FFF 2011: Prologue - X-Men First Class

In cinema, there are ties that can be stronger than blood. Franchises which, against your better judgement, become a part of ones life and manage to express what is a vital part of the individual who becomes so obsessed with them, drawing the viewer into their worlds and attracting them to even the weakest entries.

My entire life, I have been a Batman-guy. I watched the '66-series when I was a little kid, confusing the camp with genuine heroism (I guess if you are 5 years old, a crime fighter clad in nylons who is able to climb a building with the help of only a rope, effortlessly, is a truly amazing thing). When I was a bit older, I watched Tim Burton's first Batman movie on TV and re-watched the VHS countless times.

The moment Batman Returns hit, I was in utter awe of this dark, grotesque world that seemed like a marriage of silent films and my own dreams. And then, of course, came Batman, the animated series. I started to read comics. I got into Watchmen - and Alan Moore, while Batman lost his battle against the now world-famous rubber nipples.

In 2000, superheroes seemed superfluous, not only on the big screen, but also in my life. 9/11 was only a far away threat, nuclear plants seemed stale and safe. I was, however, struggling with my own teenage angst in suburbia - I felt a bit like an outcast, struggled in school and with who I wanted to become once puberty was over. And in this climate, the second big love of my existence as a fanboy hit, and it hit hard. X-Men was, although a flawed film from todays standards, a world unknown to me. These superheroes were not alpha males with inexhaustible bank accounts, they were physically and mentally broken creatures, full of flaws and trauma. Outcasts. Loners. Losers.

Wolverine became my new avatar. Two years later, it was Nightcrawler. I cautiously took a look into the X-Men comics, but to my frustration found myself lost in ongoing storylines, scratching my head at who was who, who killed who, who dated who and who who who. I grew out of puberty and started becoming cautiously optimistic about myself and my life when Bryan Singer left the franchise for - urgh - Superman Returns, and thus had no interest in X-Men 3: The Last Stand. It took some more years for X-Men Origins: Wolverine to hit and attract feedback as strikingly negative as only rubber nipples were able to bring forward previously. Of course I stayed away as well.

All in all, it took me nine years to ease my mind on the option of going to a cinema and watching a new X-Men film, but good reviews and curiosity got the best of me. In the advert of the Fantasy Filmfest, I decided to buy myself a ticket for a late night showing of First Class, two beers and check out the entire bunch of X-Men films on DVD. I will write a lengthy entry on the entire franchise soon, but only so much: no, Last Stand is not as bad as people make it out to be, although it is messy - yes, Origins: Wolverine is inexcusable and terrible, casting the seed of doubt in my mind. But then I got to the cinema, eased my behind into a chair and had the wave of awesome wash over me.

X-Men: First Class is in many ways the best X-Men film to ever be realized, and it casts the entire franchise in a different light. It may also be the best prequel to ever be made.

The film opens with three key scenes that set the tone for everything that is to follow: a very young Erik in a concentration camp (the opening is an exact remake of the first film's opening) struggling with his powers and Sebastian Shaw, a very young Charles meeting a very young (yet already skilled) Raven, and then Charles and Raven as adults in an Oxford pub. Although the first of those three may be the best and most memorable scene (including one single cut to a shot previously not established which changes the audience's perspective of the entire scene, proving what an intelligent and skilled filmmaker Vaughn is), the pub-scene stayed with me as my favorite. Why?

Vaughn is much more than just a skilled and intelligent filmmaker. Most of all, he brings a sense of personality and individuality to his films. Most modern comic book movies seem to struggle to erase any sort of personality of its creator - think of the images of Green Lantern, Thor, Daredevil, or Captain America, and even Spiderman or Iron Man. All these films have different directors, but if watched in a row, it is hard to distinguish which is made by Branagh or Raimi. They all seem to be intended as clean cut products. There are few The Dark Knights or Hulks, films that replicate the directors trademark style and prove a worthy addition to their individual canon.

Vaughn seems to be able to bring this highly personal style into each and every of his films, and this is the first scene where it is completely evident - the pub is not your average Hollywood-built stage, but feels strikingly authentic. Either Vaughn brought a team in to design and built this place, or he happened to shoot this in one of his very favorite places - the pub, after all, could be located nowhere but in the UK, adding a flavor absent of every Hollywood created 'cliché pub'. This is not an american superhero movie. This is a european one (much like Hulk was an asian movie in disguise)! Not to mention the stylish clothes and cinematic flairs that clearly position this as a period piece - it is also the first superhero film to depict the early 60s and not just aping styles, but depicting them as modern as they were back then.

We are then introduced to Charles, who is... a charming and clever womanizer. And Raven, who is... a strikingly beautiful girl, attracted to her best friend, who does little to comfort her. Professor X is not an a-sexual priest in a wheelchair - he is a playboy. Raven is not a kung-fu-stripper - she is a girl looking for self-realization in love and sexuality.

To say that Vaughn has realized who these people are is an understatement: he has perfected them for the big screen. The dialogue is very reminiscent of the mix of earnest high prose and ridiculous smart-assery of comic books, and the characters manage to combine the humane and the grotesque in the right dose. This is not a film by somebody who had a job, or somebody who liked a character - this is a film by somebody who understands each and every of his characters, manages to bring a sense of individuality to even those with the least dialogue (and high praise has to be given to the actors behind the minor characters here, as they manage to portray what could have been empty puppets as rich and colored as the leads manage with the main protagonists).

So we witness the X-Men 'find' each other and themselves. We watch Erik hunt down Nazis (another one of the most striking scenes takes place in an argentinian bar - seems Vaughn has a taste for these highly intimate yet also anonymous places, as two two key scenes of a character finding what he looked for take place in bars), Raven fall in love with Hank McCoy, Hank perceiving himself as a monster, Moira MacTaggert stripping to perceive Shaw, Shaw being utterly depraved, Emma Frost taking off her clothes and one by one, a team assembling itself both around Charles and Erik.

