Coeurs

Coeurs (2006) by Alain Resnais (best known as one of the brilliant critics and directors of la Nouvelle Vague) is a small-scale, bittersweet character study that can we enjoyed by casual moviegoers and critics alike. Typically, one thinks of Resnais' work as heavy and cerebral--such as in, Hiroshima mon amour, and although this film explored 'heavy' themes I feel like it was a far more approachable film than what one could expect from the renowned auteur.

The film begins with a sweeping overhead establishing shot around the 13ème enneigée de Paris. We soon zoom-into the intimate lives of some rather normal Parisians: a couple looking for a new apartment, two realtors, a young woman, and a bartender. They all lead seemingly separate lives, but fate and/or love would have their lives intertwine just a little. Ultimately, the film focuses on theses six people and their attempts to maintain and achieve meaningful relationships. The cohesion between scenes and the character development is slow (due to constant cuts from the comings and goings of each characters lives) but the cohesion and development does occur, and rather brilliantly. Relentless snow dissolves were corny... but forgivable considering the thematics the motif presents (i.e., cold, loneliness, dreariness). Furthermore, the film was an attempt of Resnais' to recreate Alan Ayckbourn's screenplay Private Fears in Public Spaces: therefore, the dissolves seem to act as a charming little curtain between scenes.

Resnais' use of light was very audacious but controlled nonetheless. Several examples suffice: the repeated bar scenes in the hotel lobby, the ending montage with direct overhead lighting, the club-like lighting for the risqué bedroom dancing... Resnais easy makes use of lighting to highlight certain moments, making them either dreamy or more poignant.

I have one complaint: the music was corny and unforgivable. The slow piano music just seem to be a constant reminder of the falling snow (as if we didn't have enough) and failed to support the mood of all the scenes. Some scenes were frankly hilarious but the music was just distracting or boring. I don't have to qualify that one anymore than that. Argue with me, I dare you.

Resnais has had a prolific career of which Coeurs is his 47th film, but he is still best known for his early works that dealt with issues of trauma and memory. If you find these topics a bit too much to approach than maybe you're looking for something more like Coeurs.

Vivre dans la colère

Jean Pierre Melville, when asked about his aggressive nature, said that it wasn't so much that he advocated aggression, but that he lived in anger. He further stated that everyone should be living in anger. Why? Because "le monde va mal..." that is why he didn't wish to be found in the middle of it.

Le Samouraï

Apparently, Melville once noted that with his limited means (he was a strictly independent filmmaker) he could only produce rough drafts. I don't know what could make this film, Le Samouraï (1964), a more finished product. Delon's expressionless gaze, his fetishized fedora, the overall lack of dialogue, and the infamous conclusion are well written about. The mis-en-scene is so reduced, and the plot so narrow, that after a while its incredible to believe how good of a movie has been woven around you. As Delon moves systematically through the film, with pure confidence in his abilities, we believe that he can get himself out any situation he finds himself in.

The attention to detail that Melville has in this film is solid proof that he knew what he was doing. Take, for example, Delon's apartment; its spotless. There are some miscellaneous affairs (cigarettes, notes, etc. ) on his nightstand, his coat and hat, some neatly arranged empty water bottles, and a caged bird in the middle of the room. Each one of these details can seem so insignificant to Delon's character and the plot, but a second look is so revealing... Melville's vision and exectution is so concise that there is nothing that doesn't belong. Never is that so clear as in Le Samouraï.

Léon Morin Prêtre

Léon Morin Prêtre (1961) was one of the most truly intriguing films I've seen, yet. This is no noir-gangster saga, but it remains quintessentially Melville. The drastic lighting, the focus on solitude, the minimalism... With that said, there were a few techniques and approaches that were very unique to this film: the dissolve to black editing, the manner that he uses this strong female lead, the pointed use of religion, and child actors are among a few things I haven't seen in another Melville work.
The audacious decision (and maybe a bit sacrilegious) to take Jean Paul Belmondo (Léon Morin) and dress him as a priest panned out beautifully: his reserve, and steely emotion was perfect for the role. On the other hand, to make Emmanuelle Riva (Barny) a young, lusty, atheist, widow who ends up converting under the young priest's tutelage was even more daring.


