I Thought 2019 Was A Pretty Good Year For Movies

Joe Pesci in The Irishman

These Best of 2019 lists still count as long as they're posted before the end of January, right?

2019 was the first year in quite some time when I actually watched more new releases than I had in the previous year. Perhaps that explains why I thought this was an unusually strong year, at least for feature film. I think my top four were all sensational movies, each a serious candidate for my Top Films of the 2010s list. I think this Scorsese kid has a future.

I didn't see a 2019 documentary quite on par with either the great “Hale County” or “Shirkers” from 2018, but there were enough exciting and vital non-fiction films to force me to expand my top 10 to a top 16.

The Irishman (Scorsese)

A Hidden Life (Malick)

The Lighthouse (Eggers)

Ash is Purest White (Jia)

63 Up (Apted)

Honeyland (Kotevska and Stefanov)

Long Day's Journey Into Night (Bi)

The Souvenir (Hogg)

Image Book (Godard)

For Sama (Al-Kateab and Watts)

Black Mother (K. Allah)

Los Reyes (Osnovikoff and Perut)

The Disappearance Of My Mother (Barrese)

The Mountain (Alverson)

Tell Me Who I Am (Perkins)

Rolling Thunder Revue:A Bob Dylan Story (Scorsese)

I'm feeling generous today, so I'll keep the comments brief.

The Irishman: “It was like... Remember Moses? When he walked into the ocean, the sea, whatever the fuck it was? And it opened up!”

A Hidden Life: Malick has directed not only one of the most grueling and moving films about a martyr since “The Passion of Joan Of Arc” but also the perfect movie to show to your authoritarian friend who insists that no matter what you think of the man, you have to respect the office.

Ash Is Purest White: The amazing Zhao Tao gets stuck with a loser partner on screen; fortunately her partner behind the camera is still one of the best directors in the world.

Honeyland: Everything you ever imagined a documentary about a Macedonian beekeeper could be, and so much more.

Long Day's Journey Into Night: This year's great film with a really long take.

Image Book: Some movies are just meant to be watched at home and stopped every 30 seconds so you can try to Google the references.

For Sama: No glib one-liner for a movie this potent. Waad al-Kateab films herself surviving the ongoing siege of Aleppo, Syria. She somehow finds a way to live and grow under unspeakable conditions, starting as a teenage marketing student, then falling in love, raising a baby, and helping to save the lives of her neighbors. There are still heroes, even in a world that doesn't care much about them.

Black Mother: Photographer and filmmaker Khalik Allah delivers a meditation (and accusation) on the legacy of colonialism in Jamaica that also turns out to be a visionary tour-de-force that renders the political as intimately personal.

Los Reyes: A fascinating observational documentary about two stray dogs who live in a Chilean skate park, both of whom would have been more convincing in “Jojo Rabbit” than Scarlett Johansson.

The Disappearance Of My Mother: When mom tells you to leave her the hell alone, you should strongly consider her advice.

The Mountain: No, seriously, just leave mom alone.

The two worst 2019 releases I saw are, of course, two of the leading contenders for Best Picture, so I'm going to say something nice about each of them.

Joker (Phillips): “Joker” is plagued by a few minor flaws, chief among them a hackneyed story and script that makes every obvious decision at every point. But there's one moment that really sings. Arthur (the Joker-to-be played by Joaquin Phoenix) shares an elevator with his neighbor (Zazie Beetz) – to express her exasperation with her day, she mimes putting a gun to her head. In the hallway, the desperately awkward Arthur tries to connect with her by repeating the gesture. He overdoes it so badly, she instantly knows he's a man best avoided, a fact to which he is oblivious. It's a moving, human moment from one of our greatest actors. Everything that follows is bland and forgettable.

1917 (Mendes): Sam Mendes has now directed three films I consider to be the worst movies in their respective years of release. “1917” is almost certainly somewhat better than the other two.

Le Petit Soldat

LE PETIT SOLDAT (Godard, 1963)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Jan 21, 2020

Review by Christopher S. Long

In retrospect, Jean-Luc Godard's “Le petit soldat” (1961) predicted the singular and stubborn career that would unfold over the next sixty years (and still counting).

The 30-year-old critic turned director had scored a huge commercial hit with “Breathless” (1960), his feature debut drenched in giddy cinephilia and pitched at the hip youth culture from which the Nouvelle Vague originated. Naturally, he decided to follow up his breakthrough with “Le petit soldat” (shot in 1961, but released in 1963), a grim political thriller short on thrills and heavy on torture scenes.

Not content with just alienating returning audiences looking for more doomed romantic fun, Godard also infuriated both wings of the political spectrum. The conservative establishment railed against Godard's frank acknowledgment of French war crimes in Algeria and the lack of justification for the ongoing occupation. Meanwhile, the director's decision to only depict on-screen torture conducted by agents of an Algerian rebel force (the FLN) generated even stronger condemnation from many on the left. The film was banned and not released in France until 1963, not coincidentally after Algeria won its hard-fought independence.

Charges that Godard was equivocating were enhanced by his choice of protagonist. Bruno Forestier (Michel Subor) flees to Geneva (circa 1958) to avoid conscription in the French military, but he professes no particular political ideology. He's pressured by a French intelligence group to assassinate an Algerian sympathizer, and resists, mostly because he just wants to be left alon. He also falls for the beautiful Veronica Dreyer (Anna Karina, in her first film with Godard) who may or may not be a political agent as well.

