959). In stark contrast, Shoot was very disliked by the public and thus a box office failure. Also, it is his most experimental—meshing genres like comedy, drama, and film noir together, which display his love for American film with a personal French touch, and exploring new film techniques. Shoot is loosely based on an American book called “Down There” from author David Goodis, which Truffaut became interested with during the filming of his short Les mistons (1957). Charlie Kohler is a mild-mannered piano player at a bar when one night his brother, Chico, lands into some trouble with two gangsters and comes to him at his work for help. Charlie soon gets involved with the criminal underworld and in the process falls in love with the waitress, Lena, who reveals Charlie’s past as Edouard Saroyan, a famous concert pianist.

Who is Charlie Kohler?

Right in the beginning of the film we see Chico running away from a car in the dark streets à la old Hollywood gangster films.  He suddenly trips and knocks himself out with a light post. And then, inexplicably, some stranger slaps him awake and they start having a completely irrelevant conversation about marriage, love, and women in general, as they walk down the sidewalk. Once this chance encounter is ended with the conversation, Chico starts running again as though that conversation had never occurred. This is something that probably throws a lot of viewers off and may find it to be irrelevant to the story. It appears to be fragmented narrative, but I think the dialogue actually becomes somewhat relevant later on in the film as this seemingly gangster film also becomes into a love story. The conversational topic of women amongst men reoccurs many times.

Truffaut really experiments with the use of voiceovers throughout most of the film. As opposed to using voiceover to narrate the film and push the story, in Shoot we hear what the timid Charlie is thinking at a given scene. For example, after Charlie helps his brother escape from the gangsters, we see him play on the piano with a worried look on face and hear the voiceover say, “Wish him good luck”, which he then actually does so. We later begin to develop a sense that there is a dichotomy between what he is actually thinking and what is happening in the narrative. This juxtaposition of the visual and the auditory, is another one of Truffaut’s experiments that may have irked the viewers because of the typical coherence between sound and image that they were accustomed to seeing in films, especially Hollywood ones. Hearing Charlie’s thoughts gives us the opportunity to go inside his head and make the film more subjective, thus emphasizing the disassociation between the character’s mind and the narrative world. In the scene where Charlie walks Lena home, we hear his voiceover contemplating what he should say in order to break the silence and how he should ask her if she wants to go somewhere for a drink. On a side note, Charles Aznavour (a famous singer in real life) who played Charlie didn’t do his own voiceover work because Truffaut felt Charles’ voice was not soft or poetic enough.

"It'll look odd if you don't talk."

I think Truffaut’s strong sentimentality towards tough street children is one of his many reoccurring auteur themes. One can clearly see quite a bit of The 400 Blows in this film with the character of Fido, Charlie’s younger brother who is played by an actor that has also appeared in 400 as the kid in the classroom that doesn’t know how to work with his ink pen. In this film though, we see him exit a convenience store with milk and run inside a building, only to reappear immediately at the top of it. He then drops the milk on a car beneath where the two gangster of the film are in. It’s further reminiscent of 400 when we see him run in the street and get away from the gangsters via the school entrance. Fido was not a character in the novel, but by addition of him in the screenplay is evidence of Truffaut wanting to show his juvenile troublemaker self again.

I really liked Shoot, but I’m not sure why. It’s one of those films that after watching the first time one feels ambivalent about, which isn’t until one puts it into context and actually think about it more. So, I find it to be a difficult film to pinpoint on exactly why I enjoyed it like other French New Wave films, or other European Art Cinema films for that matter. Was it the unconventional characters? The quick mood shifts in one scene from serious to funny? The biggest thing I admire and respect about films like Shoot is its desire to explore cinema’s potential and saying, “look what I can do with a fraction of your budget” to all the hack, unimaginative filmmakers.