Singer chose to see the X-Men as one big metaphor for homosexuality (logically, as the theme is close to his own personality). While Vaughn acknowledges this, he also manages to create a much broader, thus more universal statement than just 'mutants = homosexuals'. Hank is the nerd who desperately wants to find a Mr. Hyde in his Dr. Jekyll. Erik is the racial (or religious) underdog who leads a fight of vengeance against his oppressors. Sean is a slight looser, whose only power is in his voice (which he can't control), mirrored by the attractive Alex, whose anger is - once released - a force of destruction. Raven is born in the wrong body, struggling with her sexuality and her 'real form', choosing a permanent disguise as a means to be seen equal. Charles is the one who, albeit different, has come to terms with his own 'mutation', the one to unite and help them. They are no longer one specific group: they are each and every kind of losers, outcasts and underdogs; no matter why or how they became who they are, they all are equal in their difference from normality.

They are opposed by Shaw's team, a dark reflection of Bond villains. The femme fatale (Frost), the quiet assassin (Riptide), the grotesque (and deformed) right hand (Azazel) and the diabolical Ex-Nazi-colportist-mastermind. Charles - or the pre-X-Men - seem to pose little threat: in another of the films best scenes, in which the teenagers show each other their powers, they end up partying to what was a wild rock song in '62. It needs Erik to fully channel his inner James Bond to finally face them.

By the time the film reaches its climax, Vaughn has managed to convince us that there is no good or bad in this fight - there simply are different forms of existence. There are mutant rights - those who regard themselves equal to humans in rights. There is mutant power, those who think they are superior to humans and who are looking for vengeance. And there is mutant pride, those who are happy with what they are and want to be accepted as different, but just as beautiful and realized as humans. And as the film progresses to this point, I was having as much fun as I could ever recall watching a superhero movie. Ever.

This may not be as good and fully realized thematically as The Dark Knight was, but granted, The Dark Knight was not an origin story that had to introduce and set-up its characters. Aside of that, First Class is superior to every other superhero film, probably even better than Batman Returns. It is complex and layered, it manages to combine pulp and arthaus aesthetics, comic and high prose. By the end of it, Erik will move a coin, and it may be one of the most moving, painful, beautiful and haunting scenes in modern cinema.

It is the film that gave me back my faith in superhero movies, and the film to give me back my faith in the power of the outcast. Once again, the X-Men changed my life. And for that, I give them all the praise they deserve!

Jean Luc Godard - Le Mépris

Jean Luc Godards best film starts as some of the best things in this world started out - with a naked Brigitte Bardot lying on a bed.

Actually, the film starts even more daring than that - while a voice reads the credits for the film, a woman slowly walks down a road, accompanied by a camera on tracks. With this small collage, Godard re-invents his approach to cinema considerably: while he's used breaking of the fourth wall before, this time around he approaches a biographical story as a film-within-a-film experiment, fully embracing a post-modern approach that, in 1962, still seemed fresh and daring.

As the audience takes in the scene, it is unclear whether Godard is showing us the process of filmmaking, or just documents his making of Le Mépris: if we gaze into a mirror or if Godard has us gaze into a mirror that in return shows another mirror.

And as Godard moves on, we are witness to Bardot's naked body on sheets, next to her husband - her body entirely in red. The dialogue (partially drowned out by the rising soundtrack) concerns the woman's insecurities: her inability to love her own features, and the rising hate directed towards her husband (who, in consequence, must also hate her, if she is incapable of loving herself). As the dialogue goes on, Godard switches the color lenses - suddenly, the red color is gone, and Bardot's body can be seen in natura... only to have it obscured by a dark shade of blue moments later.

Why exactly Godard has chosen the "french flag" as superimposed color filters for this scene remains a mystery, but one can conclude that Bardot - the french nations symbol of their sexual freedom - is sort of "inverted" here: she no longer is as sexy as she is an everyday girl, ripe with insecurities and self-loathing. If this approach is taken, the overall theme of self-loathing can be applied to anything: the man who lies next to his wife is a cynic, who seems disinterested in the very fundament his life is built upon.

In consequence, the story of the film concerns the director and writer Paul Javal (Michel Piccoli) and his wife (Bardot) - a barely concealed re-imagination of Godard and Anna Karina (guess what sort of a wig Bardot puts on halfway through the film).

Javal is hired by an american producer Prokosch (Jack Palance) to perfect the script for a troubled production on Odysseus, directed by Fritz Lang (who plays himself, essentially).

While Javal is hardly interested in the material, and obviously prefers Lang's arthouse version of the script to what Prokosch envisions, he sticks around for the production and follows the troubled german and arrogant american (who, whenever Javal starts a discussion on the liberties of true art, picks up a small book, out of which he recites quotes by others - of course completely out of context and void of any understanding). Cold and rational, Javal doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that the producer obviously tries to vow his wife - an affront to the same, who takes the ignorance on the side of her husband as a sign of their deteriorating emotions towards each other, and causes a rift that, as the film progresses, cracks further open, finally reaching a climax when the two are brought by Prokosch to his seaside villa, where Odysseus is to be shot.

The production seems to have been a troubling one - the (american) producers were apparently unhappy with the film, to the point where the producer insisted on having nude scenes of Bardot in the film because he apparently did not know how to sell a film he "hated". Godard was forced to use Cinemascope, but reportedly hated the entire ordeal of shooting the film. Lang was, by this point, almost blind. Bardot was chased by Paparazzi, who had to be fended off in-between takes (which concluded in a short documentary by Godard shot on-set), and Godard was apparently unhappy with her "unnatural" (read emotional) portrayal of her character, causing rifts, which seemingly caused Bardot herself to become depressed (it is very important to note that Godard worked with her again though, casting her in a small role for Masculin, Feminin, indicating the two did get along better than the press led viewers to believe).