Much of the film is filtered through Bruno's perspective with heavy use of narration by Subor which reveals Bruno as sexist, self-absorbed and also undeniably perceptive: “I think actors are stupid. I despise them.” Who can argue with that? He wants to blaze his own path, but winds up caught between both factions of the war he's tried to escape.

In the film's most-discussed sequence, Bruno is kidnapped by FLN agents and subjected to a series of tortures, ranging from burning to near drowning to electrocution. Some viewers were repelled by what they felt were graphic depictions of suffering, but the real horror is that Godard depicts the torturers as a couple of bored guys just clocking another day at work. They display neither reluctance nor joy in their efforts. They've got a script, they've done this all before, and they'll do it again tomorrow with some other victim, whoever that happens to be.

Cinematographer Raoul Coutard (who gets a sly name drop in the film) may be the real star of “Le petit soldat.” The opening shot starts with a slow pan that rockets to whip-speed to settle on Bruno as he drives across the border into Switzerland. Shooting in black-and-white, and balancing long moments of stasis with abrupt kinetic bursts, Coutard creates a stark look that matches both the story and the protagonist's soul.

Subor doesn't offer much beyond dry indifference, tough but not terribly charismatic. Karina is Karina, of course, but has a thankless role as an inscrutable object of desire. And an object of exchange. Money changes hands when a friend introduces Veronica to Bruno. Eventually she will be treated as a disposable pawn, her final fate barely remarked upon by the men busy playing their power games. In a terse, bloodless fashion, the film's final minute is just as brutal as the torture scenes.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. From Criterion: “This high-definition digital transfer, undertaken by StudioCanal and approved by cinematographer Raoul Coutard, was created from the 35 mm original camera negative...” The image resolution is sharp and if the black-and-white picture sometimes looks excessively bright at times, that's how it's meant to look (as far as I know). Another solid high-def transfer from Criterion.

Audio:

The linear PCM Mono audio mix is sharp and somewhat flat, as is the source. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:

Criterion has only included a few brief supplements with this Godard release.

The disc starts with a 6-minute excerpt from a 1965 interview with Godard in which he briefly discusses the film's troubled reception. Half of this already short excerpt consists of a clip from the film.

In a 1963 interview (14 min.) filmed at a boxing gym where he trains, actor Michel Subor discusses why the film was banned, while also making the ludicrous claim that it isn't really a political film at all.

We also get an audio interview (1961, 29 min.) of Godard conducted by critic and filmmaker Gideon Bachmann.

The slim fold-out insert booklet includes a sharp and comprehensive essay by critic Nicholas Elliott.

Final Thoughts:

“Le petit soldat” is one of my least favorite Godard films of the early '60s, but it's still of interest both as a bold choice to follow up “Breathless” and for introducing Karina (even though viewers saw her in “A Woman is a Woman” and “Vivre sa Vie” before this film hit theaters). To the best of my knowledge, this Criterion edition is the film's first Blu-ray release in North America, which makes it a must-own for Godard fans even if the supplements are fairly modest.

My Top Films Of The 2010s - Part Seven

We've entered the portion of my list where I think each film could have made my top slot. It doesn't matter, but you already knew that. Today, I bring you two films by quite possible the two greatest European directors of the past half-century, which I figure is a decent place to start.

Here's a link to Part Six, in case you're curious.

8. GOODBYE TO LANGUAGE 3D (Godard, 2014)

No filmmaker has declared cinema to be dead more often and with more schadenfreude than Jean-Luc Godard. With the help of a half-dozen digital cameras shooting at multiple frame rates, Godard proved with “Goodbye To language 3D” that his multiple eulogies for the medium were, as we always suspected, complete bullshit.

I was certainly jolted out of my film festival ennui after I trudged through a rainy, chilly evening to a dreary theater and slipped on my 3D glasses to watch the adventures of Roxy the dog and some humans I only vaguely remember. Tthere's an unhappy couple or maybe two of them – someone gets killed, I think. The story hardly matters. Godard distorts the 2D image almost beyond recognition and then severs the 3D field to present stereoscopic thrills to delight even the most jaded viewer. Close your left eye and you see one movie, close your right eye and you see another one. And now they're both united again. My God, movies really can still be magic!

Godard understands that the optimal use of 3D is not a futile effort to draw viewers deeper into the illusory world of a seamless narrative, but to make them conscious every second of the act of seeing (comparisons to Stan Brakhage are obvious, but overblown). Look what images cinema can bring to you. Really look, and savor the sensual experience for its own sake, not because it can whisk you like a tourist through the museum of a narrative. And let every discontinuity, every abrupt rupture (augmented by the typically jarring JLG soundtrack) jolt you out of your complacency and make you feel alert and alive the whole time. Forgive my histrionics, but this movie really did inspire an excitement about the medium I hadn't felt since the first time I watched “Last Year At Marienbad” many years ago and thought, “Woah, I didn't realize movies could do that.”

Godard's relentless experimentation with image and the unstable (and untrustworthy) relationship between image and sound has always excited me, but I can't deny that he can be tiresomely pedantic at times and that his movies require a lot of work to decipher.“Goodbye To Language 3D”, however, proves that a JLG movie can simply be a total blast to watch.

