Repulsion (Roman Polanski, 1965)

Roman Polanski is one of the finest directors out there, is sense of space and creating a dark and claustrophobic atmosphere is brilliant, and he showcases this in such films as Rosemary’s Baby and The Tenant, and his Chinatown is just brilliantly directed. Repulsion was his first film outside Poland, I believe, and it is interesting to see what further steps he took his directing to. This was made in the UK, during that infamous flower power era, and this film does reflect that, to some extent.

What is crucial for the film is its quite daring exploration of a woman’s sexuality, more specifically that of Catherine Deneuve, who lives in London with her sister, who have come to work from Belgium, the French part of Belgium obviously. Of all the Polanski films I have seen, this probably has the most sharp directing, which is quite a feat, considering his previous films. There isn’t a lot of dialogue in this film; rather, we see the inner world of the protagonist, as she becomes more and more paranoid about the surroundings around her, and when she is all alone in the apartment. The most memorable image in the film is the rotting carcass of a rabbit in the kitchen. The film slowly progresses and reveals more about the character, and the tension builds effectively. Polanski takes some unexpected routes to get to where he wants, but always to great effect. The film is shot in grim black and white, and properly suits the mood of the film. Deneuve is perfect in her ice cold manner, and although she doesn’t emote much, this works well with the isolated character that she plays. Great example of good casting. Polanski, though, doesn’t mind throwing the audience about a bit, and our senses are distorted at times, which is quite effective. Much of the films strengths is its development and unfolding, so I won’t go too much into it.

Polanski is a master of the exploration of space and claustrophobia, and this is fairly similar to Rosemary’s Baby although, I believe, Repulsion is superior to that film. The intense feeling of claustrophobia, together with sexual angst, grows throughout the film, and builds towards a great climax. This is where Polanski’s sense of directing really comes to its best, his angles, the framing, it’s all great, and helps create the underlying fear of the film. This is a great example of truly telling the story through visual means, the lack of much dialogue helps create the sense of isolation, but also allows Polanski to experiment with the camera, everything is told through the lens, most of the dialogue is superfluous and is just there to add some background information. Isolation and paranoia was what Polanski was best at, and it shows gloriously in this film. In fact, I think this is the best film I’ve seen by Polanski, and I love Polanski. He is without doubt one of the best directors to appear during the early to mid 60’s, and this film is the point where the young director really reached his heights.

Brilliant film, brilliant framing and cinematography. The way tension and paranoia is built is superb, and it is a deep and disturbing exploration of repressed sexuality, not to get too Freudian. Not very accessible, the pacing is quite slow, but properly slow. Indeed, I prefer slow pacing compared to fast pacing. But that’s just me.

En Passion (Ingmar Bergman, 1969)

Finally were getting back into what it’s all about; careful, intense, small character studies. This is what Bergman masters best and he can repeat it many times without going over the same kind of thing twice. One thing that surprised me was that the film was in colour. It was made just a year after Skammen (Ingmar Bergman, 1968), which was in black and white. But it’s okay though, because the cinematography is beautiful throughout. It still doesn’t hold up to Bergman’s best colour film Viskningar och Rop (1972), but it has many admirable strengths. Hey, and I’d like to complain again. This film was released by the same company that released the Skammen DVD, and what is up with the DVD menu? It looks like something cheaply made in some bad program. Ah, it’s just annoying.

Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann return again, featuring their tortured faces. Bibi Andersson is also cast, and thank God because she does add her usual spark and liveliness to the film. Sydow and Ullmann’s performances are even stronger here than in Skammen, and they truly encapsulates the dreary and dark universe that Bergman creates. Sydow looks like a tortured soul, and Liv Ullmann has rarely looked sadder. What I complained about in my Skammen review is all gone like a bad dream, and here we are given the pure core of the material, rather all that other bullshit to fill the gaps. This is a character drama, and a pretty damn strong one at that. There are hints and clues at the cracks in the characters psyche, and we are given an open-ended look at their character traits. There is a lot of room for interpretation, and yet the characters still remain quite ambiguous to the end. Bergman is also one of the greatest at exposing the weakness and hypocrisy in human relationships. The gaze of the camera is penetrating in this film, and again Bergman uses his great skills with the camera to create some great shots. Actually, there are less of those kind of shots that I love than in Skammen, but here they are used to greater effect and the film overall is better structurally, so it doesn’t matter much. Also, I am a sucker for black and white cinematography. Sure, the film does look great, but I will still any day take black and white over colour. Incidentally, on IMDb, at the moment, Skammen got an average rating of 8.1, while En Passion “only” got 7.8. It just goes to show how superficial the average Bergman viewer is.

Probably one of the most powerful moments of the film is when we see several slaughtered and mauled sheep lying dead on the ground. Some jackass is running around the island the film takes place and is killing and torturing animals. While Bergman makes the audience try to figure out who did it, I don’t believe Bergman would care much to provide a clear answer to the question, but only make us pry into it. It is never clear, and it was never supposed to be. This is one thing I often hate, people asking “who done it?” Does it really matter? No it doesn’t, especially in films such as this. There is something more important about this being done, it is creating associations in our heads, further reasons to look into the characters psychology and works well with the rest of the narrative. It is done for something bigger; Bergman doesn’t have time to provide answers for such meaningless small narrative queries. The characters are fascinating, dark and there is enough sub-text for the whole family. Actually, I would recommend watching this with your family; maybe you’ll learn something about each other. The film is, quite surprisingly, fast paced. Obviously, the average audience will feel that this is slower than taking British Rail, but in many ways, compared to other Bergman films, it is quite fast. It may have something to do with the intensity of the script and narrative, as well as the performances, but I did like the pacing of the film. It still is able to take the odd moment to reflect on the world, but never more than necessary. Bergman is as usual great at creating fantastic and powerful endings, hopefully without that sentence sounding too much like an overused cliché, this is no exception.

Great to be back in familiar Bergman territory. The two last ones were alright, but this is the real good stuff of his work. Dramatic character studies will always survive, because they are so universal and powerful. Sydow and Ullmann are both great, and it is always a joy to see Bibi Andersson’s presence on the screen. It is dark, bleak, and dreary, exactly as vintage Bergman should be. Watch it at the expense of your own optimism.

