Although it would be nice to share all of the cooking (especially the Crepes), the wine, or Kronenbourg beer (death to Budweiserdrome! Long live the new hops!), I think it might just be best to dispense with the surrounding details and focus on the two films we watched: Jean-Luc Godard's
À bout de souffle (
Breathless) and Jean-Pierre Jeunet's
Micmacs à tire-larigot (or
Micmacs in the US).
If you want to quickly explain the French New Wave aesthetic to somebody, the first ten minutes of
Breathless is your best bet. Narration indirectly linked to the action, jazz score, cinema verite camera style (documentary-like but then again clearly artificial, a walking contradiction), and no shortage of jump cuts; it's all there. All of the components used to divorce French film from the Pre-WWII "cinema de papa."
The story is almost incidental: Michel Poiccard (Jean-Paul Belmondo) is a car thief roaming around France, trying to get away from his existential angst. When he kills a police officer in panic (in a scene reminiscent of
Sunset Boulevard), Michel hurries off to Paris in an attempt to collect money owed to him and sneak off to Italy. A car thief is no great problem, but Poiccard is now a murderer, and a cop killer at that.
While he's waiting (and waiting... and waiting) for someone, anyone, to pay up, Michel tries to talk Patricia Franchini (Jean Seberg), an American living in Paris, to run away to Italy with him. They had a brief affair sometime before the film begins, and he seems more infatuated than she does. Patricia, who sometimes is speaking French and sometimes English, works for the New York Herald Tribune's Paris office and has aspirations to be a reporter, a dream parodied during a press interview with Parvulesco (Jean-Pierre Melville), who is only interested in talking about women and his opinion on love (or is, it seems, only asked about that).
To tell you much more would give away the entire movie, since much of Breathless is Godard and Raoul Cotard using hand-held cameras and natural light to follow Michel and Patricia around Paris while he waits and she makes up her mind about him. The juxtaposition of naturalistic filming with deliberately artificial editing (the jump cuts are most noticeable during conversations, where the audio plays out in real time but the images jump forward and backward in time) isn't easy for audiences unaccustomed to its unrestrained use (we at least have the benefit of the ensuing 50 years' worth of variations on the style. Imagine what it must have been like with only
The 400 Blows and
Hiroshima, Mon Amour to prepare you for the
nouvelle vague). The combination of the two may actually be more daunting to audiences than Godard's deliberately formal "12 Tableau"s of
Vivre sa Vie, but the result is a rewarding one.
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We tried something very different for Micmacs, which I suppose still doesn't have a wide release here in the states; I've always held to a theory that the only problem with subtitles for those who don't speak the native language in foreign films is that audiences are forced to choose between following the
mise en scene or trying to understand what the actors are saying. Splitting the difference necessarily means leaving something out, and accordingly the experience is never quite what it could be. This is the sort of problem to which there is only one good answer (learn every language fluently), but for the lazy or those short of time, I do not propose to tell you how to best approach this.
On the other hand, when we realized that the
Micmacs we'd be watching had no subtitles, there was a choice to be made: stop watching the newest Jean-Pierre Jeunet film (and the first since 2004's
A Very Long Engagement), or soldier on with my proposed experiment. I wanted to see if, lacking the necessary linguistic skills, we could follow the film purely on what was presented in images. Luckily for the Cap'n, my friends decided the experiment would be a fun one (it didn't hurt that Doctor Tom provided some spot-translation for us when necessary).
Fortune smiled upon us, as Jeunet is an extraordinarily visual director, and tends to orient his
mise en scene and action like a silent director (fans of
Amelie,
Delicatessen, or
The City of Lost Children will already be well aware of this). Micmacs is his magnum opus on this subject, as the film is a love letter to the artifice of film, right down to the opening credits that are designed to mirror the Golden Age of Hollywood's title cards (in black and white and English). Without the benefit of understanding what the characters were saying, much of the film is still perfectly easy to follow, even in dialogue heavy moments like the very end.
The story could be easily (and cheaply) summed up as a cross between
The Little Rascals,
Freaks, and
Ocean's Eleven. Bazil (Danny Boon)'s father was killed by a landmine when he was a child (manufactured by one weapons company) when he was a child. As an adult working in a video store, Bazil is struck in the head by a bullet (from a rival weapons manufacturer) during a freak accident. (Here, having some of the translation may have come in handy, as while trying to settle in to the "no subtitles" mode, we failed to notice that the doctors decide not to remove the bullet).
Left with no job, nowhere to live, and no means to support himself, Bazil resorts to becoming a street performer, until he's adopted by Placard (Jean-Pierre Marielle) who takes him to live with other outcasts in a dwelling halfway between modified junk and steampunk architecture. Not having a stable footing on the names (we essentially learned the characters by behavior), I'm going to simply link to the
IMDB page so that you can work things out for yourself when you've seen the film. Because the "this film is like" should give you some idea what the story is, I'll say no more other than Bazil discovers that the weapons manufacturers happen to be across the street from one another.
The experience was more interesting for us, particularly because Jeunet made a film that gleefully plays with the image. Having a character that hallucinates allows Jeunet to insert touches like video cameras that swivel like cartoon characters or animated thought bubbles when Bazil gets very dizzy. The most inspired gag occurs when Bazil discovers that the source of his life's miseries are directly opposite each other. The camera tilts down slowly on his face as the orchestral score swirls, only to reveal a full orchestra playing on the stairway behind Bazil. He has his epiphany, shakes the delusion from his head, and the orchestra "pops" out of existence.
I cannot say definitively how
Micmacs will play with all of the nuance of dialogue intact, but as an experience in following the language of cinema, it was an enjoyable experience. I don't sense many of you would be foolish enough to try this yourselves (as there's really no point to it unless you just wanted to try), but I would recommend the film and intend to watch it myself when there's a chance to see it and understand what's being said (Doctor Tom indicated there's a heavy anti-American military industrial complex tinge to the weapons manufacturer subplot). It's quite enjoyable, and whimsical much the way that Amelie was, although the characters may be a bit broader. Still, if you're a fan of Jeneut,
Micmacs will be well worth the six year wait.
All in all,
French Film Friday was well worth it. I'd like to have a few more of them while I'm here in the Apartment that Dripped Blood, so keep your eyes peeled.