Of course, you probably won't ever get to watch it. A 2D version exists and is readily available, but I can't recommend it. The 3D isn't a luxury viewing option in this case, but the core of the project. So unless you get to see this at a 3D repertory screening (is there such a thing?) or unless you're one of the eight people in the world with a 3D HDTV, you won't get to see “Goodbye To Language 3D.” Which only makes it that much more special in the era of ubiquitous content.

7. NO HOME MOVIE (Akerman, 2015)

When I selected “No Home Movie” as my top film of 2015, I kept my comments brief: “Chantal Akerman is gone and this deeply personal documentary will be her last movie. That's a terrible thought, but it's another great movie from one of the greatest filmmakers of all time. I'm not ready to say anything more about it except that Chantal Akerman is irreplaceable and I will always miss her.” Four years later, I'm still tempted to leave it at that, but I suppose I'm ready to say just a bit more.

Chantal Akerman began publicly documenting her relationship with her mother at least as far back as her brilliant “News From Home” (1976) which makes “No Home Movie” feel like a partial career summation for more than just the fact that it was her final movie. In an early scene, Chantal Akerman speaks with her mother Natalia in her mother's cramped Brussels apartment. Natalia's back faces the camera and her body often eclipses Chantal, seated on the other side of the table. The framing is deceptively simple and naturalistic, but evokes the challenges in getting her mother, an Auschwitz survivor, to open up about her past, and the struggle for control of the narrative. For the moment, they limit the discussion to food: potatoes are better with the skin on because that's where the vitamins are stored. You have to start with potatoes before you get to the family history and the flight from Poland and the mistaken belief that Belgium provided a safe refuge.

Like many Akerman films, the documentary features numerous frames within frames – shots through windows and doorways and also on computer screens. Chantal also speaks with her mother by Skype and when her mother asks why, the director replies: “Because I want to show you there is no distance in the world.” Mom is both touched and proud: “You always have such ideas don't you, sweetheart?... When I see you like that, I want to squeeze you in my arms!” Even four years later, I can barely write that without tearing up. In fact, I can't.

I'm relying on notes I took on my first viewing since I don't have a copy of the film right now, so forgive me if I'm paraphrasing without realizing it. I have another note that reads as follows: Chantal to mom: “I'm in a very, very good mood. Let's enjoy it. It's not that common.” And now I find that I'm still not ready to say much more. Except that “No Home Movie” features Chantal Akerman at her peak. Of course peak Akerman was also the only Akerman.

Made in U.S.A.

MADE IN U.S.A. (Godard, 1966)

Criterion Collection, DVD, Release Date Jul 21, 2009

Review by Christopher S. Long

“Made in U.S.A.” (1966) is the film that Quentin Tarantino has been trying to make for the past two decades. Cobbled together from a series of film references both obvious and obscure, Godard’s final genre film (noir, what else?) of the '60s is a celebration of cinephilia, and a blueprint of the writer/director’s obsessions, both personal and political. To riff on one of Peter Greenaway’s early films, “Made in USA” is “A Walk through G”(odard).

Godard dedicates his film to Nick and Sam (Ray and Fuller) and packs the movie to the gills with other cinematic references. Various characters are named Aldrich (director Robert), Mizoguchi, Don Siegel (played by New Wave cornerstone Jean-Pierre Léaud) and Widmark (actor Richard). Ruby Gentry is paged over a P.A., somebody lives on Preminger Street, and a host of film posters, some larger than life, are on display. The movie, while nominally adapted from a Donald Westlake novel, is modeled (also nominally) on “The Big Sleep” but with an even more impenetrable and surrealistic plot.

Anna Karina plays Paula Nelson (though we could argue what she’s mostly playing herself), a Sam Spade/Phillip Marlowe detective investigating the death of her lover, or at least that seems to be the story. Along the way she encounters a series of hoods (two of whom are named Robert McNamara and Richard Nixon), dispatching some of them and outmaneuvering others. A series of betrayals and digressions makes any effort to follow the logic of the plot impossible, but it doesn’t really matter. At one point the film stops so that Marianne Faithful, who happens to be sitting in a café, can sing “As Tears Go By.” Godard had lost all interest in relating a linear narrative and had other things on his mind.

Chief among them is Karina, then Godard’s ex-wife for over a year. In “Pierrot le Fou” (1965), Godard had bid her a cinematic farewell and in “Made in U.S.A.”, well, he does so again though in an even more despairing tone. In one of many ways of reading the film, we can see the male characters as stand-ins for Godard, with Karina wreaking havoc on their lives. When she shoots one of them, his last dying words are “Oh Paula, you have stolen my youth.” In their last feature film together*, Godard did not take it easy on Karina, and I sometimes wonder why, exactly, she was willing to play such a role. (* Godard also directed Karina in a segment of the compilation film “The World’s Oldest Profession” (1967.)

Godard deals with the political as well as the personal (not that there's a difference). On top of the already severely modified Westlake/“Big Sleep” storyline, Godard grafts a tale of political intrigue ripped from the day’s headlines. Exiled Moroccan leftist Mehdi Ben Barka was arrested and mysteriously “vanished” in the fall of 1965. It’s a convoluted story that resulted in the conviction of two French officers, and also involved an underworld hood (he previously served time for bank robbery and attempted murder) named George Figon who was also an aspiring film producer. Figon, found dead in his home when police sought to arrest him, became the inspiration for the man whose death Paula is ostensibly investigating. This character appears strictly as a voice on tape, a voice provided by Godard. Each time his last name (Politzer) is mentioned in the film, it is blotted out by a loud, abrupt sound effect, a gimmick later appropriated by Tarantino in “Kill Bill.”