So all in all, the shoot was a complete mess!! But of all these problems don't interfere in the slightest - the structure and narrative are exceptional and experimental, Bardot certainly performs one of her finest characters and the resulting film sucks the audience in like no other work of the french director (or any other film that has been made). Maybe the reason why Godard hated making it so much was not just due to the trouble with the producers, but also because the film does portray something alien to his work both before and after - a personal, individual point of view that is highly autobiographical, instead of a social or political thesis.

What makes Le Mépris such an utter joy to watch is not just Godard's approach to post modernism, Bardot's lovely face or Lang's enlightening comments on filmmaking ("Cinemascope is only good for snakes and coffins.") - it's the utter joy with which Godard takes apart each and everything that is dear to him and beautiful for the viewer. We see small glimpses of Lang's film, a visionary, poetic and experimental feature, only for it to be torn to shreds by its unsympathetic producer. We see Bardot walk around with, mostly, nothing on her skin, but she radiates an aura of hate and loathing. Nothing is safe from Godard - not filmmaking, not his idols, not the audience and definitely not his own marriage.

There are hundreds of nuances to be discussed, from the more than 30-minute long fight of the couple to the mirroring remarks of Lang and the producer, the philosophy of filmmaking and the de-mystification of relationships - but all the analyzing and theorizing is nothing against the sheer power of the film. A masterpiece!

FINAL VERDICT: 10/10 - a masterpiece, must be seen!

Dennis Hoppers The Last Movie (1971) - Filmanalyse

I will continue with the Godard-reviews in due time, but up until then, here is an analysis I wrote in german on Dennis Hopper's unfairly maligned masterpiece THE LAST MOVIE I did some time ago. Enjoy!!

„The Last Movie“ (1971) war Dennis Hoppers zweiter Film als Regisseur und Drehbuchautor, und bedeutete für den damals 35-jährigen fast das Ende seiner Karriere. Das Wunschprojekt, das er bereits vor „Easy Rider“ umsetzen wollte, kostete über eine Million Dollar. Der Film wurde von Universal ohne Auflagen und mit Recht auf Final Cut bewilligt, und gewann in Venedig den Spezialpreis der Jury.

Doch das Experiment floppte in den Staaten, und wurde von Kritikern als inhaltliche Farce verrissen. Durch Vorführungen in Museen und Mitternachts-Kinos erreichte der Film schließlich den Status eines verkannten Meisterwerkes, das zu Unrecht abgestraft wurde, und in der Tradition europäischer Kunstfilme der damaligen Zeit steht. Bis zuletzt versuchte Hopper den Film auf DVD zu veröffentlichen – ein Traum, den er zu Lebzeiten nicht mehr verwirklichen konnte.

Im Zentrum des Films steht die harsche Kritik am amerikanischen Imperialismus. Der „American Dream“ dringt in eine unberührte, im Herzen unschuldige Welt ein und zerstört sie. Als Metapher für diese zwei Welten entscheidet sich Hopper für die fiktive, gestellte Welt eines Filmdrehs, dem die Bevölkerung einer peruanischen Kleinstadt gegenüber steht.

Ende der Sechziger Jahre befand sich die USA in einer Phase voller Spannungen. Der Krieg in Vietnam, Rassenkonflikte und das Ende der Hippiekultur bildeten den apokalyptischen Background für Hoppers filmische Visionen. Bereits mit „Easy Rider“ schrieb der Regisseur und Drehbuchautor seinen Abgesang auf die amerikanische Gesellschaft und schließt mit „The Last Movie“ an dessen Thesen zu Gegenkultur, Opferrollen und Tod an.

Als nach dem Tod eines Protagonisten die Dreharbeiten eines Westerns (im Film unter der Regie von Samuel Fuller) abgebrochen werden, entscheidet sich der Stuntman Kansas (Hopper), am Drehort in Peru zu bleiben. Dort hat er sich mittlerweile eine zweite Existenz jenseits aller amerikanischen Maßstäben aufgebaut: in der Prostituierten Maria (Stella Garcia) findet er eine naturverbundene Partnerin, und die malerisch Landschaft kommt für ihn einem Garten Eden gleich. Direkt zu Beginn des Films reitet er in einer Hommage an die goldene Ära des Hollywood-Westerns durch ein Feld von gelben Blumen; die schneebedeckten Berge und der blaue Himmel im Hintergrund. Diese im Film wiederkehrenden des Genres verweisen auf das Bild des „guten Cowboys“, der mit sauberem Hemd und edlen Absichten durch ein unberührtes Land reist und für amerikanische Werte (wie Moral, Gerechtigkeit und Güte) steht.

Hopper fängt Peru in ausladenden Panoramen ein - Standbilder und langsame Kamerafahrten vermitteln die Harmonie der Abgeschiedenheit. In diesen Aufnahmen zeigt der Regisseur sein Talent als impressionistischer Filmemacher. Ähnlich wie Terrence Malick nach ihm, zeigt er langen Einstellungen, Supertotalen und Totalen, sowie harmonischen Bildkompositionen die Natur als Ausdruck von Seelenfrieden und unberührter Schönheit. Diese Natürlichkeit spiegelt sich auch in anderen Aspekten des Filmes wieder: Hopper arbeitet fast ausschließlich mit natürlicher Beleuchtung, und die Indios (von denen viele tatsächliche Einwohner des Dorfes waren) geben ihre Rollen ungekünstelt wieder. Auch Hopper selbst hält sich als Hauptdarsteller angenehm zurück - keine Spur vom etwaigem Größenwahn, der ihm oft nachgesagt wurde

Als krasser Gegensatz zur visuellen Harmonie steht der non-linear gewählte Schnitt.

Nach Ende der fast sechs Monat andauernden Dreharbeiten zog sich Hopper nach Taos, New Mexico zurück, im Schlepptau etliche Stunden Filmmaterial. Inspiriert von dem Western El Topo (1970), lud Hopper dessen Regisseur Alejandro Jodorowsky zu sich ein, und bot dem gebürtigen Chilenen an, „The Last Movie“ zu schneiden. Nach zwei Tagen soll der Film fertig gewesen sein. Hopper zeigte sich begeistert. Universal lehnte die Fassung jedoch ab – es darf allerdings vermutet werden, dass Hopper sich stark von Jodorowskys typisch unkonventionellem Stil inspirieren ließ.

Für Hopper wird er zum Ausdruck der Innenwelt seines Protagonisten und formuliert dem Publikum dessen Gedankenwelt: sieht Kansas z.B. eine Kulisse, schlägt Hopper eine Brücke zu den Wünschen seiner Figuren nach amerikanischen Lebensvorstellungen. Verhalten sich die Figuren materialistisch, wird die Handlung durch eine Szene kontrastiert, welche die ursprüngliche Bodenständigkeit der Indios hervorhebt. Und immer wieder greift er Slow Motion Aufnahmen des Set-Unfalls auf, um Kansas Todesangst zu verdeutlichen.

Doch die westliche Kultur hinterlässt am Drehort deutliche Spuren: Einige der Einheimischen sehen sich vom Dreh inspiriert und stellen mit Attrappen aus Bambus ihren eigenen Film nach, und Maria fordert nach wenigen Wochen des Zusammenlebens ein Haus mit Pool, einen Kühlschrank und Pelzmantel. Garcia wirkt nun aufgesetzt und übertreibt in ihrer Darstellung, was dem Versuch ihrer Figur entspricht, sich amerikanischen Verhaltensmustern anzupassen (wodurch sie für Kansas natürlich jeden Reiz verliert).

Ebenso agiert der selbsternannte peruanische Regisseur wie eine Karikatur von Fuller, fuchtelt mit einer geladenen Pistole herum und verkündet zuletzt, dass Kansas, der „die Sünde“ ins Dorf gebracht hat, als Abschluss des „Filmes“ vor den Augen aller hingerichtet werden soll, um das Dorf vom Bösen zu befreien. Für die Indios besteht kein Unterschied zwischen Realität und Inszenierung. Was sie beim Dreh des Filmes sehen, ist für sie Wirklichkeit.

Angestachelt vom falschen (aber trotzdem realen) Regisseur verwunden die Indios Kansas schwer. Dieser kann gerade noch fliehen und bricht halluzinierend in einer Kirche zusammen. Hier bricht Hopper mit seinem ruhigen Stil: der Schnitt wird hektisch, wirr, manche Einstellungen dauern kaum eine Sekunde. Hopper fängt mit unruhiger, zitternder Handkamera Kansas Schmerz ein, verdeutlicht uns seine Halluzinationen noch mit eingefügten Sirenen, Schüssen und verstörenden Indio Gesängen. Ein Folk Song beginnt, bricht ab, Tiergeräusche und Babyschreie vermischen sich. Es herrscht pures Chaos, auf der Leinwand ebenso wie im Kopf des fliehenden Protagonisten.

Kansas überlebt, fügt sich jedoch in sein Schicksal und stellt sich den Indios. Als er schließlich seinen inszenierten Tod sterben soll, sehen wir ihn zu harmonischen Folk Klängen in Slow Motion rennen, wie er von einer Kugel getroffen wird und sterbend niedersinken. Doch Kansas steht wieder auf, lacht, klopft sich den Staub von den Kleidern und läuft aus dem Bild. Eine Sterbeszene folgt der nächsten, und immer wieder erhebt sich Kansas aufs Neue von den Toten, grimassiert, lacht. Auch der Zuschauer kann nun nicht mehr differenzieren: sehen wir grade einen Film, einen Film übers Filmemachen oder karikiert Hopper seine eigenen Dreharbeiten? Haben die Indios in ihrem Sünder, der das Unglück über sie brachte, einen Erlöser gefunden?

Zusätzlich zeigt Hopper Textkarten mit der Aufschrift „Scene Missing“, und scheint nun gar nicht mehr zu schneiden, zeigt Filmklappen und auslaufende Filmrollen, Crewmitglieder und ins Bild hängende Mikrofone. Hopper verdeutlicht seinem Publikum, welches den Film bis dahin unterbewusst als real wahrgenommen hat, dass es sich hierbei nur um eine Inszenierung handelt. Er bricht die Struktur des Filmes auf und enttarnt ihn als Farce, der mehr der Zerstreuung als der geistigen Bildung dienen soll.

Nach einer Laufzeit von zwei Wochen in New York wurde der Film schließlich abgesetzt - die Kritik hatte ihn zu diesem Zeitpunkt bereits als wirre Drogenvision abgetan. Der wahre Grund für die negative Resonanz war aber weder die non-lineare Struktur, noch Hoppers Drogenexzesse (die im Dokumentarfilm „The American Dreamer“, der Hopper als bärtigen, hemmungslosen Junkie zeigt, festgehalten wurden), sondern die offene Attacke gegen das Hollywood-System und den „American Dream“. Für Hopper wird der Hollywoodfilm zum Symbol der amerikanischen Ideologie: jede Figur in „The Last Movie“ ist ein Produkt der „Traumfabrik“ Hollywood - pure Oberflächlichkeit, jeder Seele und Ideologie beraubt, die wiederum andere, im Glauben in eine sozial höher liegende Schicht aufzusteigen, inspiriert es ihr gleichzutun. Die künstliche Filmwelt gebiert in der Realität ihre Klischees.

Und so bildet die letzte Szene des Filmes den ultimativen, zynischen Abgesang auf die geistige Macht des Kinos: Kansas und sein Freund Neville (Don Gordon) sitzen vor einem Lagerfeuer. Die beiden sind auf der Suche nach Gold, und Kansas fragt, ob sein Freund wisse, wie man es findet. Neville entgegnet darauf: „Hast Du den Schatz der Sierra Madre gesehen? Wenn Walter Hudson Gold finden kann, dann kann ich das auch.“

Jean Luc Godard - Les Carabiniers

There are few - if any - films as devoid of anything interesting or exciting as Les Carabiniers. I don't know if Godard had any kind of fun making this film - maybe it was as much a chore to make as it is to sit through. It is surely Godard's worst film by a mile. So let's get this over with...

