Le Pont Du Nord

Jacques Rivette's "Le Pont Du Nord" from 1981 is an interesting film, not least because it defies categorisation in any way you try and read it. I think it works best when viewed as an example of guerilla film-making, since that's effectively what it is, some years before that cadre of American filmmakers (Larry Clarke, Robert Rodriguez) took their cameras to the streets to film what their vision, and some years after Melvin Van Peebles arguably invented the genre. And yet it stands outside of those examples, since whilst those filmmakers resolutely worked within a genre and tried to emulate a genre, Rivette only uses his genre (the conspiracy thriller) as something of an afterthought, secondary to the process of guerilla film-making itself.

Rivette was, after all, all about method, and that seems to take preference within his films. In the liner notes he speaks of an inner juxtaposition, of the almost documentary-style nature of his film, and the highly strung plot. And yes, there is a plot, despite all this tedious stuff about methods and juxtapositions and all that. Mother and child Pascale and Bulle Olgier play two unrelated women, Baptiste and Marie, whose paths cross three times in one day, and whom Baptiste argues their being together must be fated. From there they explore a shady and ill-defined conspiracy involving a map modelled on a child's game, a briefcase containing... Something, and several men labelled as "Max" by Baptiste and hence deserving of scorn. Marie has just been released from prison; we have no idea where Baptiste has come from.

There's also Marie's partner Julien (Pierre Clementi), owner of the coveted briefcase, and seemingly the original Max (Jean-Francois Stevenin), who both cycle through benign and threatening at any given scene in the film.

What does it all mean? I don't know, but looking for meaning in a film like this seems counterintuitive. It seems to purposefully defy all meaning. In a Hollywood film, it would be a high-stakes affair with lots of scenes of Tom Hanks running through rooms looking for clues, but here, it is simply what Rivette presents it to us as. And it does contain an eerie, otherworldly beauty, mainly as a result of the on-location shooting in Paris, nearly devoid of interiors, and the rhythmic, simplistic editing.

I realise I have largely described this film instead of actually reviewing it, but this is no simple work. I loved it. It was quietly compelling, and culminates in a final sequence, with Baptiste and Max sparring opposite each other on a bridge, framing a Parisienne canal that's glimmering in the late evening sunlight, that has an indescribable lo-fi pulchritude, like the hazy neon glow you get from a Daniel Johnston record.

Odds are, if you know of this film, you know about Rivette, and already have an opinion on his methods and aims. If you've bought into his vision (I have), this will be an immensely rewarding venture. If you've never heard of him, this isn't a bad place to start. Look past the wilfully enigmatic style and engage in the beats, and the style.

Review of La Belle Noiseuse (1991)

When I was younger, I had an art teacher called Mr Davies. An aloof, scatterbrained man who fit the absent-minded professor role very well, he often found himself despairing at our classes’ general cluelessness and ineptness at creating art. One day, he decided to show us how it was done. He took a canvas, and some charcoal, and he drew one of the buildings in our school. It took about twenty minutes, and not one of us stirred. We watched, intent, as he shaped the outline, and seemingly at random, drew grooves, alcoves, windows, the ivy, the brick shapes, which resulted in a drawing which was utterly unique, yet conveyed something intimately familiar to us all. His hand seemed possessed by something not inside him, and he carried an air of effortlessness with every stroke. Each one of us was in awe.

I thought of him, and that moment, when I was watching Jacques Rivette’s “La Belle Noiseuse”, a four hour film about an aging artist called Frenhofer (Michel Picolli) who, ten years after abandoning his masterpiece, picks up his tools and attempts it anew with the young Marianne (Emmanuelle Béart) as his subject. This is the cause of much disturbance amongst Marianne’s boyfriend Nicolas (David Bursztein) and Frenhofer’s wife Liz (Jane Birkin), although if you are expecting a straightforward drama around these straightforward themes of jealousy, then you may be disappointed. This is instead a film which asks, what does it mean to bare your soul for the artist? Is allowing yourself to be painted a form of violation? Especially when the nature of the painting is one that is presenting you in your most honest form? To what extent is the artist in control of his material, or subject, or vice versa?