“Made in U.S.A.,” like several other Godard films of the period, is painted in dazzling primary colors; Karina’s dresses are often color-coordinated with the gaudy-gorgeous backdrops. Godard’s fondness for slapstick is on display in many scenes as well, though his dry staging doesn’t translate well for some viewers. The violence in the film is highly stylized, modeled more on comic books (an inspiration for many New Wave filmmakers) than on film conventions, stopping just shy of on-screen “BAP!” and “POW!” titles. It’s a stylistic choice, to be sure, and it works wonderfully but it’s also a nod to the film’s limited budget and compact shooting schedule. Roger Corman would have been proud.

With its web of references that can’t fully be understood by anyone other than the man who made them, “Made in U.S.A.” is an infuriating, indulgent and magnificent example of Godard’s mid-60s work. Shot just before “2 or 3 Things I Know About Her,” it represents not just (another) farewell to Karina, but the beginning of his farewell to commercial cinema. In 1967, Godard’s “Weekend” ended with a big “fuck you” to consumer audiences (emphasis on the consume) and announced his disappearance into the world of fully radicalized cinema that characterized much of his work of the late '60s and '70s.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 2.35:1 aspect ratio. This is another fantastic transfer by Criterion, digitally restored from the original 35mm camera negative. Colors are bright (as they must be for this film) and pop right off the screen.

Audio:

The DVD is presented in Dolby Digital Mono. The soundtrack has been cleaned up as well as usual for Criterion. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:

A very welcome addition is a “Concordance” (17 min.) that explains many of the reference points in the movie, from film to personal to political. This feature is written by Lenny Borger and narrated by Dan Stewart.

“On the Cusp” invites Godard biographers Colin McCabe and Richard Brody to place the film in the context of Godard’s career, and their discussion of the film’s transitional role in his oeuvre is vastly more detailed than mine.

There are also two interviews: Anna Karina from 2002 (10 min.) and László Szabó (6 min.) Szabó plays Paul Widmark in the film, and appeared in several other works with Godard.

The insert booklet features an essay by J. Hoberman of “Village Voice.”

Final Thoughts:

Just as “Made in U.S.A.” is a transitional film that paves the road for Godard’s retreat from commercial cinema, seen from today’s vantage point, it also feels like one of the earliest precursors of his monumental “Histoire(s) du cinema” project (late 80s-1990s), a rapid-fire free associative audiovisual battery of mostly unidentified film references that challenges viewers to keep up or perhaps just surrender to the clash of sound and image. It may be best to do the same with “Made in U.S.A.” Its whirligig visuals and its discordant soundtrack may distance you from the narrative, but they pull you in with their sheer virtuosity. A tough nut to crack, but well worth the effort.

2 Or 3 Things I Know About Her

2 Or 3 Things I Know About Her (Godard, 1967)

Criterion Collection, DVD, Jul 21, 2009

Review by Christopher S. Long

As Amy Taubin writes in the liner notes to this Criterion release, Jean-Luc Godard’s “2 or 3 Things I Know About Her” (1967) is too rich, too dense, too monumental to do justice to in a short review. So I’ll just talk about espresso instead.

In the film’s most celebrated shot, cinematographer Raoul Coutard pushes in closer and closer on a cup of espresso, the milk swirling and bubbling as Godard whispers on the soundtrack:

Since a wide gulf separates my subjective certainty of myself from the objective truth others have of me,

Since I constantly end up guilty even though I feel innocent,

Since every event changes my daily life,

Since I always fail to communicate, to understand to love and be loved,

And every failure deepens my solitude, since… (long pause) … since…

Since I cannot escape the subjectivity crushing me nor the subjectivity expelling me, Since I cannot rise to a state of being nor collapse into nothingness,

I have to listen, more than ever I have to look around me,

At the world,

My fellow creature,

My brother.

For a director accused of being too intellectual, too obtuse, annoyingly obsessed with word games, you can’t ask for anything more direct than this confession of insecurity, inadequacy (“I always fail to communicate”) and profound loneliness. As we look closer and closer at the white swirls, this literal and figurative Milky Way in a cup, Godard opens up, putting himself in front of the camera as much as possible without actually appearing on screen. 

As always with Godard, there are many ways to read the scene. If you want to follow an autobiographical approach, like critic Richard Brody does, Godard is addressing his feelings about the film’s star Marina Vlady. Godard began shooting “2 or 3 Things” just a week after wrapping photography on “Made in USA” (1966), a farewell to ex-wife Anna Karina. He not only plunged right into his next film, but also into his next relationship. Shortly before filming began, he proposed to Vlady. Just as filming began, she turned him down. Their on-set relationship was not a good one, but the tension between them was a productive one, at least in terms of the final product.

But maybe it’s a mistake to interpret this scene in such a limited way. Godard may also be directly conveying his raison d’être as a filmmaker. If he fails to communicate, then he must listen and observe even more attentively. Perhaps this explains his reliance on the dynamic between documentary and fiction that informs both “2 or 3 Things” and many of his subsequent films: “One Plus One” (1968) for example; “Passion” (1982) as one of many others, on up through “Notre Musique” (2004). Generations of filmgoers trained to believe a film exists only to convey a narrative may be baffled when Godard stops to intently study seemingly insignificant details, when he prolongs “boring” moments at the expense of traditionally dramatic ones, but maybe Godard trusts the camera's ability to document more than his ability to interpret. Or maybe not. I'm still trying to figure it out.