Skammen (Ingmar Bergman, 1968)

Skammen, another Ingmar Bergman film that isn’t among his most famous, but I’ve heard enough praise to want to see it. Apparently, the film I watched, the DVD version, is in wrong aspect ratio. But then again, I didn’t notice, and the amount of DVD releases for this film aren’t exactly plentiful, and regardless, it cost me 4£. Besides, I didn’t quite notice this while watching it, so how bad could the transfer have been. Still, I will use this opportunity to complain about this issue. Why can’t these people release the films in their original aspect ratio, what is so hard about that?

Anyway, in Sweden, for some reason, war is raging and a married couple, played by Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann, two people quite regularly cast in Bergman’s films. Everything starts out nice and idyllic; although the married couple has personal problems, like any other. But oh damn! War hits and the people suffer psychologically and are torn apart by the atrocities of war. The film is quite bleak, but not bleaker than many other Bergman films. The film does contain some fantastic moments, and some of Bergman’s camera setups are absolutely fantastic. But the film does suffer a bit. Fine, it’s about war, but I’m not sure if this is the area that Bergman tackles the best. In fact, I was bored during the “war” scenes. The style adopted for these doesn’t suit the rest of the film, and as a consequence, it seems to vary a bit between the phenomenal and the dull. The films highpoints, regardless, are still great, but they polarize the film too much. The cinematography is though some of the best I’ve seen by Bergman, but best at its most simple moments. The close ups, and wide shots, equally, are great, and throughout we are given moments of extreme intensity and emotional impact. I think the film might have been better if it limited itself, at times it seem too big, too big for itself. Bergman’s best films have always been small quiet dramas, and while Skammen has these moments, it is obscured too much with the overload and pompous war scenes.

Another area that isn’t as strong here as his other films is the psychological development of the characters. Sure, it is better than most other films, however, we are talking about Ingmar Bergman here, one of the greatest directors of psychological cinema, so our standards should be quite high. It is adequate. Sure, we get it; they suffer mentally because of the war. It can all become a bit overbearing. However, some of the early marriage stuff is great, and the opening has the best moments, although the end is fantastic and very strong. The film starts off fantastically, takes a dip through the middle, and grabs itself up by the end. For all its faults, the film is still very powerful and the moments as such aren’t spoiled by the less interesting moments. Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann also do great jobs at their respective parts, although it is always quite amusing to listen to Liv Ullmann attempt at speaking Swedish. One of the points of the film is how innocent people suffer in the brink of war, and to this the film does quite well. However, the overall theme of war and the psychological development of the characters is not explored well or thoroughly enough. Ultimately the film suffers from being made by Bergman. I have grown accustomed to expect a lot from Bergman films, and this one falls a bit short of the mark. I guess I have come to the level where I have, like with Fellini, Kurosawa and Hitchcock, seen the most of his greatest films, and all that is left are the curiosities in between. It is a bit sad, but also slightly exiting, as I know there are probably some hidden masterworks somewhere that I still haven’t seen by Bergman, but still, my extensive exploring of his work is probably over. For now anyway.

The film is very good. However, it is average Bergman. That doesn’t say a whole lot, and the film is filled with some of his best moments of extreme emotional impact. The cinematography is at times wonderful, stark and beautiful. The ending is also fantastic and very Bergmanesuqe. Recommended for experienced Bergman viewers, but for people just starting out, start somewhere else.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (John Ford, 1962)

Westerns often discuss the same thing. They look at the relationship between the Wild West and the approaching civilization of law and order. The Searchers (John Ford, 1956) did something similar to this, and it featured western legend John Wayne. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance also has John Wayne, although in not such a big part. The main protagonist is played by maybe one of my favourite actors of all time, James Stewart, who to me became a legend in the Hitchcock films he did. Some claim that he was miscast as the character is supposed to be a young lawyer right out of university, while Stewart at the time was over 50 years old. However, he fills the role with such grace and his undeniable strength of character that I can’t imagine anyone doing it better. I’m not quite on the level with the morals and what the film is trying to say, however, unlike before, I won’t let this influence my perception of the films quality.

Again, I’m looking into these old Hollywood films, and this is one of the late classics of the golden years of Hollywood. While some of the films made previously by John Ford were in colour, this is in black and white. The cinematography was very nice, creating the strong and tense atmosphere in the small city. Much like Howard Hawks who I previously talked about, John Ford’s directing here is very tight and slightly distanced from the events on the screen. Ford has also put some limits on the use of music of the film, avoiding the very heavy scores Hollywood films used to use, although I at times usually loves them. The most spectacular aspects of John Ford’s films are his wonderful wide shots of the wilderness of the west, and there are several of these shots in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, although not as many as one would like, or as there were in The Searchers. But, it’s adequate, and leaves room for more interpretive drama, which is one of the strongest points about this film. Another strong point about the film, which is supported by the first point, is the interesting conflict between James Stewart’s character and John Wayne’s character. While they are not direct enemies, they both have different philosophical points of views and looks on the world. This philosophical debate between the two characters creates much of the drama in the film, and builds up the challenges that James Stewart’s character has to face. While westerns often discuss this issue, the Wild West versus law and order, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is probably the best example and execution of this debate, and creates serious questions about how to act in society, which doesn’t reveal what is right or wrong, but asks the audience to question these issues themselves.

Moral dramas are interesting, but often become tenuous because too much stuff is gutted down the audiences throats. This is not done to too much of a degree in this film, and there is a good degree of personal interior drama, and mixes this with the philosophical drama of the two main characters. I love James Stewart, and he is great in this. But a lot of credit should also be given to John Wayne, who does the best role I’ve seen by him. Stewart is great at bringing naivety and a strong belief to the film, while Wayne brings his assuredness and physical presence. When the two characters clash, it works out as a great combination, and John Wayne creates a great cockiness towards Stewart’s character. But, John Wayne probably brings us the best scene in the film, alone, late in the film when he has an outburst. This is one of the best moments of a interior outburst that has ever been brought to the screen, and John Wayne brings so much emotion to it, showing a man who once was very self confident loosing his head and feeling lost. Of course, this is assisted by John Ford’s great directing, which escalates the scene. I’ve not seen many of John Ford’s films, and I’m not a great fan of westerns, but this is the best film I’ve seen by John Ford and the best western I’ve seen. As said, I was also very much impressed by John Wayne, who I’ve never given much credit, you can always see in stores cheap DVD boxes with 4 or many more John Wayne westerns, and I’m sure that for the very low prices they go for, they are quiet crummy. But while John Wayne was way too typecast throughout his career, his performance in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance really shows what a great presence he could be to a film and what kind of interesting and multileveled characters he could create.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is continuing to make me more and more excited about old Hollywood films. I’ve said it before, I have been sceptical of these kinds of films, but lately I’ve really began to discover some of the greats of classical Hollywood, and this film fills the rooster. It is a great film and remarkable piece of cinema. I am going to continue exploring more and more of these wonderful films, and I am continuously being fascinated by them. All hail the golden era of Hollywood!