As Morin and Barny begin their relationship, on strictly ecclesiastical terms, we see the sparks flying: and the attempts to suffocate them. Profound and specific theo-philosophical issues are addressed by the two characters. Barny is a sworn atheist who states, "Religion is the opiate of the masses!" Surprisingly, Father Morin has opinions of his own, though he admits and affirms to only having one Shepard, Christ. For a while, the two agree to disagree and seem to enjoy each others company. The visits that continue seem to act as a form of distraction from the devastating war that is unfolding all around them. At one point, we watch in the reflection of a business window as some jews are brutally rounded up and thrown into the back of a van. Deaths hit close to home, people change identities, Barny even baptizes her child who is half jewish to protect her. Even further, it was indeed because of the war that this unlikely companionship even happened...
The most profound scene, in my opinion, comes when Morin visits Barny at home to find her chopping some wood. The priest, who has a 'free priest's pass' to just handle the reluctant woman, forces the hatchet from her hands and cuts the rest of the wood for her. She watches patiently, and somewhat, longingly. Having an able bodied male in the home chopping at the wood seems to take its effect on Barny, because shortly afterwards she makes a fatal mistake. She asks the priest, "If you were a protestant priest would you marry me? I need to know, would you have me as your wife?!" Morin, hatchet still in hand, chops into the cutting stump with fury and storms out of the house. The scene is devastating: its over.
The film does not end there, but I can't promise you a less depressing finish. The end leaves the viewer asking themselves, "why?" Inevitably, one wants to start pointing fingers--can't watch this one and walk away without brooding.

Le Doulos

Went and saw Le Doulos (1962) last night--one of Melville's finest film-noirs. I was thoroughly impressed: the black and white cinematography, the fog and shadows, the costumes, and smokey bars all contributed to a dark but engrossing mis-en-scène. The serpentine plot (mixed in with intense sixties-style gangster slang) challanged my ability to compeletly follow what was happening, but the film managed to keep me on the edge of my seat. I attribute that in large part to Jean Paul Belmondo's masterful approach to his character, the ambiguous, creepy, but oh-so-smooth Silien.
On the other hand, the relentless action doesn't let you lose interest; something new and important is always unfolding. This is interesting coming from an auteur who is so parsimonious with his action scenes--Melville usual prefers to allow tension to build and build. The film manages to keep its tense mood by keeping us guessing; action yes, but we never see it coming. At the same, you don't necessarily know where the action is all leading to, but you're sure the answers are just around the corner. That was just a long way of saying that the audience is ensnared until the very bitter end.
The mood of the whole film is reminiscent of a relentless nightmare: just as in a bad dream, fate seems to be in control of its damned actors. Even as Silien offers the only "positive" conclusion to the film with his last spoken words, "In this business, you either die with nothing or you get out early with a little something in your pocket," you know its not possible. Something still has to go wrong.

L'Aîné des Ferchaux

I went to go see one of Jean-Pierre Melville's more unpolished films recently, L'aîné des Ferchaux (Magnet of Doom, 1963). The film stock itself had clearly taken some abuse over the years; the first few minutes suffered from severe cepia-damage and there was heavy scratching throughout. Nonetheless, the photography, the mise-en-scène, and guerilla-style documentary style that laces the course of the film, produces some stunning footage.
The film stars Jean-Paul Belmondo (Michel), as a failed amateur boxer, who desperately seeks employment from a brash, rich, and shady banker played by Charles Vanel (M. Ferchaux). The later ends up hiring Michel as a secretary, confidence man, and travel companion as M. Ferchaux flees from French authorities and into the depths of America's southern bayous. Though Melville's delivery was a bit clumsy and underdeveloped the film was extremely rich in ideas, experimentation, aesthetics, and so forth. Unfortunately, the plot is stretched too thin and the film tends to drag just as soon as it picks itself up again. Add the rigid American non-actors, the choppy editing, and numerous plot impossibilities and the movie just falls short of a honed, chef d'oeuvre.
In spite of its faults, there's a lot to appreciate: Melville's sampling New Orleans nightlife with a camera shooting from the open car of a moving vehicle, the documentary style of his footage of empty highway stretches, slick diners, smoky bars and now-vintage motel signs, etc. These all form small parts of a different kind of Americana collage: one seen through the eyes of a European, who not necessarily fascinated with what he sees. The motley assortment of thieving hitchhikers, soldiers spouting racial slurs, ridiculous jukebox dancing, and opportunist bar owners reveals the seedy underbelly of the American Dream--all the firewood that one needs to have a film-noir barbecue in America's deep south. Furthermore, lovers of the director will note the plot's minimalism, the sparse, intimate dialogues as typical Melvillesque themes in-vitro.