Another passage from Godard is illuminating, one that is filmed over the tightest shot of a bubble in the coffee cup:

Say that the limits of language are the world’s limits,

That the limits of my language are my world’s limits,

And that when I speak I limit the world, I finish it.

What a corner to be painted into. Godard is quoting Wittgenstein(“the limits of my language are my world’s limits”) who explained language as a method of categorizing the world around us. And this categorization both enables and limits our understanding of the objects around us. And our pictures too, which we process through the filter of language (in other words, we put pictures into words). I’m oversimplifying when I suggest that this is one of the primary concerns that Godard struggles with in most of his work (can we ever just see without interpreting the act?), but… I don’t have better words to describe it. I’m limited that way.

You probably want a description of the story, which was inspired by a series of articles about housewives turning to prostitution to maintain their lives in the new housing developments on the outskirts of Paris. The film follows housewife Juliette Janson (Vlady) through 24 hours in her life as mother, wife and prostitute. But enough about the plot.

“2 or 3 Things” might sound like a character study, but it isn't. Would you expect that from Godard? It’s a film about a changing Paris (the third “her” of the title along with Janson and Vlady), one that, like in “Une Femme Mariée” (1964), is an ideological construct built on a flimsy, shifting foundation created by advertisement and the consumer impulse. Godard is not exactly optimistic about the growing influence of consumerism in Paris, but he also takes time to appreciate the beauty of this changing world, to celebrate sleek, shiny new Paris instead of merely grumping about the displacement of the old Paris.

Godard’s words on the soundtrack again: “You might say that living in modern society is virtually like living in a giant comic strip.” Not exactly a comforting thought, but it sure makes for some beautiful footage. A scene at a garage pop(art)s with color, particularly bright red, and is as alive and vibrant as the techno-Paris of Jacques Tati’s “Playtime” (1967.) As a city symphony film and as a document of its times, “2 or 3 Things” is a marvel that equals anything in Godard’s 1960s output. 

Video:

The film is presented in a 2.35:1 anamorphic transfer. Criterion. Sharp colors, sharp resolution. Clean print with just the right amount of graininess. Top notch as usual.

Audio:

The DVD is presented in Dolby Digital Mono. The sound mix is crisp and distortion free. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:

The commentary track by Adrian Martin is about as good as it gets. Martin doesn’t function as a play-by-play announcer walking you through what’s happening on screen, but uses his considerable multi-disciplinary knowledge to provide an in-depth analysis of the film and the philosophical, political and literary context needed to dig deeper into it. Martin has been one of my favorite critics for some time, and I hope we’ll get more commentary tracks from him.

Marina Vlady is interviewed on set in an excerpt from the French TV program “Cinéma” (7 min.) that originally aired on Oct 26, 1966. In an episode of the program “Zoom” (13 min.), Godard debates with government official Jean St. Geours about the housewife-prostitute issue. It’s pretty damned fascinating.

A “Concordance” (9 min.) traces the relevant references in the film, and is narrated by Dan Stewart.

The disc also includes an interview (15 min.) with actor/writer/filmmaker Antoine Bourseiller, a friend of Godard’s in the '60s who discusses their “warlike” relationship.

The insert booklet features an essay by Amy Taubin, and reprints an anonymous letter from a housewife turned prostitute that provided one of the inspirations for “2 or 3 Things.” It was originally published in the May 4, 1966 issue of “Nouvel observateur.”

Final Thoughts:

Now that Criterion has released “Made in USA” and “2 or 3 Things I Know about Her,” all of Godard’s feature films from “Breathless” through “Weekend” are now available on Region 1 DVDs. I wonder if this is the last Godard title we’ll see from Criterion. Their prior release of “Tout va Bien” (1972) is somewhat encouraging, but it’s hard to find a likely candidate for future Criterion treatment. With New Yorker, the other major producer of Godard DVDs, now defunct, who will step up to the plate? Would Criterion really take on neglected films like “Germany Year 90 Nine Zero” (1990) or “King Lear” (1987) or perhaps tackle a massive project like “Histoire(s) du cinéma?” Here’s hoping they will.

[2016 Update: Criterion released Godard's 1980 film “Every Man For Himself” in early 2015. I've still got my fingers crossed on “King Lear.”]

Breathless

BREATHLESS (Godard, 1960)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray/DVD, Release Date Feb 14, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

What makes Jean-Luc Godard's "Breathless" (1960) one of the three or four most important sound films ever made? "Breathless" isn't the first French New Wave film, or even the first French New Wave film to win major awards; Alain Resnais' "Hiroshima Mon Amour" (159) was nominated for the Palme d'Or and netted Marguerite Duras an Oscar nomination for Best Screenplay just the year before. Claude Chabrol was already an established New Wave figure, even if he didn't quite know it at the time.

"Breathless" is not the first film ever to use a jump cut, though it is the first to use the technique so extensively. "Breathless" was nowhere close to being the first film to shoot on real locations, and adopted many of its "fly on the wall" techniques from Italian neo-realism and direct cinema. "Breathless" hardly employs an original plot: just a guy, a girl, and a gun. It's not even Godard's best film. So why in the heck is "Breathless" so important?