Que la bête meure (Claude Chabrol, 1969)

With a great deal of unwatched DVD’s on my shelf it becomes harder and harder to choose what I want to watch. It feels great to have so much opportunity right in front of me, while at the same time it gets harder every time to choose what to watch, almost to the point where I don’t watch anything at all. The Chabrol collection I have seems like a mountain impossible to climb, still after watching this I’ve got 10 more films by him. It’s exiting though, and a great treat to be able to be emerged so deep into a director’s canon.

Visual storytelling has so far been Chabrol’s greatest strength, but with Que la bête meure we see a different side of Chabrol. While he had an interesting take on the world and a bit morbid fascination with relationships. Here though he leans less on the visuals, and the centre of the film becomes the mind of the protagonist, who goes through some radical changes and can be questioned by his motives. A car accident kills a young boy, the owner of the car drives away and the father seeks his revenge. It’s a simple revenge premise where he searches for the man who killed his son. As the narrative develops, though, it gets more complicated. There is also a lot we could ask the protagonist, he constantly writes in his diary with a red pen about how he is going to find and kill the person responsible, but in a lot of ways he is quite hesitant to do anything. When he finally discovers the person who did it, he takes an awfully long time to do what he meant to do. One could say he is bidding his time, but I find it more interesting to think that he actually is not able to do it, despite all the hate he has conjured in his mind. I don’t want to go too deep into the story, but safe to say there is a lot to pick up, lots of ways to analyze the protagonist and his actions.

While the film starts off as a mystery, it soon fades into a psychological drama and romance. But that’s okay, I see now why Chabrol is compared to Hitchcock, he implements a lot of the same narrative ideas as Hitchcock. Chabrol is still unique though, he uses his own brand of directing and pacing, and at times the characters in his films are a bit more dark and morbid than those in Hitchcock films. Chabrol seems to be fascinated with the slightly offbeat characters or situations, and through this creates a marvellous tension within the film. While I do like Que la bête meure a lot, I feel that compared to the two previous films I’ve seen by Chabrol it doesn’t hold up as well. What made those two films so great for me was the visual depiction in the film. While there certainly is something of that in here, it’s not as strong or prominent, rather leaning on a fairly simple narrative structure and not strengthening the film with visuals like the two previous films. What the film does do very well though is create tension. Not just thriller tension, but also social tension, some scenes where a family is gathered is wonderful and observational. While the protagonist lets us pose many interesting questions, a couple of the other characters are not as interesting, and at times feel too one-dimensional. I do think though in the case of the antagonist, this was Chabrol’s intension, but I’m not sure exactly why.

Que la bête meure is vintage Chabrol, and although it is lesser of the last films I’ve seen by him, it still holds up as a unique and rich experience. It’s amazing to think of how many good films Chabrol made in such a short period of time, and I’m quite looking forward to digging deeper.

Sympathy for the Devil (Jean-Luc Godard, 1968)

As I talked about when writing on Performance (Donald Cammell; Nicholas Roeg, 1970) I am a big fan of the Rolling Stones. So this felt like a bit of a treat, one of my favourite filmmakers covering the making of The Stones classic song Sympathy for the Devil. Other than that I did not know what sort of film this would be, but I expected some sort of documentary. However, what I got was something quite different, something that I think that I and many others who see it will be confused by. However, I will try to discern exactly what I saw.

First off, there is the documentary footage of The Rolling Stones recording their song. What first is puzzling about this is the way it is presented. Every single scene is a long take, and there doesn’t seem to be any particular idea of the presentation. They are very straight forward, long runs of The Stones trying out different stuff to improve and build their song. Recordings start, then stop, and then start again. Usually in conventional filmmaking the director would cut in between these moments, but as we are to expect, Godard is not a conventional filmmaker. This creates a certain feeling of reality; nothing seems to be left out, but for what purpose? I’ve seen quite a few Godard films, but this is on so many levels impenetrable. While a lot of the scenes with The Stones are enjoyable, you are left wondering what it is all in purpose of. I guess we have to look fairly deeply into what Godard is doing, because on the surface nothing seems to be for any purpose, but I know Godard too well, and know that he would rather hide it really well than make his films about nothing. The idea of truth is always prevalent in Godard’s films, so I would say that there certainly is an element of this in these blocks of footage of The Stones. The film in many ways redefines the long take, because they are at times painfully long and would make Tarkovsky shy away. But where Tarkovsky creates meaning within his images, there seems like there is a certain emptiness in these shots, which obviously comes from not being staged. The camera pans and tilts across the different Stones members, observing them with true patience. I really loved the observances of Brian Jones, playing acoustic guitar, but the guitar cannot be heard on the track. Quite a stark foreshadowing, I don’t even think Godard was quite aware of, but he certainly found something interesting in some of these shots. Another great moment is where Mick Jagger and some backup singers sing the vocals, but there is no instrumentation. Again, an interesting way of showing the process, but also building on the themes of sound/visuals that Godard developed in his earlier works.

I’ve talked a lot about the footage of The Stones, but there is also something else in this film. In between the shoots of The Stones, there are scenes that are in fact fiction, or at least set up. The shots of The Stones connect the film together and give it a certain feel of linearity, while these other pieces are observations and ideas presented by Godard. These scenes are like the Rolling Stones shoots shot in one take, and long takes at that. One of the segments shows us a group of black resistance fighters who load up on guns and kill young white women. Another segment depicts a young woman being berated with questions by an interviewer and his camera crew. What all these individual segments have in common is their depiction of the counter-culture movement of the 60’s. Godard himself was very political, and so we can see why he is interested in this movement and the new arising culture. In fact, he wanted to make a film with The Beatles, but for some reason it didn’t come through. With these segments the film does start to take some sort of structure, they are his examples of the new movement that is moving towards social change, while at the same time juxtaposing these with The Stones, who together with the likes of The Beatles, Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix symbolized these changes. I believe that Godard was commissioned to just make a documentary about The Stones, but then in his usual matter turned this into his own personal agenda. Some of these segments on their own are quite interesting though, particularly one in a fascist magazine shop where two revolutionary students are held and slapped by all the customers. The shop sells sleazy magazines, most of questionable pornography. This reminds me of Godard’s Week End (1967), a similar film where Godard takes these kinds of satirical viewpoints and hammer it over our heads. But like most things Godard do, they are done with glee; there is something indefinable novel about them.