The film opens with a text card, loosely explaining Godard's intentions. It then cuts to two men and their girlfriends in a hut, somewhere in a post-apocalyptic landscape. The four have meaningful names (Cleopatra for example), but not much comes of it.

Two soldiers arrive, with a letter, informing the two men that they are drafted. At first, they are not thrilled by the idea of going to war, but when the soldiers tell them that soon, they can come back and carry "all the riches of the world with them" and give them to their wives, the two agree and leave.

We are then presented with various montages of the two fighting - walking through post-apocalyptic landscapes, shooting people, occasionally fighting or talking to generals. The only narration present is provided through read-out letters of the two men. Accompanied is all this by some ugly shots, terrible bothering a-tonal music and a washed out look (which came from the old film stock Godard chose to deliberately make the film ugly).

So what happens? Not much. There are two or three scenes of interest (one being an execution, another is one of the two men going to a cinema for the first time, walking towards the silver screen and touching it), but all in all, the film has not much to say apart from the usual. War is bad and gets the worst out of people. Soldiers are exploited. Both sides are equally wrong. Nothing new or interesting here.

War concludes with the men returning home. As their partners demand the riches of the world promised in the beginning, they are offered thousands of postcards. Godard then goes on to have his protagonists throw the postcards into the air, describing them... for twenty minutes. Ouch. The film ends with the four walking into a city - turns out their side has lost the war. The two are thus smoothly executed by a former companion (as a text-card informs us).

Maybe money ran out, or maybe Godard already thought of his next venture (apparently, Hollywood had called). It is evident that politics are not Godard's best friends, rendering Les Carabiniers a disaster. One critic remarked the film was "hell for the first hour" but "exiting to think of afterwards" - ironically, the film only lasts about 70 minutes. So this one is "for Godard completists only", and even in that context I can't imagine anybody liking it.

Thankfully, Hollywood had called Godard before realizing this film. It seemed they were interested in funding his next film. Thankfully, Godard agreed.

FINAL VERDICT: 3/10 - a disaster, avoid at all cost!

Jean Luc Godard - Vivre sa Vie

There are few films that have the emotional punch and intellectual weight that Vivre sa Vie offers. It is Godard's first perfect film, from start to finish a dark and surprisingly striking tale of a young woman's descent into prostitution. If A Bout de Souffle was a saccharine depiction of the dreams inside a teenagers head, Vivre sa Vie portrayed the same persons from an outside point of view, unmasking false dreams, loneliness and the influence capitalism has on ones soul. The film is told in twelve chapters, all starting with a "tableaux", in which the forthcoming events are summarized. While some chapters don't stand out, others are visibly separated from most of the movie, either thematically or in tone.

Most of all, this is Karina's movie. If she's been striking in the two previous films, her portrayal of Nana cements her as a giant of the silver screen. Albeit the story of Nana isn't too special - a young woman leaves her husband and infant child behind to become an actress. She works in a record store, sees men, has photographies taking of her and waits for the world to realize her ambitions. But he work doesn't guarantee high income, and her dreams seem to have vanished into hot air. And although the tragic turn her life will soon take is evident to the viewer, Nana seems to be strangely content to one day make it big. Although there are definite symbols that the girl is looking for self-destruction as a romantic way of liberation: In one early scene, Godard has his heroine go to the movies, to watch Carl Theodor Dreyer's "La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc", followed by an already iconic shot of Karina crying. The audience is already aware of the impending doom to come, and if Nana isn't, then she's surely quite in love with the martyrdom of young women around her.

And so Nana starts her life as a prostitute - although she seems to hold back at first, she quickly falls into a routine, and is picked up by a pimp, who takes her in and further promises to "look out" for her. Godard equips a documentary approach in those scenes of Nana's daily routine, including cold voice-overs that recount the proceedings step-by-step. Sexuality looses all of its personal and romantic traits, and even though some men seem interested in what's behind Nana's beautiful facade, they can't penetrate deeper than physically.

But Godard allows his audience to gaze deeper. One tableaux includes Nana looking straight into the camera, seemingly spilling her heart to the viewer. Another tableaux recollects Nana meeting a young philosopher in a Café, with whom she has a long argument about the difference in spoken and written word, and what it implies about the person "talking" through both (this segment is ironically followed by one in which Godard takes away the soundtrack to include a monologue of his own). Those moments provide us with a troubling realization: Nana is not a dumb girl who has fallen into prostitution by her own actions - she's rather an intellectual woman, whose mindset of naive dreams have catapulted her into isolation. While capable of intellectual realizations, her self-perception is utterly deranged.

Godard, throughout his film, hints at capitalism as the culprit: commercials, pop culture and americana have invaded the european mindset and introduced Hollywood and Coca Cola to the youth of today. Sex, drugs and status symbols rule the minds of the young, exchanging spiritual liberation with materialistic over-identification. To become something is evidently more important than to be something, and what we are is seen merely as a passing state that can only lead to something better. In other words - Nana's life as a prostitute seems - to her - to be a fantasy, out of which she could escape at any point, hardly realizing she is heading towards her personal doom.

In contrast to the dark plot, all of Vivre sa Vie looks absolutely astonishing! The film is full of visual beauty, be it in Karina's face, the streets and apartments of Paris or the cinematography. Of course Godard's many influences are felt - Renoir, Bresson, Dreyer - but he manages to emulate these influences into his own style and comes up with something unique and innovative!

As for Nana, her story ends in surprisingly un-Godardian fashion, and seemingly contradictory to the film. It's open to debate whether Godard saw this ending as a nod to american filmmaking or tried to further implicate the fantasy world Nana saw herself in. It is a slight departure that takes the viewer out of the film (and maybe it's only slight weakness) and feels rushed. There are some which dislike the film for its ending, and some who believe it is crucial to the narrative itself, varying on interpretation.