Because "Breathless" changed everything. OK, that's an exaggeration. It didn't change the balance of power in the Middle East. It didn't catapult the Earth out of its orbit. It didn't make Americans care about soccer. But it changed pretty much everything else. 

"Breathless” is a unique hybrid, both the realization of years of critical writings by Godard and his fellow Cahiers du Cinema critics, and also a film made by an unabashed cinephile. In a sense, it is one of the earliest "fan pics" ever made. Godard did not come to destroy Hollywood, he came to celebrate it in all its genre-determined glory. "Breathless" contains enough references to other films and filmmakers that even Quentin Tarantino couldn't keep them all straight. By placing these cinematic references right alongside the literary and philosophical ponderings of his young protagonist (however shallow those thoughts might be) Godard also asserts that film is every bit as valid an art form as any other. Godard collapsed "high" and "low" culture before the practice became de rigueur in post-modern art.

"Breathless" is also a tour-de-force of guerilla film-making. Shot on a modest budget with hand-held cameras specially modified by now-legendary cinematographer Raoul Coutard, many scenes are filmed right on the streets of Paris or in tiny apartments where a standard movie crew for the time could never have fit. The City of Lights has rarely looked so intimate. This fly-on-the-wall approach gives the film the feeling of actuality footage; dialogue written on the day of shooting contributes to the impression of spontaneity. Godard has quite properly described “Breathless” as being primarily a documentary about actors Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg. 

Belmondo as Michel Poiccard. Seberg as Patricia Franchini. Along with Jean-Pierre Léaud's Antoine Doinel, they are the most iconic characters of the French New Wave. Belmondo delivers a single-mindedly superficial performance, full of self-conscious mannerisms, poses, and cool looks; that bit where he runs his fingers over his lips is still electric. Seberg was fresh off her critically panned performances for Otto Preminger in "Saint Joan" (1957) and "Bonjour Tristesse" (1958). The only good press she received was from the Cahiers' writers, especially Godard. Though her acting in "Breathless" hardly dazzles, she was nonetheless an inspired casting choice. Seberg speaks French with a grating American accent that no doubt made her seem that much more exotic and erotic to French audiences, and her cry of "New York Herald Tribune!" as she promenades down the Champs-Elysées is, in my opinion, the most memorable line in any French New Wave film. And just about any film.

Of course, there's also the editing. If you've ever taken a film class, you have already been trained to think "jump cut" at the first mention of "Breathless." The film indeed uses jump cutting extensively, but this was never the plan during shooting. In the editing room, Godard realized that many of the dialogue scenes were boring and overlong, so he simply decided to remove all the uninteresting stuff in the middle of each take, paying no heed whatsoever to Hollywood's sacrosanct rules about continuity. The stitches are meant to show rather than working invisibly to seduce the viewer into the world of the narrative.

And this, all of this and then some more, is why "Breathless" remains so phenomenally influential. While there is no single technique pioneered by Godard in this film, the combination of jump cutting, hand-held shooting, violations of the 180 degree line and a host of other convention-shattering choices set world cinema free. I exaggerate again, but “Breathless” sounded a clarion call to filmmakers young and old, from East and West. All rules are meant be broken, and there is no right way to make a movie. "Death to the aristos!" It also helped that while herding so many sacred rituals of filmmaking to the guillotine Godard also made a wildly entertaining movie.

At this point, I am supposed to write that "Breathless" may seem dated to modern audiences because so much of its style has been copied, and that which once seemed revolutionary now almost appears old-fashioned. But I'm not going to say that. Audiences today might not be shocked by the jump cutting, or awed by the documentary-style filming, but "Breathless" remains as fresh and vital today as when it was released over 50 years ago. "Breathless" is as essential as cinema gets.

Also, there's a plot, and it's a pretty nifty one about love and betrayal and misunderstanding and fate. I'm not saying it doesn't matter, just that you shouldn't let it distract you from all the good stuff. 

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.33:1 aspect ratio.

Criterion released “Breathless” on DVD in 2007 and on Blu-ray in 2010. This 2014 dual-release format combines both of those releases in the same package: 2 DVDs (one with the film and some extras, the other with the rest of the extras) and one Blu-ray disc. They offer the same transfers as before.

The SD was already a very strong transfer and the 1080p upgrade was/is even better, of course. The film is supposed to look a little rough around the edges at times, so you shouldn't expect a flawlessly smooth and shiny image. The image detail is superb throughout with a very satisfying grainy look present throughout.

Audio:

The LPCM mono track isn't intended to sound too dynamic. The sound is always crisp and clean with the wonderful score by Martial Solal shining through in lossless audio. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:

All of the extras have been imported from previous releases.

We get archival interviews with Godard (May 19, 1960 and May19, 1964), Belmondo (1961), Seberg (July 2, 1960) and director Jean-Pierre Melville (July 13, 1963). They run just under a half hour in total.

"Chambre 12, Hotel du Suede" is a 1993 documentary (78 min.) directed by Claude Ventura in which the director revisits the people and places from "Breathless." It's a bit self-conscious, occasionally irritating, but very enjoyable for any fan of the film.

"Charlotte et Son Jules" (1959, 12 min) is a short film directed by Godard and co-starring Belmondo. The whole movie is basically a long-winded speech by a pompous ass trying to show off for his girlfriend and leading to a very funny punch line. Not a masterwork, but a cute movie, a reminder of how playful Godard was at the time.