So how does all these elements connect together to create a coherent film? With this kind of film, I think it is important that we drop all previous ideas of what a film should be, and just focus on what this film is in of itself. It is an encapsulation and look at the 60’s counter-culture, as well as prominently voicing Godard’s Marxist opinion of the world. It is fairly known that his later films of the 60’s became increasingly political, and this Stones “documentary” is no exception. But as with most Godard films, it is also a statement about reality and truth in cinema. Although this is not an idea I particularly care for, many connect the long take to reality, claiming editing obscures reality. Interesting that a filmmaker like Godard would go this way, particularly considering he popularized the jump-cut. There is an interesting duality of reality/fiction in this film. On one hand, there is the “real” recording of The Stones, but then there are the “fictitious” staged sequences. Yet these two opposites are filmed in a very similar manner, the same panning long take. Although the scenes with the black resistance fighters is staged, the performer themselves are not actors, but real members of the resistance group depicted. This is one of the films strongest points, creating this duality of fiction and reality, a theme that Godard seems to be constantly concerned with. The idea is prominently brought up in his films, but to a certain level of success in this film. Sometimes the performers or actors are aware of the camera, sometimes not. Some of the staged scenes the actors seem more aware of the camera than The Stones, again in many defying usual convention and playing with the idea of what reality is.

Although I’ve discussed the film to a certain level of depth, I still feel I haven’t unravelled it completely, although I doubt I ever will. Like with most Godard films, it probably rewards repeated viewings. The film is as fascinating as it is frustrating, but there are some themes that come clearly through, particularly Godard’s more satirizing moments. It is a film that I wouldn’t quickly recommend, but it is sure interesting, and if watched with the right mindset can be rewarding. The film feels like a progression of his career, and people who though Godard’s early films are too unconventional will probably be alienated by this. The same could be said for the average Rolling Stones fan, who I would not recommend this to. Essentially, you will know in yourself whether or not you wish to watch this film.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (George Roy Hill, 1969)

I watched The Sting (1973) quite a few years ago. It was directed by the same director of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and I remember liking it quite a lot, the chemistry between Newman and Redford was very enjoyable, the whole film had a very lean mood to it, it was great but didn’t take itself to seriously, and allowed itself to play around a bit with the medium. That said, it’s a while since I saw it, and my memory is still a little fuzzy. But again, like The Hustler, I wanted to watch more classics featuring Paul Newman, and this was another of those famous films that I for some reason hadn’t seen so far.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a hard film to categorize. The opening is beautifully shot and the atmosphere reminded me of something by Andrei Tarkovsky. However, the film is literally a rollercoaster ride. The film visits so many styles and moods it’s quite dazzling. Some moments are fun and sweet, others are sad and contemplative. But always at its heart there is a lot of humour, funny lines, little observation, and the playful acting between Newman and Redford. There is a strange intangible sense of joy in this film, even in its harsher moments. One of the defining moments in the film is when Paul Newman as Butch Cassidy rides around on a bicycle to the song “Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head”, shot in a wonderful montage style. The scene is in many ways a diversion from some of the seriousness of the film, and is the first true sign of the film leaning more towards a humorous tone rather than a serious one. But that’s fine; I loved the films less edgy mood, the film itself is just a joy to watch. There is this consensus that a film of this type should be serious and gritty. I admit, in my younger adolescent years I also only loved gritty and dark depressing films, but now I love these kinds of films. I don’t care for all out silly films, but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid it’s done with class and subtly, and makes the film something else compared to most of these types of films.

When I saw the credits, I noticed that Conrad C. Hall was the cinematographer, and immediately I knew I was in for a treat. And yes, the cinematography is beautiful; it varies in form and style throughout the film, which only makes it more impressive. This goes well with the themes of the film, as I said, a rollercoaster ride. It is strange how lovable the two scoundrels that are Robert Redford and Paul Newman can be so lovable, but this is also added to by the humorous tone of the film. If the film had been much more dark and grittier then they might not have worked so well, and would have mirrored Alex from A Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick, 1971). They are never prone to direct violent action, not a lot anyway, and when they are, we are always rooting for them to succeed. While I’ve empathised that this film is quite humorous and silly at times, there is in fact a couple of really serious and thoughtful sequences, scattered around the film. The fact that they come in bits and pieces make them even more powerful and poignant, something like a crystallizing effect. Films that are too serious and too dark quickly become bland and the audience might lose their engagement, but in this the serious moments create wonderful points which hold the film together as a whole.

I loved Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I thought it would be a gritty and serious western, but it turned out to be a joyride that has so many outstretching qualities it is hard to examine at times. What kind of movie is this really? This is what I like to think of as a cinema’s movie, a film that so much encapsulates the joy of filmmaking and the art-form, a film that captures the chemistry between Newman and Redford, and will stand as a wonderful exercise in filmmaking, that I will be sure to re-watch time and time again.

The Hustler (Robert Rossen, 1961)

Not too long ago one of cinema’s biggest legends, Paul Newman, passed way. I’ve seen him in a couple of films, The Verdict (Sidney Lumet, 1982), The Sting (George Roy Hill, 1973). He was also one of the few good things in Road to Perdition (Sam Mendes, 2002), along with Conrad Hall’s cinematography. But I had still missed out on several of his classics, so I thought it would be about time to catch up on some of the films I’ve wanted to see for some time. First up was The Hustler, a film I’ve wanted to see for a long time, but always put off.

At first glance it seems like a typical Hollywood film of the era. However, it differs in some good ways. It is much more direct about its subject matter, while still being a fairly deep psychological drama. The film is literally drowned in alcohol and cigarettes, the two main characters are for the majority of the first half drunk, but it is not just those two either. During the pool matches a huge amount of alcohol is consumed, and this works well in defining the characters, as well as creating tension. This is accompanied by beautiful and crisp black & white cinematography, which while not being beautiful on the spot, creates the perfect mood and empathises the grittiness of the characters lives. I asked myself before watching this; can I really enjoy a film about men playing pool? The answer is simply yes. The sequences are so well shot and directed, the tension is constantly built up, and the camera angles always add something to the sequences. Obviously, it’s not just about pool. It’s about sportsmanship, greed, and an unusual romance. But at the core of the film is the pool, and most important of all; the bar room atmosphere, supported by a great jazzy soundtrack.