My oldest son is named Truffaut, after Francois Truffaut. I remember that fateful day when I was 18. I was taking my very first film class at Pasadena City College. It was titled Film as Literature, and the only reason I took it was that it met a requirement. I walked into class thinking this would be the easiest way to get an A. I left the class a few months later completely transformed. I suddenly had such a passion for films, and I decided then and there I would major in film. I also decided, after being introduced to the French New Wave and the film The 400 Blows, that I would name my first son Truffaut. I was young and truly amazed at the films that I had been exposed to.  I thought it would be so cool to use the name Truffaut. My son has not always agreed (can you blame him?).

His first year of life we called him Truffaut, which got shorten to Truffie, and then finally to Tru. He likes Tru, he can live with Tru. And that’s fine with me, although secretly  I was hoping that one day he would start to use Truffaut. I was also hoping that he would some day love films as much as me, specifically foreign films. After trying to expose him to various foreign films, and educating him on just how cool it was to be named Truffaut, he finally found a film that he loved and that spurred his interest. That film was Vitus.

Vitus was made in 2006 and is about a gifted child and the pressures he is under. The film captured my son immediately and held his attention throughout. That is quite an accomplishment, considering my son was 8 at the time, and the film was foreign and not animated. I think it was the story that got his interest, and it was some of the images in the film that kept his interest. He made me play one scene over and over. It was where the main character and his friend were riding on their bicycles. Every time Vitus rides by you hear classical music, and when his friend rides by you here rock music. Tru thought that was very interesting. This filmed opened Tru up to the idea that foreign films are interesting and enjoyable. After watching this, we went on to watch numerous foreign films. Some he likes, some he finds incredibly boring, but he gives them all a chance.

As for his name? He has started to recently tell people that his name is Truffaut, “you know after the film director Francois Truffaut. ” Most of his friends have no idea who he is talking about, but that’s okay. He thinks it’s a pretty cool name to have.

Serre, Werner, Moreau: Jules and Jim

As I write this the Brooklyn Academy of Music is just wrapping up a film series devoted to 1962, a tribute to the New York Film Critics Circle (‘62 being the only year the group did not give out awards in its 75-year history, due to a newspaper strike). The thrust of the series is not only making up for a lost opportunity but also highlighting the riches of that year in movies, which NYFCC chair Armond White argues is at least on a par with the fabled 1939. On the latter point, there can’t be much debate. 1962 was a monster.

My #1 slot was never seriously in doubt, and yesterday I posted a vintage piece on it here. The rest of the field is crowded: one of Godard’s finest films, two classic elegaic Westerns, a David Lean super-production concerned with an enigma, three films directed by John Frankenheimer (including a scathing political satire), and a heady tide of the best of a dizzying era in foreign films. The ten best of 1962 and then, inevitably, more:

1. Jules and Jim (Francois Truffaut)

2. Vivre sa vie (Jean-Luc Godard)

3. Lawrence of Arabia (David Lean)

4. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (John Ford)

5. The Manchurian Candidate (John Frankenheimer)

6. Ride the High Country (Sam Peckinpah)

7. Winter Light (Ingmar Bergman)

8. Knife in the Water (Roman Polanski)

9. The Exterminating Angel (Bunuel)

10. Freud (John Huston)

The #10 title sneaks above a bunch of very deserving films, mentioned below. Partly this is because Freud is overlooked, partly because I’ve been fascinated by it (and Montgomery Clift’s performance) since childhood, and partly because it’s an ingenious approach to a biographical film that also manages to be very characteristic of its director, who is now in critical eclipse. Polanski’s debut feature definitively serves notice that attention must be paid. Winter Light, a devastating work, has gone up in my estimation in recent years.

I am posting a piece on The Manchurian Candidate next weekend; I get into Lawrence of Arabia here.