"Breathless as Criticism" (11 min) is a video essay written by Jonathan Rosenbaum which explains some of the cinematic references Godard makes in the film, and connects Godard's critical writings to his work as a director on "Breathless."

"Coutard and Rissient" (22 min.) is a 2007 interview with "Breathless" cinematographer Raoul Coutard (who worked on many films for Godard) and cinema's great mystery man Pierre Rissient who also worked as assistant director on the film.

"Jean Seberg" (19 min) is a video essay by Mark Rappaport who directed the 1995 film "From the Journals of Jean Seberg." The essay examines the career and the memorable face of the actress who died far too young in 1979.

The collection finishes off with an interview (10 min.) with famed documentarian D.A. Pennebaker (who collaborated with Godard on the film "One A.M" which eventually became "One P.M.")

The disc also includes a Theatrical trailer.

The chunky insert booklet (80 pgs) features an essay by Dudley Andrew, several interviews and articles by Godard, François Truffaut's original (and very brief) treatment for "Breathless," and Godard's adapted scenario.

All that's missing is a commentary track. Phenomenal.

Final Thoughts:

People, it's “Breathless.” That's all you need to know.

Every Man For Himself

EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF (Godard, 1980)

Criterion Colletion, Blu-ray, Release Date February 3, 2015

Review by Christopher S. Long

Jean-Luc Godard's “Every Man For Himself” (1980) opens with an elegant pan across a cloudy blue sky accompanied by a melodic orchestral arrangement, sound and image in perfect harmony. Anyone familiar with Godard's prior decade of work had to suspect it was a trap.

After serving as the leading light of the Nouvelle Vague in the early-to-mid 1960s, Godard dropped his more audience-friendly (though certainly idiosyncratic) genre deconstructions in favor of politically radicalized projects of extraordinary audiovisual density. The final act of “Weekend” (1967) was his official bird-flipping farewell to commercial cinema and presaged his movement into increasingly esoteric work on 16mm and consumer-grade video; he even abandoned his own name for a while, producing work as part of the Dziga Vertov Group along with Jean-Pierre Gorin among others. Once the dominant force on the world festival circuit, Godard had all but “disappeared” though his ardent boosters argued then (and continue to do so now) that it was really the audience who went away.

Godard took advantage of this absentee perception to mount a publicized so-called comeback with his 1980 return to 35mm, theatrically-released cinema, going so far as to describe “Every Man For Himself” as his “second first film” nearly twenty years after his feature debut with “Breathless” (1960). Viewers watching that soothing opening shot may indeed have thought the old Godard was back, the ones whose movies were fun to watch, that made you go “Wow” instead of “Huh?” Whether they felt the same by the end of the movie is another matter.

“Every Man For Himself” (“Sauve qui peut (la vie)” in the original French, which Godard suggested best translates as “Save Your Ass”) is certainly more accessible than JLG's more opaque '70s work, with clearly delineated characters and a basic scenario scripted by Godard's professional and life partner Anne-Marie Miéville and screenwriter Jean-Claude Carrière. Paul Godard (Jacques Dutronc) is a frustrated television director now barely working and at the tail end of an ugly breakup with his producer girlfriend Denise Rimbaud (Nathalie Baye); running parallel to and occasionally intersecting their story is that of Isabelle Riviere (Isabelle Huppert), a pragmatic prostitute looking for a new apartment in between (blow) jobs.

Paul (left) and some dude with an accordion, of course

After previously crediting himself with the middle name “Cinema” Godard now takes the credit “composed by” rather than “directed by”, a reminder that he is interested in much more than just doling out a narrative. In lieu of a written scenario, he prepared the short film “Scenario de 'Sauve quie peut (la vie)'” (an extra on this Criterion disc) for potential financiers in which he expressed plans for the film in terms of impressions, music, montage, and especially movement. Denise, who plans to leave the city for the countryside, is filmed racing by on a bike (Baye rode for hours to tire herself out for some shots) while Paul's world is defined more by stasis in his rented hotel room. Godard disrupts the film at several points with slow-motion and freeze frames to accentuate certain movements, sometimes violent ones such as a woman being slapped or Paul leaping across a table to wrestle/embrace Denise.

Other disruptions occur as well, teetering in typical Godardian fashion between playfulness and wiseacre agitation. A race car driver in a gaudy Marlboro vehicle (a cousin of Marx and Coca Cola?) suddenly rolls up during one scene, skulks on the periphery of the action, and then drives off. The great writer/director Marguerite Duras appears by not appearing, allegedly a guest of Paul's who refuses to enter a classroom of film students and is heard (Duras's real voice) only as an off-screen passenger while Paul drives. Music (a phenomenal and varied score by Gabriel Yared) swells and cuts out and is eventually played by a large on-screen string section that materializes as inexplicably as the Marlboro driver. Meanwhile, cinema is itself is depicted as little more than a distraction, an excuse for audience members to hook up or as Paul's only alternative to total ennui.

Huppert in Every Man For Himself

“Every Man” was not well-received when it screened at Cannes, one of the primary objections being to the film's supposedly pornographic sequences which it's difficult to imagine anyone could construe as erotic or exploitative. In a brilliant scene, one of Isabelle's johns, a pompous businessman, constructs his own human centipede, instructing two women (including Isabelle) and a man on how precisely to act and speak when he literally kicks them into action. It's an obvious parallel to the controlling role of the director but rather than getting caught up in how Godard is implicating himself in the proceedings, let's note that the most striking aspect is how Isabelle still seems to be in control even while taking orders. She sees the blowhard as a buffoon and if he wants to pay her to be humiliated, she'll definitely put the money to good use. The calm and self-possessed Huppert, fresh off filming Michael Cimino's “Heaven's Gate”, is the perfect choice for the role.