The cast is great. I refuse to let my emotions of Newman recently passing away blur my judgement, but he was truly great in this. Just he looking across a room gives a shot significant meaning, and he is quite unusual from most Hollywood stars. There is a reason why Fast Eddie Felson has become such a legendary character, he is created through Newman. But he’s not alone though, and doesn’t steal the show completely. George C. Scott is in this, and is as always fantastic and charismatic; I loved his character, even though he was an outright bastard. I guess it is a bit of an insult to Scott, but this feels like the character he was born to play. Actually, I think he would be happy with that statement. Jackie Gleason is also great as Minnesota Fats, a great character that at times stands tall in front of Eddie Felson, and their relationship is one of the best I’ve seen in Classical Cinema. They are rivals, yet they love and respect each other. This range of characters makes sure that the film stays interesting and twists and turns at every corner, they are more than well enough examined. This is one of the things I’ve felt that Hollywood at its best always did better than anyone, great psychological examinations of its characters; I’ll certainly be looking out for more of this.

It was nice to see this finally, I read about it probably three or four years ago, but always had something else to watch. I finally got the DVD, the Cinema Reserve edition, which I’ve already raved about, it is the superior edition, no faults in picture or sound quality, plus a audio commentary by Newman himself, which I am surely going to listen to, a great last stand from a legend.

La Femme infidèle (Claude Chabrol, 1969)

Paranoia is probably one of the funniest and most interesting things you can put into cinema, but it is also great if that paranoia is unjustified. That is why it’s always such a disappointment when some character’s paranoia turns out to be correct. Please tell me if you weren’t disappointed at the end of Rear Window (Alfred Hitchcock, 1954). We like it when the protagonist is wrong, not when he/she is right. We love it even more when we realize the truth before the character. Ambiguity is also great in this kind of context, and is one of the things that made Blow-Up (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1966) such a great film. Imagine in some film some guy believes someone or something for some reason is stalking him, but it then turns out his suspicion was completely unjustified… for some reason. That would be interesting, I find, in most cases, that paranoia is unjustified; it’s in some ways almost a psychological trauma.

So here we have La Femme infidèle, a film where some guy believes his wife is being unfaithful to him. Michel Bouquet plays this husband, Charles. He was one of the bad guys in La Route de Corinthe, although he played on the good guys’ team. He was one of my favourite characters from that film, and he does a really good job in this more dramatic film. So the plot in many ways leaves a bit to be desired, it’s not really a twist-turner. What it is though is a carefully observed character drama about a couple, and on this level it is a bit more interesting than most similar film. Again, as in Les Biches, one of the underlying strengths of the film is the visual storytelling, something I already can tell Chabrol is very good at. The husband’s paranoia about his wife is perfectly conveyed through visual moments, looks he gives her, the way the camera looks at her. It is very hard to pull off this kind of storytelling, which is why most filmmakers rely on symbolism and dialogue. And it is not just that it is a visual film, but the way Chabrol uses his sparse visuals to tell the story. There are perfectly good visual films, such as Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979), but there the visuals are used for a different purpose than in this film. Here I can see why people compare Chabrol to Hitchcock, we can see similar techniques using the eye line of the characters in films such as Notorious (1946) and Vertigo (1958). Although Hitchcock in many more ways used it to build up tension, here it is more used to explain the psychology of the characters.

It is interesting to see with these Claude Chabrol films how he is really starting to create a language of his own. The films are quite unique to those of other filmmakers, but these two more serious films that I’ve seen by Chabrol are quite similar in their language. He uses a lot of techniques and storytelling devices that surely will be familiar to filmgoers, but what is interesting is how he turns these familiarities into his own, and uses them for his own purpose, like the Hitchcock example I mentioned. And while the two films are similar in many ways, they still aren’t too similar, that they lead to the feeling of watching something in repeat, a trap several directors fall into. His style perseveres, but the content and context of the films are quite different, and for this they work very well being seen right after each other. That said, I thought this was a slightly weaker and less memorable film than Les Biches, maybe that’s because I saw Les Biches first, but I still felt there was something missing in this compared to the former. While there is a lot of quality in this film, I throughout watching it felt there was a bit left to be desired, something that could punctuate the film and make it much better, but it never came. It is still a very interesting piece, there’s enough depth to keep you interested to the end, and themes are explored in a nice but not expositional way, which is always good. There is a lot of underlying themes in this, the characters twist and turn like in few other films, and on the whole the experience of the film left me feeling slightly richer, which I always believe is one of the best and most profound things about films, or art in general.

I still haven’t watched that many Chabrol film, but I believe I can say with sufficient accuracy that this is an archetypal film by him, and thus if you are interested in his cinema I highly recommend this. I still prefer Les Biches, but the film still stands on its own, and is a really good and interesting psychological drama.

Les Biches (Claude Chabrol, 1968)

My previous run in with Chabrol left me a bit clueless as to what kind of director he is. La Route de Corinthe didn’t leave me particularly impressed, but then I was reminded that it was far from any of Chabrol’s better films, and considering I still had 15 unwatched films by him, I continued my chronological journey through his canon. The next film in line is Les Biches, which actually means The Doves, but I immediately thought it meant The Bitches, and after watching the film that would actually have been a more appropriate title. Anyway…

Chabrol is known as the French equivalent of Hitchcock, although in this film that is not too apparent. This is a character drama, and one of the better I’ve seen. One of the strongest points about the film is that it is a very visual film, there is not much dialogue, but the characters are still well rounded and the narrative seems quite clear. Their psychological state is almost effortlessly conveyed, and this is the thing that makes the film superb in my opinion. The drama is centred on two women who are in a relationship, although their sexuality remains fairly ambiguous. The slightly older woman, Frédérique, picks up a young woman, Why (yes, her name is Why) from the streets who is poor and makes a living by drawing on the streets. Frédérique is wealthy and brings her to a house she owns in the country, with servants and two gentlemen who I was never sure what exactly were there for, but for the purpose of the film itself served as comic relief. Actually, they work quite well as comic relief, and have a couple of funny scenes. Not stupid funny, like in La Route de Corinthe, but small touches, nice little visual moments, and at the same time never really takes away focus from the core of the film. The tension and core of the film is built up when the two women start to despise each other, and leads into a strong love and hate relationship where they attempt to hurt each other. The foil for this is Paul, a charming architect, who engages with both women.