Man, look at the also-rans; these titles make the absurdity of list-compiling crystal clear. Kubrick’s Lolita? How can I leave that off? And To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan)? Then we have great films by Ozu (An Autumn Afternoon),  Antonioni (The Eclipse), Kurosawa (Sanjuro), Varda (Cleo from 5 to 7), plus Chris Marker’s La Jetee. On any given day any of those claims a spot on the Ten; that’s like an entire alternate best list. Toss in Tarkovsky’s Ivan’s Childhood, Melville’s Le Doulos, and Pasolini’s Mamma Roma, and you’re getting the depth of the year in film. There are MIA Americans, too: Otto Preminger’s Advise and Consent, Sam Fuller’s Merrill’s Marauders, Arthur Penn’s The Miracle Worker, and Howard Hawks’s traveling party, Hatari! For a gothic touch, include Robert Aldrich’s Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and Orson Welles’ The Trial. And you run out of room.

Except for one more title, arguably the film most remembered from childhood by schoolkids of a certain generation. That would be Robert Enrico’s half-hour classic An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, and I think we can agree that finishes off a head-snapping year.

Anselmo Duarte morreu neste madrugada.

E apesar de ser momento de sentimentalismos, não podemos perder o senso crítico por inteiro.

Anselmo foi injustiçado por parte da jovem crítica que não enguliu um galã da Vera Cruz e da chanchada (ou seja, do velho cinema) fosse premiado, em sua “aventura” como diretor, com a Palma de Ouro em Cannes, num júri que tinha como presidente o cineasta François Truffaut.

Essa momento chave do cinema brasileiro pesou pelo resto da vida de Anselmo, que depois ficou apenas como diretor. Errou muito e nunca fez propriamente uma obra-prima. O Pagador de Promessas e Absolutamente Certo são bons filmes, corretos, sem excessos, agradáveis, filmes para se ver com gosto, sem dúvida.

Fora isso, teve um trabalho como ator dos mais importantes em diversidade e longevidade: fez Tico-Tico no Fubá pela Vera Cruz, foi o galã de Aviso aos Navegantes, o policial sanguinário de O Caso dos Irmãos Naves e apareceu como Sampaio Barroso em Brasa Adormecida.

Uma coisa impressionante é que nos últimos anos redescobriram Darlene Glória, Paulo César Peréio, Jece Valadão (todos apareceram em filmes recentes), mas Anselmo Duarte ficou de canto. Seria ainda resquício do ressentimento por O Pagador…?

De qualquer maneira, não se pode esquecer que ele dirigiu o único longa brasileiro laureado com a Palma de Ouro em Cannes.

Mi metto a scrivere sapendo che non potrei permettermelo, che la lista lunghissima delle cose archiviate nella categoria “URGENTE!” si allunga sempre di più ma il mondo aspetterà ancora un po’…

Ci sono cose che vanno scritte quando le senti e questo è il momento.

Il mio amico Andreas è qualche giorno che va borbottando circa l’essere, l’apparire, l’essere categorizzati e così via. Aspettavo un post di quelli stile flusso di coscienza da un momento all’altro ed è arrivato.

Punto focale:  io sono il mio cartellino

Di cartellini, nella vita, ce ne sono tanti. C’è chi se li cerca, c’è chi se li trova appioppati suo malgrado. Se non ci fosse un “io” a cui appendere questi cartellini, non staremmo qui a parlare ma il problema più grosso è che da quando li abbiamo inventati – tendiamo a dimenticarci che dietro c’è qualcuno con la sua personalità e la sua storia.

La forma, il colore, il carattere, il significato di quei cartellini assorbono l’uomo/la donna, il suo sangue, i suoi sentimenti e così via.

Distinguerei però tra i vari “non sono” indicati da Andreas…

L’essere o non essere un blogger credo sia molto soggettivo. Se ritorniamo alle origini, al blog come “identità narrativa in Rete”, io credo che Andreas lo sia nel momento in cui utilizza in maniera “non controllata” (leggi emotiva) il blog.  E’ raro ma ogni tanto gli scappa . Però se uno non vuole considerarsi blogger solo perché utilizza un blog non credo sia un problema per nessuno… Al prossimo camp, se proprio occorre, un bel badge con su scritto “Andreas” e passa la paura.

Sul non essere un professore, sono perfettamente d’accordo. Fenomenologicamente (e qui vado a braccio sulle letture di Vanna Iori), se si accetta il processo di insegnamento/apprendimento come un processo vitale, di interazione tra esistenze, si riconosce anche lo studente come soggetto primo dell’azione didattica.