One way or another, Vivre sa Vie was Godard's triumph over cinema. He had made a film as important as it is beautiful, that still rings true fifty years after its release. It is forgivable that his next film would be an unwatchable farce. But more on that later...

FINAL VERDICT: 9.5/10 - a masterpiece, must be seen!

Jean Luc Godard - Une Femme est une Femme

After the ban of Le Petit Soldat, Godard was practically forced to come up with sort of a crowd-pleaser, since another gloomy character portrait with political undertones might well follow its predecessors faith. And Une Femme est une Femme is strangely just that: Godard going "mainstream". Godard "selling out". A comedy. A musical. In technicolor. With all the usual romantic shenanigans of Hollywood. Oh boy...

However frustrating it may sound - Une Femme est une Femme is the first film where Godard accomplishes to fully realize his ambitions. Godard takes an idea from mainstream filmmaking and turns it into a semi-Avant Garde romp, which includes him breaking the fourth wall repeatedly, addressing his own and Truffaut's career (in one scene, Belmondo turns around to face a suddenly present Jeanne Moreau just to ask her how the shoot of Jules et Jim is coming along) and some of the most striking usage of color ever seen in a film.

The story of the film is actually quite pointless. We are introduced to an exotic dancer (Karina - today we'd call her a stripper), her boyfriend (Brialy) and his best friend (Belmondo). The dancer wants to have a child. Her boyfriend isn't very keen on this idea, thus leading the woman to approach his best friend to sleep with her. Chaos ensues, fronts vary, and in the end it's all back to where it began, more or less.

This makes it especially hard to point out the many amazing traits of this film - there are enough Godard's with a striking characterization or plot to watch apart from this light comedy. Most of the film has been made up in a matter of minutes. A mess of improvised acts, childish games and immature behavior. Not to mention the songs that could be straight out of any random Hollywood musical. So why bother?

One big reason is Anna Karina. After her rather small involvement in Le Petit Soldat, Godard allows her to fully explore her ambitions here, singing, dancing, goofing around, flirting and being gorgeous all around. It is her charm that carries most of the film, and her voice that shouts "Camera! Lights! Action!" over the titles in the first minute, and her girlish spleens allow the viewer to identify with her in a film mostly comprised of caricatures.

Another reason is Godard's visual style. It's not only the striking use of color and the great cinematography, but also his ability to supply his audience with information on characters and places without explaining them. One example for this is the girls neighbor who seemingly owns the single phone of the house. Every time the girl rings on her door, the neighbor opens just to let another different man (or is it costumer?) get out of her apartment. Some more can be observed in the couple in front of the house that seemingly never stops to make out, or in the run down, curiously empty and gloomy strip local. It's important to note that fellow Nouvelle Vague director Jacques Demy came, some years later, up with his own re-imagination of the musical genre, in which he took the elements provided by Godard and exaggerated them into what can only be summarized as a saccharine dreamscape. Like Demy or not, it's obvious that Godard provided food for thought just how far the musical genre can be stretched, further allowing artists like Baz Luhrman 40 years later to build upon his ideas.

But the main attraction here is Godard's amazing eye for experimentation, which allows him to come up with one striking and insane idea after another. Be it title cards, the aforementioned fourth wall breaking, the actors improvising or bursting into songs, or the wide array of ideas that Godard came up with on the spot. Near the end, the couple refuses to talk to another, lying in bed silently, refusing any kind of communication. Thus, the girl switches on the light, carries the lamp over to a book shelve, picks one up and returns to the bed, to give her boyfriend the book, insulting him through its title. The scene continues with each picking up a different book, the two characters communication by hurling books at each other.

Une Femme est une Femme is the first film where Godard finds his own language, which he went on to apply with every future film over the course of at least the next ten years. It is easy to watch and very entertaining, without using any of its artistic merit. It's one of those rare examples where an artist achieves to both woe his audience with his artistic vision and to entertain them. The film was - of course - highly successful, and is a stepping stone of Godard's career, which allowed him to continue with his cinematic experimentation in his next film, which once again would be a turn of 180 degrees in theme and style, and allow Karina to further proof that she was one of the most exciting actresses of her generation.

FINAL VERDICT: 9/10 - amazing, has to be seen!

Jean Luc Godard - Le Petit Soldat

For three years, Le Petit Soldat didn't see the light of day. shot in switzerland right after A Bout de Souffle was premiered, the film was banned upon inspection of the ministry of culture, apparently due to a number of violent torture scenes.

It's not the follow up to A Bout de Souffle that Godard's growing fanbase had anticipated, that is for sure. Finally released in 1963, it can only be speculated what Godard's career would have looked like if this would have been released as his second feature, instead of the colorful and romantic musical comedy Une Femme est une Femme. Le Petit Soldat is bleak, political, demanding, intelligent and disturbing, and deals with questions about political intentions and their consequences as much as with film theory. It is shot on faded black and white film, and even though the cinematography is highly aestheticized, the film is nowhere near the beauty of A Bout de Souffle, and rather aims for a cinéma verité look.

It's also notable that this was the first film of Godard featuring his future wife, Anna Karina, who became his actress of choice and muse. It's also highly debatable what would have happened with Godard - the artist - if he wouldn't have cast her in Le Petit Soldat. As little as her role here is, she radiates with charisma and charm.

Our protagonist is a young french man: Bruno - 26 years old, a deserter of the algerian war who has fled to switzerland and works as an agent of the french government. At times even as an assassin. In flashbacks, which can hardly be discerned from the main narrative, the relationship of him and Karina's character is introduced: she, the girlfriend of a friend, asks the young man, who is a photographer and art-conoisseur, to take her picture. Upon agreeing, he is contacted by two agents, who force him to agree to assassinate a leftist activist that is working with algerian intelligence. Even though Bruno is suspected to work as a double agent he refuses, which leads the agents to plot an arrest warrant. Either the young man agrees to kill the target, or he is delivered to france by the police, where he will be charged for deserting his unit. But any attempt to assassinate the target fail, until Bruno is captured suddenly by arab intelligence, brought to an apartment and tortured.