I’ve read several people describing this as a love triangle, but I don’t agree with this position. The story is about the two women, the guy is simply a tool for them to spite each other. He is a shallow character, and has throughout the film no idea what he is actually part of. He happily goes on in the narrative, naïve of the battle of mind between the two women. But the film in its wonderful way never spell anything out, and it is open to interpretation whether they love each other or they love him, or one loves the other but the other loves the guy. Another reason why I DON’T believe this is a love triangle, is because the film spends so much time exploring the two female leads, but spends so very little time with Paul, it feels at times as if he is a prop, and I feel this is a fairly accurate description of his character. He might not be very interesting, but surely evokes something interesting in the two women. This whole conflict is portrayed through nice little visual moments. There is a scene where Frédérique has some guests over for poker. This is the start of the tension between the characters, but nothing is ever said, only subtle little touches and following the eyes of the characters. There are several such scenes, and they work really well, and one scene in particular sticks with me, but its not interesting discussing it here.

Now we come to the part of the review (or whatever this is) where we make formulaic comments on cinematography, acting and so forth, so let’s just get it over with. The cinematography is beautiful and simple, is accompanied by similarly beautiful music. The acting on the two leads is superb, the rest of the cast remains a bit anonymous, but that’s okay, considering they’re not that interesting. The directing has flair, is precise and visual, in other words, brilliant. Actually, this film seem much more formative than most Nouvelle Vague films I’ve seen, but I think this might have something to do with it being released fairly late in the 60’s. The editing works, the films pace really lends to the whole feel, its fairly slow but lends a hypnotic sense to the film.

Les Biches was a nice watch, foremost, visual storytelling, which is always nice. I’ve got a feeling this is a stronger hint to what Claude Chabrol has to offer compared to La Route de Corinthe. I don’t quite see why people compare him to Hitchcock, but I guess that will come when I see more of his films, I’ve still got 14 more on my shelf. Anyway, great film, really recommend it, at times incredible.

Faces (John Cassavetes, 1968)

I quite liked Shadows (John Cassavetes, 1959), so I continued to check out Cassavetes, by watching Faces. In many ways, in terms of style, it is very similar to Shadows, although even more refined. It stars John Marley, a guy I think most will remember as the movie producer from The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972) and I thought he really gave a memorable performance in that. I thought that Shadows was in style similar to Godard films, but in Faces it comes more to its own, and is quite unique.

Cassavetes is seen as one of the big forerunners for Indy filmmaking in the states, and much of his style shows this kind of down-stripped and rough filmmaking. He shots in black and white, uses hand held cameras and very interesting acting methods. His scenes develop almost organically, the dialog is unlike most films made in this time, and the actors seem to balance between being uncomfortable to too comfortable on screen. It is a new way of telling stories, what Cassavetes is doing here. The interaction of the actors is superb, the way they exchange glances and how they develop throughout the scenes. The core part of the film that interested me though was the style of Cassavetes, and I think it works superbly in this. It’s raw, but at the same time opens for several levels of sub-text. The different scenes interact with each other, the two main characters, a married couple, rarely share any screen time together, but both of their actions comment on each other, shows their defiance of each other. While Cassavetes style is stripped, it’s not a new form of realism or neo-realism. I’m inclined to always distance myself from the term “realism”, as I believe there is no true way in cinema to create whatever realism is. But this is a whole other discussion, what’s interesting in Cassavetes is that when the style is so stark as his, it gives us a whole new way of seeing what the actor is communicating. It feels at times as if Cassavetes captures some indefinable moment in the characters, some quick shots or reverse shots gives us a look at the characters that are unlike most films.

This is the thing with films, most stories have already been told, and filmmakers have to find new ways of telling them. This sort of conflict between a married couple have been done so many times in so many ways, and again, this film is completely relevant as it does it in a new and interesting way, the characters are unfolded and layers upon layers are revealed, the scenes themselves are well written and engaging, particularly a scene between several elderly married women is extremely good, but also the opening scene has some great shifts of mood and tension, it is very well balanced out. The film does walk on the edge of double-edged sword at times, but manages to stay focused even when it doesn’t seem focused at all. The films narrative is told in a stripped down way, but manage to give enough “hints” at what is going on that at times it seems as if it is not so stripped down. It is a film, I believe, that could easily fool or confuse the audience, but it rewards close attention to the small details it has, the characters glances and gazes. This I think, is one of the keys for really good films, being straight forward but still having quite some depth and sub-text. Sure, there are good films that use exposition to a great degree, and still are deep and good, but I really like it when filmmakers like Cassavetes does something like this, creates a very strong sense of style that is simple but still has some very good fundamentals and key ideas behind them. The film evokes, but never more than is necessary.

I really liked Shadows, and this is more of the same, but even better. Cassavetes seems to be a truly interesting director, whose techniques are simple yet manage to communicate strong ideas and narratives. The film might be going against the mainstream for some audiences, and it is not that simple to pick up all the details, but I believe this is a films that is worth watching many times, with layers that will reveal themselves with every watch.

La Route de Corinthe (Claude Chabrol, 1967)

So now two box sets containing Claude Chabrol are available, one with eight films, the other with six. I wanted to watch these in chronological order, so I started with his earliest in the collection, La Route de Corinthe from the second box set. I have never seen a film by Chabrol before, but I am aware that he was a part of the Nouvelle Vague movement, and I am fairly knowledgeable about the movement. So I was excited about this film, but as with Louis Malle’s Zazie dans le metro (1960), I was left a bit baffled.

