For the longest time, I was so self-admittingly and self-acceptingly aware of how I favoured a film more because of external contextual elements; I wrote my dissertation about it. I studied how films, particularly Fitzcarraldo by Werner Herzog and I’m Still Here by Casey Affleck, were both fantastic, but all the more fantastic because of the fact they heavily incorporated real-life elements into their productions. Fitzcarraldo famously opted for the real-life procedure of shifting a ship over a huge bank of land as opposed to shooting with miniatures, whilst I’m Still Here opted for lead star Phoenix to essentially (and arguably allegedly) method act his character for a vast duration of time, ridding himself of the Joaquin Phoenix as we, the public knew him.
Films I reference/potentially spoil in this article:
- Film Socialisme (dir. Jean-Luc Godard, 2010)
- Fitzcarraldo (dir. Werner Herzog, 1982)
- I’m Still Here (dir. Casey Affleck, 2010)
- Junun (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson, 2015)
Despite my enjoyment of these elements, I was convinced that each film as an artistic entity should be viewed with no regard for what came before it or came after it, or how it was made. Naively, I believed that the product of a film should be viewed as separate from its production, but creating this separation is easier said than done.
However, the more I studied and got involved within film, the appreciation for the evolution and progression of artists and their art became all the more interesting to me. My friends would accuse me of this hypocrisy however, as whatever my film hero Paul Thomas Anderson released, I would no doubt find something to praise it with. The ever-present question is this; if the name of the auteur was not attached, would your opinion differ? The answer is certainly yes, for if PTA’s Junun, the India-set documentary heavily loaded with casual, DIY filmmaking elements was released under another name, I perhaps wouldn’t have been as invested as I was. But, loaded with extensive knowledge and appreciation of the director’s filmic history, I can now apply my ‘this shot from’ and ‘that shot from’ examples at my disposal, studying the cinematic evolution of an artist.
When I watched Film Socialisme, I’d heard of Jean-Luc Godard, but had never seen any of his films. I thought, before watching this 2010 film, I won’t research anything about this film or this artist or his legacy and where it stands today; I’ll just watch his latest film with no baggage to compare motifs and signatures.
Image Credit: The New Yorker
I didn’t necessarily despise Film Socialisme, but I did feel entirely confused throughout the whole duration, but this wasn’t overly surprising or shocking to me. I knew I was in for laments about Western culture, perhaps the collapse of civilisation, most probably using imagery from both modern-day culture and artefacts from ancient civilisations to create some juxtaposition and statement about our degrading, artless selfishness, and to an extent, I felt that I was correct. However, only for about a minute.
If this film were to be played in an art gallery for its plodding one hour-forty duration, you could dip in and out and get the general gist of what was going on, at least in terms of aesthetics. If you were to leave for thirty minutes in the middle and then return, you wouldn’t have lost anything plot-wise, and that’s because there isn’t a direct, or at least coherent plot or narrative. The film exists somewhere on a plain of abstract ametaphysicality, and that two-word summary is indeed, as close to pretentious as the film is itself. I avoid the word ‘pretentious’ as often as possible as I find it’s an easy opt-out for a critic; it’s such a bold statement, possibly the most offensive and hurtful for an artist to be labelled with. However, abiding the definition of the word, Film Socialisme not only carries the aura of being overly meriting to itself but relentlessly displays it in pride. You will not get this film, possibly because you’re not supposed to. Or if you don’t get it, you’re not clever enough to. Or if you do get it, did you really get it?
I cannot explain the story as Film Socialisme is not a story. Instead, it is a series of disjointed and disconnected events, scenes and moments. Again, in an art gallery environment, I feel this film would stand more of a chance in terms of critical reception, as with visual arts, the audience is generally more susceptible, open and ready to engage with a piece of media and gain what they want from it. Cinema as an art form, however, does bear similarities but also bears the defining feature of narrative and plot. Watching a film is far less interactive than a piece of visual art. Film Socialisme is a film of three parts, the first chronicling several lives on a cruise ship which stops off at several ports. These characters make statements that generally and vaguely revolve around wealth, from what I could gather. Shot on a variety of cameras, imagery either appears in glorious high definition or in poorly framed, awkwardly cropped, amateur-level camcorders that crumble in quality as soon as the location changes to someplace dark like a nightclub. The relevance of being shot on intentionally poor camera equipment is anyone’s guess. Audio quality matches this too as scenes are barely audible due to off-camera boat/sea sounds or deafening bass-boosted club music. I wish I could say “thank God for subtitles” so that we have a chance of understanding the dialogue over the seldom volume-peaking audio, but reading the subtitles offers you nothing; if anything, it makes you realise even more so, having read what you are hearing that there is nothing within these disjointed statements to engage with.
The second ‘act’ features a young boy, a news reporter, a woman who takes a llama to a gas station and a camera operator for a news company. It’s totally incoherent within itself let alone bearing no decipherable connections to the first act. By this stage, you realise it won’t impact the third act in any way at all. It’s the least interesting of the three segments due to dull camera work and a dull environment that you’ll long to leave; it makes you realise in hindsight, the visuals aboard the cruise ship weren’t all that bad. At this stage, I pondered what fans of Godard’s previous work may be thinking; are they able to recognise a distinct evolution from his early works to Film Socialisme? Is this his best yet? Is this his worst yet? I, as an outsider approaching his work for the first time, however, found that surely, whatever little good stuff is to be salvaged here surely cannot contest whatever came before it. The third act comprises of historical footage from around the world, also paired with horrendously vague and ambiguous quotes. The quotes this time around appear to carry the most potential for interesting conversation, but of course, are never elaborated on, but this is hardly a surprise. Take the opening line for example, where a shot of the ocean is accompanied by an interesting comment; ‘money is a public good’. The concept of money being a public good is never once returned to. Neither is the woman watching a video of two cats talking to one another, nor is the cruise ship photographer we occasionally return to, nor is the child at the petrol station who claims to be thinking about the “rear” of the camera operator at the garage, nor do we return to the llama at the gas station, nor do we return to…
I am aware that my rants have more-or-less solely been around the themes of Film Socialisme being overly ambiguous, incoherent and disjointed, but there is little else to dissect here. Performances aren’t bad, but the handful of characters are hardly given any room to recite their lines, let alone perform them. The soundtrack consists of a short but familiar string-orchestra motif that occasionally (and unpredictably) reprises during certain scenes to haunt them. This use of music combined with the amateur-esque, hugely underwhelming-for-a-feature-film camera work combine to certainly create an atmosphere, perhaps of a very unusual, sombre and hyper-real version of the world, but it’s just a shame that it’s a world where nothing happens. It’s also hard to determine where credit is due; was anything half-decent in the film (which is pretty much just the occasional piece of camera work) intentional?
I will watch Jean-Luc Godard’s previous films, purely out of intrigue to see where Film Socialisme stands in his filmography, or if it is a creative misstep for the so-called masterful pioneer. Perhaps a re-watch is on the cards if and after I adore his past films, but I predict that, regardless, I’ll still never necessarily enjoy Film Socialisme. Watch if you’re interested in how a film can garner critical praise because of its director. Watch if you are interested in the study of how something either meaningless or with a meaning so hidden and buried can be deemed iconic because of the director. Don’t watch if you care in plot, narrative or characters.
Loved:
- Occasional shots
- A lucid, dream-like and original atmosphere for the first act, no doubt original and to some extent memorable
Didn’t Love So Much:
- The lack of story, narrative, plot, or interest in its characters
- Overly ambiguous to the extent of being meaningless, pretentious and overall boring
- Overly unclear production choices – I have nothing against cameras not being of the highest technical calibre, just some justification and validifying as to why such choices were made would have been ideal
03/04/2020
filmmish 