LA VIE DE BOHÈME (Kaurismaki, 1992)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray. Release Date January 21, 2014
Review by Christopher S. Long
When the as-yet-undiscovered genius
composer Schaunard (Kari Väänänen)
sees a stack of money on a cafe table, he confidently assesses it as
“At least sixty thousand francs.” Turns out it's fifteen, but to
him fifteen might as well be sixty. Money is strictly an abstraction,
or perhaps an urban legend, to a starving artist who remains pure in
the pursuit of his craft. Except for the times when “artist”
loses out to “starving.”
There's the rub, as the Danes say, and
wouldn't a Danish taste good about now? But there's reason for
optimism. Schaunard's got a pretty good deal going in cooperation
with his fellow creative types, the impoverished Albanian painter
Rodolfo (Matti Pellonpää)
and the criminally unappreciated writer Marcel Marx (André
Wilms). Granted, even a pooling of their resources still amounts to a
mere trickle, but at least they're in Paris, the only city that can
support their Bohemian lifestyle, i.e. permanent unemployment.
Crucially, it's a Paris shot in grubby black-and-white because a
color-saturated Paris just wouldn't have room for dreamers so
willfully out of touch with their time.
You can also pick up a lot of women
with the line “Hey, baby, wanna come back to my loft and see my
art?” Alas, love stories that start with there tend to end with
“I'm hungry.” But perhaps the awareness of an inevitable tragic
fate only makes the creative life that much more vital, and every
artist can use a good muse, or even a Musette (the name of Marcel's
secretary/girlfriend played by Christine Murillo).
Finnish writer-director-producer Aki
Kaurismäki read Henri
Murger's oft-adapted mid-19th-century collection “Scènes
de la vie de Bohème” as
a teenager and instantly vowed to film it one day; he only had to
wait a few decades to make good with this 1992 release. Undeterred
that more than a dozen directors had already beaten him to the punch,
Kaurismaki was eager to make his mark on the material, importing much
of his familiar team. Who better to play an Albanian painter in
France than the great walrus-mustached Finn Matti Pellonpää?
Need an Irish composer of unendurable atonal post-modern music? Kari
Väänänen, Kaurismäki's former village idiot and Polonius, is the
obvious choice.
Kaurismäki's
love for Murger's short stories dovetailed with his cinematic
Francophilia, and he probably figured it would help to have a few
actors in this French-language film who actually spoke the language,
unlike Pellonpää and Väänänen who learned their lines
phonetically. André Wilms was cast as Marcel and Evelyne Didi as
Rodolfo's girlfriend Mimi; Kaurismäki liked them both so much he
cast them both together a few decades later (as similar characters)
in the lovely “Le Havre” (2011).
The film, like its characters, drifts around the same low-key Parisian neighborhood (actually a Parisian suburb that looked more like old Paris than modern Paris now does). The action picks up with the writer Marcel being evicted from his apartment; we realize he's unlikely to pay his back rent anytime soon when we find out his new script is titled “The Avenger – A Play in 21 Acts.” While homeless, he wanders into a cafe (much of the action takes place in a series of sidewalk cafes – it's Paris, after all) and splits a two-headed trout with the stranger Rodolfo. They become fast friends and return to Marcel's apartment which is no longer Marcel's, but fortunately the new occupant is Schaunard ,who has only Marcel's unclaimed furniture to fill his four walls. The men reach a mutually beneficial understanding.
The
narrative plucks several different threads, but gradually focuses in
on the budding relationship between the immigrant Rodolfo and Mimi,
who has traveled to the big city to stay with a friend who, it turns
out, will be staying in prison for a few years. The tragic lovers are
clearly destined for each other, yet also destined to be kept apart
by various factors: Rodolfo's lack of a visa, Mimi's health, and,
always, money. But they will always find their way back together.
The
film depicts its lazy dreamers with a combination affection and
skepticism, but never condescension. We know they are not
particularly talented (a brutal piano performance by Schaunard
prompts an end to one relationship as the scales, so to speak, drop
from one woman's eyes) but what matters is that they believe in
themselves and can at least muster the courtesy to pretend to believe
in each other. And, hey, every artist can, in theory, have his fans,
as we discover when Rodolfo gains an unlikely patron in the form of a
sugar baron and budding art collector played by Nouvelle Vague legend
Jean-Pierre Léaud. Cameos by directors Sam Fuller and Louis Malle
provide extra servings of cinephilic pleasure. I would also be remiss
if I neglected to mention the moving performance of Laika as
Rodolfo's faithful dog Baudelaire.
It's
amazing to find out that Pellonpää and Väänänen spoke their
lines phonetically. They are thoroughly convincing and certainly have
no trouble sharing scenes with the Francophones; the whole cast
develops an easy-going, naturalistic chemistry. It helps to have a
face like Pellonpää's, such a natural deadpan template. Each of the
characters has considerable flaws, but they all exhibit an endearing,
if vain, nobility in their penniless suffering. They look foolish at
times, but we all do to certain observers. The delicate stasis they
craft together has an irresistible appeal; it's the kind of pocket
universe you'd love to slip into for a summer or two, as long as you
could stage a strategic exit before the food runs out.
Video:
The
film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Timo
Salminen's black-and-white photography looks particularly lustrous
with this 1080p transfer, with sharp contrast and a satisfying
fine-grain structure. On just a few occasions, I noticed slight signs
of artifacting, a bit of distortion around foreground objects, but
it's minor and nothing that detracts from the viewing experience.
Audio:
The
linear PCM mono audio track is crisp and distortion free as far as I
can tell. The film is mostly dialogue-driven but a few prominent
musical cues sound very strong here, the best being a performance of
“Bird Dance Beat” by a bar band identified in the credits as The
Fake Trashmen. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.
Extras:
“Where
is Musette?” is a 52-minute behind-the-scenes documentary directed
by Veikko Nieminen. The on-set documentary features several
interviews with Kaurismäki, but also emphasizes the collaborative
nature of this intense, independent production. And at the half-hour
mark, you'll get a brief performance by Sam Fuller.
The
only other extra is a 2012 interview with actor André Wilms (11
min.)
The
slim insert booklet features an essay by critic Luc Sante.
Film
Value:
This
might be my favorite Kaurismäki movie. The deadpan humor is
pitch-perfect here, and the cast works in perfect harmony. This
doesn't get as much attention as many other Kaurismäki movies, but
don't miss out on it.
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