I was absolutely enthralled for every minute of the leisurely runtime. This is a film steeped in beauty, and it blossoms like a flower right in front of our very eyes. It is the first work I have seen from Jacques Rivette, but I am certain it will not be the last, as his directorial voice in this film is one that is as strong as any other masters I have seen the films of. He presents a formal, classical and sumptuous control over his material which leaves the viewer spellbound.

But is he really in control? This is a central paradox which the film itself explores. I read that the film had no script, and was simply made up from day to day based on what came before. In this respect, we must observe that the actors, Rivette’s subject, are as much responsible for what we see as Rivette is. Sure, Rivette arranges his camera around them in the way he does, and edits around them in the way he does (although there isn’t much editing in this film; it plays out mostly in gorgeous long takes), but to what extent is the work his, or the actors?

This arises often in the film. We will see Frenhofer arrange Marianne in one pose or another, and she will move ever so slightly, twist her neck, arrange her back, shift her balance, because that’s simply what humans do. We are not meant to stay still. Positions are not fixed, and they are not permanent, yet surely when the artist is drawing, he is trying to capture something permanently? “La Belle Noiseuse” understands this dilemma.

The performances in this film are all perfect; quiet, subdued and observant. Let us observe Frenhofert; he is an old man, with white fluffy hair adorning the sides of his head, and he has craggy features. He is often expressionless, but never more so when he is painting. We slowly realise that he is a man gripped by a certain fear. He understands the true nature of his artwork, and that scares him. Should human nature be explored that honestly?

Marianne is simpler. At first she doesn’t even want to be the subject of Frenhofer’s painting, but she eventually gives in, I guess because we all like to be made idols of. She and Frenhofer maintain a respectful relationship which is notable for how sexless it is. Marianne is naked in a number of scenes in this film, but any erotic tension is purely invented by the viewer. It is not hard to see that Beart is a beautiful actress, and her character relies on this beauty. Yet Frenhofer manhandles her, pulls her to and fro, and seemingly never sees the sexual potential that lies between the two. The art has gripped him.

This disturbs Marianne’s boyfriend, who can’t quite handle the fact that Frenhofer, through drawing her, knows her more intimately than anyone ever will. Frenhofer’s wife, on the other hand, is not prone to jealousy and at first seems overjoyed that Frenhofer has found the resolve to finish his masterpiece (which was originally to be drawn with her). But even she, as the film goes on, finds one of Frenhofer’s actions hurtful, and we see that sometimes the nature of art can be destructive, as opposed to creative.

Look for little clues. Rivette plays up the sound of the crickets on the soundtrack, and when they are absent (mainly when Frenhofer is in the studio), we focus on the silence. Several scenes play out in silence, such as the spellbinding sequence where Frenhofer draws Marianne for the first time. Frenhofer goes about his studio, picking up and putting down brushes, paints, easels, and when he does settle on his tools, we find ourselves on the edge of our seat, because we have just witnessed the whittling down of innumerable possibilities. This film is as gripping as any thriller.

Finally, what contributes so heavily to the success of this film is the fact that we witness key events in real time. Most films truncate their time-frame, so as to give the illusion of a certain amount of time having passed whilst not actually subjecting the audience to it. This film is four hours long, and it takes place over the course of a week. We live through that week, and all of the key moments happen as they would actually happen. The camerawork, which is beautiful, makes great use of all the space on show. The 4:3 aspect ratio, which could have been stifling, instead allows the actors to appear comfortable in their surroundings, and this comfort seeps into the viewer. Far from being boring, we come to know the characters, their actions, and the film takes on rhythms and movements all to itself. The ending, which is frustrating and delightful in equal measure, is the only one that could have fit, although for the life of me I will always want to know what is behind that wall.

This is a film you settle into, and it’s one of the most immersive I have ever seen. It contains movements and shots which I will likely never forget, and it is one of the very few films I have witnessed which I didn’t want to end, because I grew so accustomed to the tale and its manner of telling. “La Belle Noiseuse” translates to “the beautiful nuisance. This film is “La Belle Masterpiece”.