The film sort of resembles A bout de soufflé (Jean-Luc Godard, 1959), in that it is a play on a familiar Hollywood genre, here the spy thriller. But this film is quite unconventionally silly, showing us several quirky and almost cartoonist character and situations. For example the assassin, who always smirks, wears all-white clothes and reads magazines while waiting for his victims. Then there’s that cliché where the bad guys tie the heroine to some contraption that will kill her, but ultimately creates a stalling for her to take advantage of. The plot concerns a bunch of small black boxes that somehow disable US satellite systems, and they are being transported into Greece. The opening starts with a magician who is in possession of some of these little black boxes, and immediately gives us a hint that this film is going to be silly. The plot is contrived and makes little sense, but as said, this is a play in genre, and it is exactly this type of film where it feels adequate. It is in many ways a 60’s version of Austin Powers. Chabrol uses exaggerated techniques, such as zooming and vivid colours to create a particular atmosphere.

The film is an interesting little piece, but at times I did feel a bit disappointed by it, particularly because Chabrol is such a highly recommended director. However, I’ve rarely seen any reference to this film, and I don’t believe it is very highly regarded among his other works, so I guess I should just take it for what it is. There are a couple of moments that point towards true brilliance, such as the scene where the female protagonist is introduced, but these moments are sparse and don’t really highlight the film as a whole. It is in many ways hard to criticize the film for anything, as it is quite aware of its own existence, and doesn’t claim to be anything else than what it is, and on this level it works quite well. It’s a nice little jab at the spy genre, and at Hollywood itself, but still manages to stay distanced from its inspirations. There are numerous moments that are recognisable to other Nouvelle Vague films, such as Godard’s films, and they work nicely, but doesn’t give you the same feeling of impact that say Une Femme est Une Femme (Jean-Luc Godard, 1961) had.

I wouldn’t recommend La Route de Corinthe, but I wouldn’t say you shouldn’t watch it. If you are really interested in the Nouvelle Vague or Chabrol, then this might widen your horizon regarding these, but as it stands it is a unique little piece, but doesn’t create any particular impact or lasting impressions.

L’Eclisse (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1962)

L’Eclisse is the third of an informal trilogy by Antonioni, composed of L’Avventura and La Notte. The films don’t have any storyline or characters that connect them, but are rather similar in style and themes. Monica Vitti returns in an even bigger role, as a bored woman who leaves her fiancé and goes on with an empty life. Alain Delon also has a big role, and he is really good in this, as a stressed out broker.

Actually, compared to L’Avventura, L’Eclisse feels a bit fuller of life, and has some bits of stark sarcastic humour, such as the Italian version of Wall Street and a scene where Monica Vitti and her friend dress up as Native Africans and dance around. But it’s a lot of the same issues that are raised in L’Avventura; isolation, emptiness in life, detachment and alienation. As the film progresses, the protagonist attempts at contact with several other people, and in most cases they end up failing or just drifting from each other. She finally meets a man who she’s interested in, but in similar style as the relationships in L’Avventura, they drift back and forth together. It’s all directed with certain coldness to it, the director always keeps himself distanced from what happens on screen. The films pace also compliments this idea, and goes at its own speed. Again, here Antonioni likes to dwell on landscape and wide shots. The best scenes are the ones between Monica Vitti and Alain Delon, their relationship broadens as the film goes on, but it’s always ambiguous how it will turn out, and as everything else the film leaves this open to interpretation. It’s always refreshing to watch this type of film, it does require the audience to fill in the gaps, and I feel it does create some sort of emotional response.

There’s not a whole lot more I can say on this film, as it is quite similar to L’Avventura, and I have already repeated myself quite a bit. It doesn’t have an elaborate plot, but in structure though it is a bit different from L’Avventura, as it doesn’t have a similar introduction plot as the aforementioned film. The film leads right into the mental journey of the protagonist, and follows her as she goes around the city. One great moment is when she goes to visit her mother who is a stock trader, and the following scene in the stock house, perhaps one of the greatest spectacles I’ve seen on the screen. The film is shot beautifully in black & white, and some of the shots are just incredibly well composed. The directing here is also very strong, and I feel that this film is quite on par with L’Avventura. The final scenes are also fantastic, giving the audience a feeling of hopelessness. In its own unique way, the film is carefully structured so that there’s always a feel of progression, even though the narrative is fractured and doesn’t adhere to a particular plot, and I feel it is a step forward in term of form for Antonioni.

This is much a repeat of the L’Avventura review, these two films are quite similar, and many of the points I’ve talked about for L’Avventura are true for L’Eclisse. I’m not sure which one I like the most, but they are both two giants of cinema, and I will have to see more films by Antonioni, though I’ve already seen Blow-up (1966) and The Passenger (1975), both of which I’d also recommend.

L’Avventura (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1960)

One of my favourite books of all time is The Stranger by Albert Camus. In many ways it changed my perspective on things. Alienation and existentialism were core parts of the book, and I really got interested in this. Its thus a bit strange that I took so long to watch Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura, a film inspired by these themes. There’s another film from the same year, La Dolce Vita (Federico Fellini, 1960), so I knew I inevitably were going to compare these two films. La Dolce Vita also dealt with similar themes and techniques. And indeed, La Dolce Vita is one of my favourite films of all time, so I was really looking forward to seeing how Antonioni’s film would compare.

L’Avventura deals with the emptiness and social complexities of modern life. The characters keep searching for something, whether it’s the literal plot of the film or simply some form of human contact. Everyone in this film feels distanced, even when they love they are still detached from each other. Two characters realize their love for one-another, but how long will it last. In many ways, this is a very bleak film, portraying the world as empty and detached. The characters wander around with no clear purpose or goal. They do have a goal in the beginning of the film, but as it progresses they lose sight of this. There is a lot of time where nothing specific is going on in the frame, what it does is creating the sub-text of the frame of mind the characters have, making us try to look into their lives. The cinematography is used to great effect to create this feeling of emptiness, lingering on wide shots that do not service the plot, but creates the existentialism the characters are feeling. Time is expanded in the film, creating an almost droning pace, the audience constantly questions the characters intents or purpose. In many ways, as discussed many times, Antonioni created a new sort of film language. It’s an extension of the Italian neorealist language that had been developed the last 15 years, but it also deviates from this movement. It inserts the existentialism that Sartre and Camus had developed after the war, and putting it into cinematic form. Its form is that it uses elaborate methods to convey the emptiness in the characters lives. This is achieved through long-takes, shots that don’t have anything to do with the plot, but simply “observe”, to create meanings of the inner lives of the characters. Not using close-ups or elaborate editing techniques, the film conveys the mood of emptiness, the characters go on with their lives with no particular purpose, pretty radical compared to the classic narrative of the Hollywood movie. In classical Hollywood storytelling the characters have to have an obstacle, and they have to overcome it. In Antonioni’s films the characters don’t even know what their obstacle is, or what they should do to overcome whatever it is.