Godard's focus in the main storyline lies with the lack of difference in the means of either side. Bruno himself is exploited both by the french and arab side, which use him for their means and care little for his own personal or political agenda. Even though the images of torture themselves are disturbing and repelling, the message that both sides are essentially the same and only differing in their political point of view (Bruno even mentions at some point that when the right gain power they reign like the left, and the left the other way around) was likely to be the true cause of the ban. In the end, in showing that the actions taken by both groups are more important than their agenda, Godard came up with a much dangerous message than any visualization of torture could be.

But apart from the political themes, the film also deals with art and cinema. During the photo shoot, Bruno talks a lot about his intention of photographing - how he thinks a photo has to capture the soul of the person in the picture, and that he refers to a photography as the truth (and continues that cinema is 24 truths per second - an often quoted statement). Throughout the film, he compares various things to paintings ("The sky looks like a Klee." "Her eyes were Velasquez grey.") and at some point even states he would like to open an art gallery. In those moments, Bruno is more than just a deserter or assassin - we see him as a young man of intellect with ambitions and dreams, who is caught in a web of international intrigue. During the last act, he even goes as far as to comment on the state of youth in politics. "Each generation had their revolution, but what have we?" This monologue shows Godard's lack of hope in politics, which led him to extreme socialism a few years later. From his point of view, the youth of the early 60s was tired and lacked a sense of purpose. Godard was hungry for a revolution (though one of art and intelligence instead of one equipping torture and assassination).

As for our protagonist, the entire affair ends in tragedy, rendering Le Petit Soldat even more bleak than it already is. Obviously, it didn't need a ban to make Godard decide that his next film would be the entire opposite. Le Petit Soldat, as great as it is, could only be followed by something light and optimistic.

Final Verdict: 8.5/10 - Very Good, should be watched

Jean Luc Godard - A Bout de Souffle

In 1960, Pier Paolo Pasolini struggled with his directorial debut, Accattone - the story of a troubled roman pimp. He had shot some test material, which reportedly looked terrible, and wasn't able to formulate his thoughts into a coherent story. Thus, his friend Bernardo Bertolucci, recommended to Pasolini to go see A Bout de Souffle. Pasolini went, together with his friends - a wild mix of crooks, rent boys, pickpockets, all living on the streets, most teenagers, many of them having had affairs with Pasolini.

A few days later, Pasolini met with Bertolucci, and asked why he had recommended the film to him. Bertolucci answered that he thought it was an accurate depiction of todays youth and small time crooks. Pasolini laughed. "But I went with my friends, who are all gangsters. They laughed at the screen and mocked Belmondo! This isn't about gangster - it's about spoilt brats having nothing to do, boring the audience with their talk."

Upon inspection of A Bout de Souffle, two things are important to remember: one is that the film was written by fellow nouvelle vague director Francoise Truffaut, who went on to write and direct Jules et Jim. Both films share a common trait: their main protagonists are assholes. Dumb assholes, actually. Both Michel (Belmondo) and Catherine in J&J are not very nice, treat everybody around them like shit and only care for themselves. Why exactly Truffaut, who has proven with the Antoine Doinelle series as well as many other great films, seemed to deem it necessary to have unlikeable characters be his protagonists is quite baffling. When we are introduced to Michel - stealing a car, driving through the countryside, killing a policeman, spouting nonsensical banter - he's neither interesting nor charismatic in particular. Thankfully, the vibrant editing and beautiful cinematography distract from this fact. To be honest, A Bout de Souffle may be one of the most beautiful shot films of its era. Bu that doesn't distract from the non-existent plot or character development.

On the run from the police Michel drives to Paris, and in the one iconic shot of the film picks up a young girl (Jean Seberg) who sells the NY Herald Tribune. The two have met before (even if only briefly) and had an affair. Desperate to crash somewhere, Michel (after being rejected by her) breaks into her apartment and tries to convince the girl to sleep with him. What follows is one of the most bland second acts in any Godard film. The next 30 minutes comprise of the two talking about nothing of interest or meaning. While the girl tries to discuss books and music with Michel, he quickly shifts the conversation to sex. It's a weird scene for the audience to observe - here we have a girl, who name drops artists and musicians as if they were street names ("Do you like Faulkner?") and a guy who can only respond in immature jokes which reveal his lack of self-confidence ("Is that a boy you slept with?"). Both have nothing to say, and the girls interest in pop culture seems to stem from a lack of character than an actual understanding of or interest in the matter.

Indeed, Godard went on to further undermine the youth of the 60's in his future films. Both Masculin, Féminin and La Chinoise further proceed to depict the french youth as a pack of spoiled brats that spout political and ideological nonsense in the firm believe that their intellectual emptiness was actually a political manifest (in this, Godard was very close to Pasolini's opinion about the youth of the 60s, but more on that with Masculin, Feminin).

Here, however, Godard doesn't seem to criticize rather than glorify this believe system. And so, while both protagonists may look splendid lying in bed, their characterization takes a step back. We further get to know that Michel is an asshole, and that the girl has an interest in journalism (which leads to a scene which could be seen as a critique of the intellectual emptiness denounced later on in Godard's work: during an interview with a writer, the journalists fight almost physical over the literary star, shouting random questions at him, which he often negates and answers with sarcasm or tongue-in-cheek responses). But else, those two pretty puppets are empty and devoid of anything of interest. They are - as Holden Caulfield would put it - phony's. Poseurs of the highest order.

Of course this may be where the film did indeed succeed. The 1950s provided a large amount of cinematic heroes that had to stand in for a good cause or had meaningful and tragic situations to cope with. And even though most films of the 50s had the typical Hollywood Happy End, the road to happiness was rocky and littered with tears and melodrama. So protagonists who had nothing to do but sit around and talk about... well, nothing in particular, with no problematic than those they brought upon themselves, might have been a welcome breath of fresh air. But from todays point of view, the film would work a lot better if the characterization would match the vibrant and stylish photography.

