As I read it, this rambling film is a case study of declining potency. Jean-Pierre Leaud is surprisingly unprepossessing as a dumpy, long-haired director who's made a couple of well-received skin flicks with titles like, "I'm Hard, I Come, I Sing," but has had -- well -- director's block since 1984. It's a sad tale. And you feel sorry for the actor right away, if you remember Leaud in Truffaut's earlier films or in "Belle de Jour," a dark and sometimes menacing vibrant presence.
Felt sorry for his character as well. The film makes it clear that sex is like power is like life. Leaud's 1968-style political activism is now obsolete. The new activism opposes a government that treats us "like a statistic." Its ultimate response is elective mutism, so Leaud winds up communicating with his son by reading his notes instead of having a conversation.
We can see Leaud's power -- his vision, if you will -- being taken away from him. He's directing a scene in which a fake chauffeur is seduced by a 16-year-old heiress. (I think I'm getting this right. It was a little confusing.) He lays out his plan for the rest of the crew. As usual, the cameras will stay perfectly still while filming this sexual encounter. One camera for closeups of organs and faces, the other for a medium shot. The actress will not emote while the chauffeur does her. No phony moaning or wild gyrations. Leaud, the director, will take care of that part for her. Finally, he wants her to, well, swallow as she might offscreen. Those are his directorial intentions.
Just before shooting starts, the Assistant Director plays some romantic music, thinking it may help the scene. "No music," says Leaud politely but firmly.
The scene begins the way Leaud wants it. But Leaud is staring at the floor. The AD asks, "Aren't you going to direct it?" Leaud replies: "I've already directed it." But not to the AD's satisfaction. First the AD begins prompting the actress -- "Louder. We can't hear you." Then, little by little, the AD takes over the scene. He instructs the actress to shout and move around more. He plays the forbidden romantic music. He moves the cameras around. And the actress gets a cliché right in the face.
What might have been a more or less personal scene has been turned into something that the industry grinds out like Wendy's Whoppers. And all this time, Leaud has been moping in his chair, without a whimper of protest.
That scene summed it up for me in many ways. Other scenes got by my interpretive apparatus entirely. I don't know what's going on when Leaud leaves his wife. I have no idea why Leaud asks permission to build a house on a friend's land and then, after laying out a sketchy floor plan of a tiny shed, simply sits there staring at it for scene after scene. Is it "symbolic"? If so, the symbolism whizzed past me without doing any damage and went on its way. I think I DID get symbolism elsewhere. When Leaud's son and his girlfriend make love in a meadow, we don't see them "doing it" but we get a lot of shots of sheep running around all woolly and sweaty looking. Very mammalian stuff.
Is the movie worth watching? Probably. Nice photography, good acting. Definitely, if you're a 50-year-old and your vision is increasingly impaired by senile cataracts.
Felt sorry for his character as well. The film makes it clear that sex is like power is like life. Leaud's 1968-style political activism is now obsolete. The new activism opposes a government that treats us "like a statistic." Its ultimate response is elective mutism, so Leaud winds up communicating with his son by reading his notes instead of having a conversation.
We can see Leaud's power -- his vision, if you will -- being taken away from him. He's directing a scene in which a fake chauffeur is seduced by a 16-year-old heiress. (I think I'm getting this right. It was a little confusing.) He lays out his plan for the rest of the crew. As usual, the cameras will stay perfectly still while filming this sexual encounter. One camera for closeups of organs and faces, the other for a medium shot. The actress will not emote while the chauffeur does her. No phony moaning or wild gyrations. Leaud, the director, will take care of that part for her. Finally, he wants her to, well, swallow as she might offscreen. Those are his directorial intentions.
Just before shooting starts, the Assistant Director plays some romantic music, thinking it may help the scene. "No music," says Leaud politely but firmly.
The scene begins the way Leaud wants it. But Leaud is staring at the floor. The AD asks, "Aren't you going to direct it?" Leaud replies: "I've already directed it." But not to the AD's satisfaction. First the AD begins prompting the actress -- "Louder. We can't hear you." Then, little by little, the AD takes over the scene. He instructs the actress to shout and move around more. He plays the forbidden romantic music. He moves the cameras around. And the actress gets a cliché right in the face.
What might have been a more or less personal scene has been turned into something that the industry grinds out like Wendy's Whoppers. And all this time, Leaud has been moping in his chair, without a whimper of protest.
That scene summed it up for me in many ways. Other scenes got by my interpretive apparatus entirely. I don't know what's going on when Leaud leaves his wife. I have no idea why Leaud asks permission to build a house on a friend's land and then, after laying out a sketchy floor plan of a tiny shed, simply sits there staring at it for scene after scene. Is it "symbolic"? If so, the symbolism whizzed past me without doing any damage and went on its way. I think I DID get symbolism elsewhere. When Leaud's son and his girlfriend make love in a meadow, we don't see them "doing it" but we get a lot of shots of sheep running around all woolly and sweaty looking. Very mammalian stuff.
Is the movie worth watching? Probably. Nice photography, good acting. Definitely, if you're a 50-year-old and your vision is increasingly impaired by senile cataracts.