R.I.P., Jean-Luc Godard

 

The titan of the French New Wave, Jean-Luc Godard, died this week at 91. Variety and the New York Times have obits. He was a true iconoclast, to the very end.

We have scanned his catalog, old and new, in the past decade. Here are a few examples:

• "Masculin Feminin" from 1966. Our conclusion: "Merely above-average Godard from his '60s peak era."
• "Film Socialisme," a more recent offering from 2013. "The reds and blues, like a digitally enhanced, high-def version of some of Godard's '60s classic shots, are stunning, at times mesmerizing. Beyond that, I'm not old or intellectual enough to appreciate whatever the French master is going for here, if he has a point at all."
• "Contempt" from 1963. "Godard frolics with those patented blues and reds, and he revels in the sartorial choices of his unhappy couple. His confident camera captures movie sets and majestic natural beauty."
• "Goodbye to Language," his penultimate film (2014). "God bless Godard. I haven't completely understood a movie of his in decades. But I'm still drawn to his technicolor diatribes. Here we have another script slathered with philosophical -- or pseudo-philosophical -- mutterings while splashed with mind-altering neon primary colors." 

We'll revisit more titles in the coming months. For now, in memoriam, we turn, finally, to his last work:

THE IMAGE BOOK (2018) (C+) - The crowning visual and philosophical achievement of a cinematic pioneer? Or the bitter ramblings of an old man slipping away from a fractured world that has passed him by and disappointed him? This ambitious collage of images is a supreme challenge to comprehend, but I'm sure there are some out there whose devotion to it will be rewarded.

Godard's evolution was toward dense, disorienting, inscrutable polemics, splashing around in dizzying montages. Here, title cards repeat, and blackouts come fast and furiously. He alternates between bleaching the images and over-saturating them with color. Subtitles drop off randomly, so some dialogue is missed. Godard is daring you to comprehend his "story" or simply doesn't care if you follow the hopscotch of his thoughts.

Themes of war and violence (results of capitalism?) permeate. Many figures are seen crawling, trapped in subjugation. Glimpses of trains suggest freedom and opportunity. (The New Wavers were fans of John Ford and the American West, after all.) The final third is devoted to the Arab world (from mythical flying carpets to the horrors of ISIS); at one point Godard does a deep dive into the minutiae of the plot of an obscure novel. His sympathies lie with these people, dismissed (in his mind) by Hollywood that uses Arab culture as "primarily scenery and landscapes." (His sympathies were clear in 1960, when he explored the Algerian occupation with "Le Petit Soldat," banned by France at the time.)

Still, relentlessly, the images flash by, incessantly. The aspect ratio jitters frequently. Thoughts drift or are cut off. The clips -- old movies, newsreel footage -- rarely ring a bell. Repeated viewings or scholarly study might chip away at the meaning. Maybe Godard is toying with us. Maybe he was just playing at a whole nother level.

But what does it matter? Do my words here even have meaning? Here are two positive, thoughtful examinations of the movie: from Slant magazine, and from Roger Ebert's site, where Matt Zoller Seitz likens Godard to "an old and easily distracted uncle who keeps changing the subject" and sums up by lamenting, "I felt like I was watching the entire history of civilization, and one of its most important filmmakers, fragmenting and imploding on the screen."

BONUS TRACK

And a friend recommended this iconic scene from "Band of Outsiders," with Anna Karina and the boys: