Film Socialisme (2010)
Directed by Jean Luc Godard Written by Jean Luc Godard
Eighty one year old Jean Luc Godard continues his ongoing dialectic about the collapse of traditional cinema (and, for that matter, Western civilization) in his latest video essay - the form which has dominated his career for some twenty five years.
It is difficult to pinpoint the parameters of documentary or narrative film, or define what specific forms are better suited for museum installation or film festival circuits as opposed to delivery in mainstream theaters/ V.O.D and the like. Is it the structure of a piece (or lack thereof) that should determine the method of delivery, or is the very narrowness of our expectations responsible for marginalizing avant-garde/non-traditional cinema in all its auspices in the first place?
One thing is for sure - it is only Godard’s reputation (related to the marketplace he despises) that allows a film like this a wider (though, obviously, still limited) audience, but at this point it is not as if the master has suckered anyone in. Complaining about the obtuse particulars when it comes to Godard is akin to bemoaning the methodology in the latest from Lars Von Trier or David Lynch. One can debate the merits of the individual pieces, but the embrace of surrealism and disavowal of some of the accoutrements of traditional cinema have been clearly established.
Regardless of the exact definition of what makes a film a film (and whether or not this question is at all relevant), Godard long since took to blasting cinema for its failures. Well over half of his career has now been dedicated to attempting to de/re-construct the form. His varied subject matter over the course of this pursuit has included repeated attacks on capitalism/consumerism and intellectual explorations of art in its many forms - music, painting, literature. Underlying all of the highly politicized work is, or course, a search for illusive truth, although inaccessibility (at least to many) is often a result of the deliberate opaque quality of the finished products arising from this path.
Broken into three distinct sections, Film Socialisme begins with a cruise ship floating on Mediterranean seas. Immediately, we are hit with Godard’s first use of HD, the footage resembling his vibrant, saturated color in something like Made in The USA. As if to provide a direct contrast to some of this stunning photography, however, the director also employs visuals that seem shot with a cell phone camera. Godard further infuses the section with a host of noise, distortions, and unconventional cuts, and throughout the film he also gives us oddly incomplete English sub-titles (for the French, Arabic, German, and Russian) he has termed Navajo English, consisting of a series of nearly incomprehensible phrases/key words that keep an audience guessing as to what is being said.
In Part One we float around the ship in a kind of dream state, listening to snatches of indecipherable philosophizing from some of the white passengers, the dark skin workers, and a narrator (with several strange asides about Jews; a references to YouTube; and a bizarre appearance by Patti Smith thrown in for good measure). The feeling evoked is that of randomness, and the flatness of the grotesques populating the boat calls to mind the Rive Gauche death walkers of Last Year in Marienbad and the like.
Part Two more rootedly focuses on a family of radicals consisting of two children and their parents based in a gas station in rural Southern France. The disaffected elder daughter and her more animated younger brother put their parents through a kind of test, asking them a series of serious questions about life and the world. As we see various shots of a llama and a donkey, seemingly family pets, two women arrive at the station and proceed to film and record sound. The overall effect is reminiscent of Godard circa the late 60s with characters (again emotionally flattened) speaking in political tract with odd surrealistic flourishes added to the mix. Part Three diverges from any attempt at narrative, and instead employs free flowing montage to show us a history of various political events across a handful of European countries in conflict. This format is recognizable in Godard’s better known essays of the recent past, most notably his series: Histoire du Cinema.
If one doesn’t speak French you must be satisfied with the dribbled bits of information being conveyed by the silly “Navajo English” (basically a series of words). While clearly intentionally alienating, it seems an angry, provincial, and arrogant tactic on the part of the artist. Otherwise, why have the subjects/actors speaking in a recognizable language at all, or why not manipulate the actual sound dialogue as opposed to merely the subtitles? In his defense, Godard the socialist does not preach inclusiveness when it comes to film. As always, his intended audience is exclusively the intellectual elite. It is worth noting, however, that in this case Godard is intent on excluding only those who do not speak his native language.
The work is at times visually beautiful, dreamy, and even vaguely intriguing in its challenging way, while simultaneously being overly precious, unnecessarily shrouded by device, and ultimately, barely cohesive. Of course, Godard could care less what anyone thinks, which is perhaps partly the point, though to what ends?