There are debates to whether L’Avventura is a relevant or good film, and I would say that it is both. Firstly we will discard that tired “it’s boring” argument. But there are also people who believe the film doesn’t convey anything. It is in many ways partly true. The film doesn’t have any elaborate themes; it lingers on love but doesn’t make any clear statement about it, but remains ambiguous. I feel that what Antonioni is trying to achieve is to convey the emptiness and isolation of his characters in the modern world. He doesn’t have any agenda I too believe. The film looks at the upper-class, but unlike Buñuel, he doesn’t satirize them or criticize them. Rather, he shows how they lose sight of the meaning of life through their hollow lives. They wander around in what seems a world without a coherent meaning. This is contributed to by the aforementioned use of non-linear narrative, with no particular plot. I feel Antonioni succeeds very well here, and would argue that his films do have a certain purpose, but they are detached and non-political. He’s extending the feeling of a cold and empty world unto the screen, and it is a remarkable achievement in the history of cinema. Fellini as said made a similar film with La Dolce Vita, but the form itself is very different between the two films. But I do believe there remains some friction between what people think of Antonioni’s films, but I believe this to be a remarkable piece of cinema, something unique that you rarely see, a film that truly changed ways in which films can express their ideas.

If you do decide to get this, get the excellent Criterion version, although I guess for most film-buffs that goes without saying. Watch it with a very open mind, it uses the language of cinema in a very different way than other films of the period did, or films still do.

Godard double-bill, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… ( 1967) and Pierrot Le Fou (1965)

Recently I’ve watched two new films by Godard, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… and Pierrot Le Fou. Before I used to look down on Godard’s color films (mostly thanks to Weekend and Une Femme est Une Femme), however, with these two new films seen, this view has changed. While Two or Three Things is appropriately gritty filmed, Pierrot Le Fou I daresay is Godard’s most visually stunning film, at least of his color ones. It really shows Godard coming to an aesthetic conclusion with himself. Narrative-wise these two films are very different, although they do have a lot of similar characteristics that are familiar touches of Godard. Godard has always been very interesting to me since I for the first time saw a film by him, Alphaville, some two years ago. He’s always been such a revolutionist in the film-form, and few recognized directors I’ve seen has done something like he does.

In the Two or Three Things I Know About Her…, we follow Juliette, a house-wife who one day of the week turns to prostitution to feed her family. Although she is presented in the beginning as the ‘protagonist’, the films seem to sway a lot of other areas, and has often been said to be more about Paris than Juliette. It is more an exploration of life in Paris, and Juliette is but one set-piece. I like the word, ‘set-piece’, because that is a lot about what this film is, ‘set-pieces’, and this is where I felt the film excelled. While many of Godard’s earlier films, Breathless in particular, leaned towards more ‘classic’ narrative stories, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… is unhinged and fractured, almost floating aimlessly throughout, and there is little character development or plot. However, this film is more about observations and reflection of both contemporary life then and cinema itself. During the film and in the introduction we hear a narrator, Godard himself, whispering into the microphone. Godard explains to us, here is the actress who is going to be acting in this film, and then later introduces the character. The immediate strength of the film is the way it forces the audience to realize the machinery of it. This makes the set-pieces more effective, as we can focus on what they are actually telling. There is no attempt at trying to create the ‘illusion’ of cinema here, instead the film distances the audience from the fictional world. So far, to me, it seems as Two or Three Things is Godard’s most formative and mature work. Characters and events seem less random, and to some extent, this reminds me of Vivre sa Vie, which is probably his most mature film, although one of his first. However much I admire Godard, his films often feel fragmented, as if things are a bit unrelated. In this, however, through the fragmentation of the narrative itself, the film seems to be more cohesive and takes a stronger form. It’s like an essay, with different points and paragraphs, but comes together through the introduction and conclusion, which makes the film seem much more ‘whole’, one of my new favorites by Godard.

The other film I saw was Pierrot Le Fou, and while showing moments of brilliance, was a bit of a disappointment. Not to say that this isn’t a very good piece of cinema by Godard, but I expected it, unlike One or Two Things, to be one of his best. So what’s the problem? Well, Pierrot Le Fou has a straightforward narrative, which I often don’t think favor Godard’s cause, except for in Le Mepris. The film is excellent for the first hour, but starts to fall apart after that, and I was a bit alienated from the film for some time, until it picked itself up again and came to a glorious conclusion. The problem I had with this film is of the one I discussed when talking about Two or Three Things, that the film itself feels very fragmented, both form and narrative. Here is one of the wonderful ironies of Godard’s films, that a film with a somewhat cohesive narrative feels more fragmented than a film that I built of fragments of story. I’m not telling you though not to watch this, because for all its faults, the film has some excellent moments and is way more interesting than what you usually see in the cinema today. On another note, Pierrot Le Fou is probably the most aesthetic pleasing of Godard’s films that I have seen so far. Unlike a lot of his other films, where he avoids this consciously, the shots are wonderfully composed, and at times look stunning. Anna Karina has rarely looked as beautiful as here. The film is shot in south France I believe, at the coast and in summer. This is used to contrast the characters predicament. Oh, I guess I haven’t mentioned the actual story, well, Ferdinand has escaped from his boring life through murder, together with his girl-friend Marianne, and as they escape from the police attempt to get by on the country side. As usual, with Godard’s films, the story is pretty simple, but obviously it’s not there the strengths of his films lie.

So, I’ve felt a bit more enlightened on Godard after seeing these two, especially Two or Three Things, which really show Godard at his formative height, and few of his films have achieved such a great blend of his different ideas and techniques. While Pierrot Le Fou was a bit of a let-down, it still showed that Godard could, if he wanted, create beautiful shots that challenge any of the great visual directors of our times. Colin MacCabe, who wrote Godard’s biography, wrote at the end that he saw Godard as a poet, and some scenes from Pierrot Le Fou absolutely proves this point, while Two or Three Things makes him more out as an essayist. I believe though that Vivre sa Vie is an amazing blending of these two personalities, and urge everyone to go see this film. Yes, I am a huge fan of Vivre sa Vie. Regardless, Pierrot Le Fou and Two or Three Things are both very good films by Godard, and to people who wish to explore this filmmaker further, I can only heartedly recommend these two as well.