In the end, Paul Godard (the name of JLG's father though also inviting an obvious self-reference) winds up the punchline of a grim cosmic joke and few tears will be shed for an aimless, spiteful man who views women and girls with suchcontempt. Godard (Jean-Luc that is) claims that men tend to find the movie depressing while women view it in a more positive light. Whether that's true or not, it's worth noting that the only clearly empathetic connection in the film is between Isabelle and Denise. The viewer is left with the sense that both are heading in the right direction (movement again). Paul, on the other hand, has finally reached the nowhere to which he was destined and it's perfectly reasonable to find this development both terminally bleak and outright hilarious. Qu'est-ce que c'est degueulasse? C'est Paul Godard.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio. The new high-def transfer was sourced from the original 35 mm camera negative. The color palette leans towards warm but slightly muted tones; my sad little bootleg copy from years ago looks much brighter (in a bad washed-out way) in many scenes were the lighting is subdued in this 1080p transfer. I assume this darker scheme is truer to the original though I don't really know for sure. Image detail is sharp throughout though not quite as razor sharp as some of Criterion's very best high-def transfers; most close-ups look pretty fantastic which is great for a cast with such expressive faces. Godard sure had an eye for a cinematic visage even if there is only one Anna Karina.

Audio:

The linear PCM mono track is crisp and free from distortion. The main job is to preserve the fantastic score by Gabriel Yared and this mix does the job quite well. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:

Wow, Criterion has really stacked the deck on this release.

“Scenario de 'Sauve qui peut (la vie)'” is the 20-minute video piece Godard assembled for potential government financiers instead of submitting a screenplay. It features super-imposed stills of the three stars (with Miou-Miou then in the role that would be played by Baye) and lots of nature footage with narrated ruminations by Godard. Until watching this, I had no idea that Werner Herzog had appeared (sort of) in a JLG movie.

“Sound, Image and 'Every Man For Himself'” is a visual essay (26 min.) written and narrated by critic Colin MacCabe. It's a great piece which includes ample background on Godard's work in the '70s both with the Dziga Vertov Group and later in collaboration with Anne-Marie Miéville. For relative Godard neophytes, MacCabe explains how the director was more interested in confronting and provoking viewers than in providing them a pleasant consumer experience (you could not “have it your way”). However the piece has plenty of information even for viewers more familiar with JLG's modus operandi. MacCabe has written eloquently about Godard for some time and brings considerable knowledge to this excellent feature.

The disc also includes two appearances (apparently back-to-back) by Godard on the Dick Cavett Show, both airing in October 1980 and running 28 minutes apiece (a short 22 second promo for the show is also included). Godard emphasizes that “the audience has to do something” instead of just sitting passively and being acted upon. He also claims that the film represents the first time he hasn't felt anguished about making a movie, a dubious claim considering the reported tension on set between Godard and both cast and crew. The director is evasive and falls back on aphorisms and is, in other words, quintessentially Godardian. I enjoyed every second of both interviews. Are there any real talk shows like this left on air?

“Godard 1980” (17 min.) is a short piece filmed by John Jost in which Godard is interviewed in London about his “second first film.” It's not particularly revelatory but the piece at least feels vaguely Godardian with annoying sound effects in the background and the picture or sound occasionally cutting out.

The disc also includes a slew of new interviews.

Marin Karmitz (2014, 12 min.), founder of MK2, discusses his long association with Godard from working as his general aide-de-camp in the early '60s to producing “Every Man For Himself” and other movies. Karmitz relates what he claims is a brand new story (though it has been published before by Richard Brody) about how he called all the critics who lambasted the film on its premiere, told them Godard had re-cut it, and screened it for them again to rave reviews even though not a single frame had been altered.

Isabelle Huppert (2014, 11 min.) and Nathalie Baye (2010, 16 min.) talk about working with Godard. Renato Berta and William Lubtchansky (1981, 20 min.) discuss the oddity of working as duel cinematographers on the film. Composer Gabriel Yared (2010, 6 min.) describes his first unpleasant meeting with Godard and how it turned into a surprisingly positive working relationship.

The final extra is a Theatrical Trailer (3 min.)

The slim fold-out insert booklet includes an essay by critic Amy Taubin.

Final Thoughts:

“Every Man For Himself” was a re-boot for Godard though he would never return to his commercial prominence of the early '60s. Instead he settled for cranking out a series of masterpieces in the '80s from “Passion” (1982) to “Hail Mary” (1985) to “King Lear” (1987 – oh man do we need a deluxe high-def release of this with about 50 hours of extras). After which he cranked out a series of masterpieces in the '90s. And then in the '00s. And then topped everything that preceded with the era-defining one-two punch of “Film Socialisme” (2010) and “Goodbye to Language 3D” (2014), the latter of which is so freaking monumental you just... But I digress. “Every Man” isn't one of my very favorite Godards but it's still pretty fantastic, and is the kind of movie that gets better every time you think back on it. This Criterion disc offers a strong transfer and a tremendous collection of extras. This is one of their best Godard releases to date.