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| La chambre |
CHANTAL AKERMAN IN THE SEVENTIES (Akerman x5, 1972-1978)
Criterion Collection (Eclipse Series), DVD, Release Date January 19, 2010
Review by Christopher S. Long
(An Akerman A Day continues with... five Akermans in one day. How can you beat that kind of value?)
From the lonely confines of a sparsely
furnished room to the wide open spaces of the bustling streets of New
York, Chantal Akerman’s films of the '70s comprise a unified body
of work of remarkable variety. Her films, reasonably labeled as
structuralist and characterized by long takes, may rhyme with one
another but they seldom repeat.
Both the short film “La Chambre”
(1972, 11 min.) and the first half hour of the feature “Je, tu, il,
elle” (1975) feature a woman (played by Akerman) alone in a room
but they provide strikingly different treatments of cramped domestic
spaces. In the silent “La Chambre” a camera (operated by frequent
Akerman collaborator Babette Mangolte) pans slowly around a cluttered
room. It reveals a red dining chair, a carefully arranged still life
with fruit on a table, a chest of drawers and then Akerman lying in
bed gazing at the camera and bathed in a soft painterly light
streaming from the window. The camera keeps panning, Akerman
receiving the same attention as the décor, and completes three full
circles. Each time we see Akerman, she is behaving somewhat
differently. Just when the rhythm seems to be set, it is broken as
the camera suddenly stops and pivots back left then right again,
placing our star more at the center of the arc, setting a new rhythm
which is broken yet again by one final move.
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| Sugar, Sugar |
In “Je, tu, il, elle,” Julie
(Akerman) lives in self-imposed isolation in a Spartan ground-level
apartment. In one shot, she lies on the bed facing the camera in a
pose that directly references “La Chambre,” but Akerman has a
completely different scheme in mind here. The room starts out
cluttered like “La Chambre,” but Julie clears out everything (“An
empty room feels larger”) except for a mattress which she sets on
the floor. Though there are several camera movements, the enduring
image from this sequence is a flat, static composition of Akerman,
sometimes naked, sometimes partially clothed, lying or sitting on the
mattress. She writes letters (to whom?) which she reads in voice-over
while spoon-feeding herself pure white sugar from a brown paper bag.
The lighting scheme here is much harsher, heightening the sense of
claustrophobia. “La Chambre” was a panorama; the room in “Je,
tu, il, elle” is part sanctuary, part prison.
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| Hotel |
In “Hotel Monterey” (1972), the
camera explores the spaces of a run-down Upper West Side hotel,
tracking down hallways or standing inside a moving elevator,
following it up and down, and surprising a few would be riders in the
process. There aren’t many people in the hotel, however, which is
part of its sad story, but even the non-descript hallways and rows of
identical doors acquire a dignified beauty as the camera roams ever
deeper and higher. Just when we think we’re sealed in this hermetic
space, Akerman has a surprise in store for the end. Suddenly, the
camera reaches the roof, emerges into daylight and then breaks out
into the city itself to provide an outside perspective on the hotel
and situate it in the city.
This unexpected movement feels like a
transition to the gorgeous feature-length“News from Home” (1976)
which takes us to the streets of New York. Images of the city are
accompanied on the soundtrack by Akerman reading letters written by
her mother. Another rhyme now. In “La Chambre” the story took
place in between camera movements, as it panned back to see Akerman
in different poses. In “News from Home” the story occurs in
between letters which mostly mention minor events or offer pleas for
Akerman to write home more often. The letters, not always read in
chronological order, indicate changes and invite us to fill in the
gaps.
Stylistically, “News from Home” is
a tour-de-force. It begins with a series of static shots of alleyways
and parked cars before introducing a few short, sharp pans then
eventually longer more fluid 360-degree movements. Akerman films
above ground and below ground (some of the subway scenes are
magnificent), during the day and in the blurry orange-red night.
After the camera has been fixed for an hour, it is abruptly set
loose. Most of the final half hour of the movie consists of several
long tracking shots taken from different vehicles: a street level
shot from a car, a higher perspective from an elevated train and a
final movement filmed from a boat or ferry. And here’s another
rhyming moment, one that resonates with the end of “Hotel
Monterey.” After exploring the city so rigorously, the camera
breaks free from its urban confines to turn back and record a broader
view from the river. As the camera gradually sails away, we see more
and more of the retreating city skyline. If you don’t feel a twinge
when the World Trade Center finally comes into view, there’s
something wrong with you.
These abrupt ruptures are a common
feature for Akerman. Her magnum opus “Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai de
Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles” (1975) meticulously traces the daily
chores of its title character but ends with a sudden plot development
that completely ruptures what seemed to be a rigid structure.