E’ il suo bisogno di apprendere a determinare il processo. Se si può concepire un bisogno di apprendere senza qualcuno in grado di soddisfarlo, non si può fare altrettanto circa il “bisogno” di insegnare…

Il docente esiste perché e quando qualcuno lo riconosce come tale. E non credo ci sia molto altro da aggiungere.

Sull’essere prigioniero di un campo disciplinare capisco Andreas ma il problema è un retaggio culturale di cui non riusciamo a liberarci, sia a causa dell’organizzazione del nostro sistema di istruzione, sia a causa dell’arroccamento su posizioni sempre più anacronistiche di chi, tra questi steccati, ci ha delimitato il proprio feudo.

Per quanto riguarda l’essere intelligenti e il guardare all’altro con gli occhiali della nostra “normalità” è l’aspetto più doloroso e – per taluni aspetti – infame della nostra società.

Tutto ciò che diverge dalla maniera socialmente accettata di fare le cose, di comunicare, di apprendere, di essere-nel-mondo deve essere prontamente categorizzato.
In “Nascita della clinica – Una archeologia dello sguardo medico”, Foucault delinea magistralmente quel processo di riorganizzazione istituzionale dell’ospedale, che ha gradualmente separato il malato dalla sua malattia.
I reparti riuniscono persone accomunate dallo stesso cartellino facendo dimenticare che la malattia in sé non ha possibilità di manifestarsi se non attraverso la persona malata.

L’oggettivazione della malattia e dei suoi segni, la nostra tracotante fiducia nel controllo razionale del dolore, della paura e della morte ci portano spesso – anche inconsapevolmente – a negare l’umanità del malato/disabile, la sua unicità, il suo “essere altro” dalla malattia/deficit.

In un passo di Diversità e Uguaglianza, Andrea Canevaro (p.59) afferma:

Nella storia, vi sono non poche bambine e bambini handicappati abbandonati che sono stati allevati da animali, nella realtà o nella fantasia. E’ come se fossero collocati su un confine, e il loro riconoscimento può umanizzare orsi, lupi, gazzelle. Ed è bene ricordare come il nazismo abbia disumanizzato alcune categorie di donne e di uomini, e tra queste gli handicappati e i malati mentali. Disumanizzando diventava disumano; e così diventavano disumani i tanti che tacitamente erano complici del nazismo. Il processo di disumanizzazione ne conferma, in negativo, la reciprocità…
Un essere umano riunisce in sé numerose proprietà e funzioni. La mancanza di alcune di queste può rendere problematico il riconoscimento… Ma la mancanza di riconoscimento incrina, nei due sensi, la reciprocità. Per questo, riconoscimento e reciprocità sono strettamente collegati all’insegnare e all’apprendere.

☺☺☺☺☺

Sempre per la serie non facciamoci spaventare dal bianco e nero. Jules e Jim sono due amici di vecchia data che incontrano sulla loro strada l’affascinante e libera Catherine, i tre diventano inseparabili e presto l’amicizia si trasforma in amore e il gruppo è coinvolto in un triangolo amoroso senza via d’uscita. L’impossibilità di trovare una logica ai rapporti umani è forse proprio la bellezza dei rapporti umani contro ogni regola sociale ma in maniera naturale e mai prevedibile.

Avvertenze:

Un film romantico di un romanticismo non scontato, un vortice di amicizia e amore che non cerca una spiegazione ma è così e basta. Chiaro come questo film fece scalpore al tempo e fu quasi censurato (come spesso ancora accade ed è accaduto) in Italia benchè oggi ,invece, nessuno si sorprenderebbe più eppure qui non si parla di relazioni torbide, di rapporti nascosti o di infedeltà come oggi avviene nel mondo reale qui tutto si svolge alla luce del giorno, tutto è chiaro e i due amici sono consapevolmente vittime della giostra della vita.

Alla prossima pillola.