In the end, the resolution comes as meaningless as it is sudden, with both the protagonists and the audience pondering why the characters decided to act the way they did. In one final moment of emotional and characteristic emptiness, Godard breaks every rule he had set up in the 70 previous minutes - maybe to end the film like one of the tragic film noir's of the 40s he adored so much (and paid homage to with many of his works). But the why of it all weighs heavy on the film, and in its closing minutes, this french version of Bonnie and Clyde feels rather like a stylisher, old-school version of Antitrust - just with Paris instead of computers.

But credit where credit is due: Jean Seberg is beautiful and at least fills the little she has to work on with a lot of grace, sex appeal and charm. The soundtrack, comprised of atmospheric jazz songs suits the film and enriches it. Paris may have never looked more appealing (or more like Chicago). And even though I am not the biggest Belmondo fan, he plays the asshole with a lot of dedication (maybe more than he would admit).

But all of these merits can't really help the emotional emptiness of A Bout de Souffle. Luckily, Godard would move on, and manage to portray entertaining and interesting characters and set up a clever and sophisticated plot.

FINAL VERDICT: 6/10 - OK with flaws, worthy a watch.

Jean Luc Godard - introduction

Jean Luc Godard may be both one of the worlds most rewarding and disappointing filmmakers. His work ranges from masterful to utterly terrible, and during the 60s alone, he has dabbled in such varied genres as in war films, musical, sci-fi and political thriller, among others. Always colorful - even if directed in black and white, his films were an unique oddity back when they were conceived, and still stand out today.

However, there is one major problem with his body of work. As enjoyable as some of his films may seem, Godard himself has always tried to push his own intentions into the foreground, resulting in works that seem helmed by a professor of sociology rather than a director, bordering on boring and even wanky excursions on socialism and dadaism.

As curious I was in the beginning, the more cautious I have become with this mans body of work as I further followed his lead. Among the 16 films he directed during the 60s (resulting in a dead end - the two essay-films Le Gai Savoir and Un Film commes lest autres - but not before turning a documentary on the Rolling Stones into a raging and messy political manifest) are some of my favorite films and some which I hope I never have to lay an eye on again.

As I worked my way through these films, many I talked to about his work requested I should review or analyze his films one by one. So after finally finishing all 16 aforementioned works, and with Godard all over the news again (the now 80 year old was awarded with the lifetime achievement academy award as well as others, released his latest feature, Film Socialisme and will have eight highly experimental and divisive films previously not released in germany included in a DVD box-set), I decided to give this a go, and write down my thoughts on his run during the 60s.

But before I start, it is necessary to sum up Godard during that period of time. It is important to note that Godard did not start a filmmaker, but earned his money as a film critic of the popular journal Cahiers du Cinéma, mostly composing reviews not too keen on "classic filmmakers", such as Ingmar Bergman and Henri-Geroges Clouzot. It is of high importance that Godard himself felt frustrated with the filmmakers of his age, requesting a style to match his generation. With hardly any budget, he set out to direct his first short films "on the run" - with hardly a script and equipped only with a camera (mirroring the manifest of the Dogma-movement three decades later). No matter what one might think of Godard's opinion as a critic during that time, this approach has to be applauded, especially in a time in which shooting without a proper studio attached was unthinkable.

Thus, Godard was looking for the language of a generation. And he found it in two slackers.

For A.

Thanks to David K.

--- .-. .--. .... . ..- ...

1.) I'm moving into a new flat!! Yay!!!

2.) I'm currently re-writing "Any Other Day / Jeder Andere Tag". When I wrote the screenplay, I was very influenced by realist filmmakers, such as Michael Haneke and Takeshi Kitano. Reading it now, I found a few flaws - in general, it feels something so detached from my current style (or the style I intended it to have from the beginning) that the script needs to be changes, and whaddayaknow, since I got some time on my hands, I decided to re-write some parts of it. Can't tell how much it is as of now, but it'll be a lot darker and a lot closer to the psychedelic-noir style I intended the visuals to be.

I'm very proud of some parts though... thinking that the first rough draft/treatment was done three years ago is quite shocking, because it still feels so fresh and exciting. It just needs the right atmosphere and coloring.

3.) Some cool things ahead I don't want to talk about just yet. Ha.

five eleven

The soundtrack for ABORT is finished!! Yes!!! Hooray!! And I'm terrified how great it is. Expect to see the film VERY SOON near you!!!

Apart from this, it's rather looking dire outside. It's a sea of yellow leaves on a dark grey sky - the sun hasn't shone for days, there's storms at night, and I seriously considered to go out and do an improvised short of two teenagers who live in a post-apocalyptic world, in which their parents called one of the Old Ones. No sun for weeks and 98% of the population gone, the kids have to swallow big red pills to stay healthy, now and then need to cover their faces behind masks in case one of the Old Ones walks/rumbles by and have pretty much nothing to do all day long... not sure yet if it's a good idea or is suited for a fun short, and I guess it's up to the people I'll ask if they participate if it is.

Apart from that, here's some more great stuff I've been checking out recently that I find to be quite inspiring.

Think I don't have to say anything to introduce Rosey. Perfect album. Buy it.

If there's something that screams instant fun to me, it's scene kids in comics (or film, I'm looking at you, KABOOM), and Suburban Glamour is pretty much what makes scene kids great. Imagine two teenagers who're living in the middle of nowhere, obsessed with pop culture and music, as realistic as they are ridiculous - there's not much apart of occasional sex, drugs, school and nagging parents, until our heroine finds out she's sort of in the middle of a faerie war. It's hilarious, and by the co-creator and penciler of Phonogram, which you hopefully have read by now. The book's also cheap as hell, you can get it for 7 Euros on amazon. Not bad at all!

Inspiration and True Blood

3 things to make my day:

Doing some coloring

Listening to the new Eno

Saying "Faboost" a lot