Likewise, these explosions into open space in “Hotel Monterey”
and “News from Home” as well the final camera movement in “La
Chambre” refuse the easy comfort of strict rules.
And, rhyme time again, Akerman pulls
off a similar, but not identical, trick in “Je, tu, il, elle.”
After spending a half hour watching Julie alone in her room we expect
the entire film to unspool there but suddenly we see a shot of the
apartment door and, next thing you know, Julie’s out and about. The
film is built around two more discrete segments. The first is a
sexual encounter with a trucker who spends nearly ten minutes talking
about his penis, and the second a sexual encounter with her
ex-girlfriend. The latter is filmed in several long, frank shots of
lovemaking that capture the heat and intimacy of the moment yet are
shot with such a flat affect (typical of Akerman) that they don’t
feel voyeuristic.
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| Anna |
Shot in wide-screen and featuring a
more conventional narrative as well as a cast of professional actors,
“Les rendez-vous d’Anna” (1978) appears to be the odd duckling
in this grouping but it still shares much in common with the other
films in the set. Anna (Aurore Clement) is a director who travels
from city to city in Europe to help promote her newest film. It’s a
damned strange press junket though. We never see the film or hear
anything about it, and Anna appears to be the only one making the
rounds. The film is a travelogue almost devoid of any sight-seeing
features. With the exception of a trip to a not-quite suburb, Anna’s
trip consists almost entirely of a series of hotel rooms or public
spaces (trains, train stations, etc.). She not only travels alone but
seems to wind up in the same place each time. Kind of like “Up in
the Air.” Except good. A series of encounters (with a lover, with
her mother, with an old family friend) do little to break up the
monotony.
Some might think of Akerman’s
formalist cinema as stringent, but I’m struck by her sly sense of
humor which, curiously enough, frequently centers on food. Poor
Jeanne Dielman unable to figure out where to put that pot of cooked
potatoes. Akerman in goddess pose in “La Chambre” munching on an
apple. Julie shoveling sugar down her throat. A deadpan scene where
Julie and the trucker share a meal at a diner and listen to a gaudy
American TV show (“Cannon,” I think) that consists mostly of
gunshots, sirens and revving motors.
I find Chantal Akerman’s films warm,
playful, vital, and thoroughly compelling. The movies in this set
offer the very best of her work (aside from the previously released
“Jeanne Dielman”) and it’s hard to believe she hadn’t even
turned 28 by the time she wrapped shooting on the last film in the
set. Akerman is an electric talent like no other.
Video:
“Les rendez-vous D’Anna” is
presented in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio. All other films are
presented in their original 1.33:1 full-screen ratios. “Je, tu, il,
elle” is in black-and-white, everything else in color. Though the
Eclipse series does not provide restored transfers, the films here
look quite good. I was very pleasantly surprised by the quality of
“Je, tu, il, elle” which I have previously only seen on a
miserable VHS copy. The harsh lighting scheme and the sharp shadows
on the walls stand out vividly here. Some of the darkest shots from
inside the truck are lacking, but that’s my only complaint.Overall,
I’m thrilled with the transfers here.
Audio:
“La Chambre” and “Hotel Monterey”
are silent. The other films are presented in Dolby Digital Mono, and
there’s not much to say abut the audio design. I wonder if we’re
missing some of the richness of the original ambient soundtrack in
“News from Home” but I have no way to make that judgment.
Optional English subtitles are provided for the sound films.
Extras:
As with all Eclipse release, no extras
are offered with this set. However, as usual, the brief liner notes
are very informative.
There are three discs in the set.
Disc One, titled “The New York Films”
contains “La Chambre,” “Hotel Monterey,” and “News from
Home.” Disc Two has “Je, tu, il, elle” and Disc Three has “Les
rendez-vous d’Anna.”
Final Thoughts:
“Jeanne Dielman” is Akerman’s
indisputable masterpiece and Criterion’s release of the film was
probably the DVD highlight of 2009. “Chantal Akerman in the
Seventies” is a marvelous companion offering that shows how deep
and rich Akerman's body of work is.
I’m not shy about using the m-word
and I’m going to do so again. “Je, tu, il, elle” is a
masterpiece that would be the crowning achievement for many
directors, and I won’t argue with anyone who applies the same term
to “News from Home” or “La Chambre.” I don’t think “Hotel
Monterey” is quite in a class with those films but it’s still
mesmerizing. “Les rendez-vous d’Anna” is a mild disappointment
after her earlier work in the decade, but that’s one hell of a
standard to hold someone to. Most filmmakers never dream of making
something the caliber of “Anna” and if that’s your “weakest”
film of the decade then I’m going to guess that your name is
Chantal Akerman.
This is a phenomenal set, perhaps the
best the Eclipse series has offered.
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