I Added Less Water Than Last Week: Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai Du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975)

Mesmerizing, jarring, introspective, evasive and meticulous are words that could and probably have been used to describe Chantal Akerman's 1975 character study Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles.  The lengthy title lends itself to the rather lengthy film and while I will admit I found myself distracted throughout, it was not a result of the film being bad in the slightest, but more of my own personal state of mind and general tiredness.  I am quite aware, and have read some of the articles, about the divisive nature surrounding this film.  Many find it to be an excellent consideration of the female body as it occupies space in a very real and quantifiable way, while others find its deliberate staging within the domestic household and eventual twist to be somewhat exploitative and undermining of the feminist leanings it clearly takes.  One thing is for certain when you consider this masterpiece by Akerman, and that is its importance to cinema both in its style and in its subject manner.  Firstly, it is a film entirely dedicated to one individuals experience, and the camera rarely shies away from capturing even the most seemingly minute of details in the process.  Second, it chooses its subject to wholly be that of a woman, never allowing the males who occupy her space to completely take over the scene or the space which she has created.  It is as though Akerman has made a decided stand against all that is definably traditional in masculine filmmaking, while still managing to make a piece of engaging and entice film.  Every drawn out shot and deep focus encounter is structurally sound and eerily symmetrical, making the moments when the character leaves home that much more unusual.  The film is deserved of its continual emergence of lists of the most important films ever made and requires a heavy understanding of cinematic language and theory to truly engage within, yet, the images and story are so simplistically accessible that I would venture to say it simply playing at any major television retailer would prove to capture any passerby, it is simply that gripping and of its own existence that it is impossible to ignore.

The films intense focus is on that of Jeanne Dielman (Delphine Seyrig) whose name viewers can only draw from a letter she receives, and that the title of the film suggest it to be such. Jeanne is a single woman who lives alone, spending much of her day washing clothing, preparing food and drinking coffee.  She clearly focuses a heavy amount of her energy into preparing meals for her son who comes home in the evenings, only to completely avoid conversation with her in order to further reading his books and engage in his studies.  Of course, Jeanne plays ignorant to his indifference and attempts to create small talk with him about his aunt in Canada or questions about thoughts on a sweater she is knitting for him.  All seems mundane, if not a bit tragic, were it not for the revelation, at the opening of the film that Jeanne works as a prostitute during the day, seemingly servicing repeat customers ever week.  Yet, this very real occurrence factors in rather minimally to the film, as much more time seems to be spent on considering Jeanne as she is shown taking care of the baby of an unseen woman dropping off her child, or waiting in lack drawn out shots for the elevator to arrive and subsequently reach the floor on which she resides.  In fact, the most heavily focuses plot point of the narrative emerges when Jeanne is depicted trying to find a replacement button for a jacket she has received from her sister, whose living in Canada has meant a time difference in fashion trends and, therefore, a button that was neither in style or out of style within her Brussels neighborhood.  This event is followed by yet more monotony, particularly Jeanne engaging in a extended sequence of her slowly drinking coffee.  It is during one of her visits from a customer that her engagement in intercourse is finally shown, with a top down shot Jeanne's indifferent face turns frustrated as a man simply lays upon her.  After the act is over, it is then cut to her dressing in the mirror as the man lays satisfied with his act, only to be stabbed, inexplicably, by Jeanne in the throat.  His dead body writhes in pain and the film then goes to its closing shot of Jeanne simply sitting in the dark of her house, perhaps contemplating her actions or considering the future.

This has been aptly described as the "first masterpiece of the feminist history of cinema," and deservedly so because in its daunting runtime it manages to tackle essentially every major issue within the feminist movement of the era, mind you it is 1975, so issues of race and class certainly do not exist prominently within the feminist discourse.  It does take Laura Mulvey's consideration of the "male gaze," which has been discussed already this month and many times in the past on the blog, and completely reconsiders its existence.  The film, directly challenges its viewers, regardless of sex, to engage with the images in an unflinching manner, much like the way in which the events are depicted, never drawing any sort of pleasure or gratification from the experience, but instead a second by second cataloguing of Jeanne's experiences.  In fact, the one scene in which she is nude, is done in such a stark and sterile manner that even this arguably objectifying moment is anything but, and instead, draws upon reality and nothing in the realm of idealism.  The next major factor is the manner in which Akerman through her drawn out shots and stagnant deep-focus camera manages to show the layers of burden associated with domestic work, particularly in regards to its consumption of time and money.  Jeanne spends perhaps two thirds of the film preparing or cooking food and in many instances it is not solely for her enjoyment and her son, detached in his reading, is never appreciative of the efforts his mother has undertaken, but only seems to see her as a source of money, of which, he never inquires to how she obtained, surely his discovery would lead to condemnation.  Finally, if there is any question about the message of feminist empowerment and deconstruction of masculine privilege and space, the closing act by Jeanne ends such inquiries with its decided killing of the oppressive male figure, which surprisingly seems to be the least radical moment in the entire film.

Key Scene:  The coffee scene is particularly stagnant, yet mesmerizing, but the film runs so smoothly together that to pick anything out is quite impossible.

This is a major moment in the history of film and well worth owning, while I would hope that Criterion would release a bluray in the future, I think it unlikely, therefore, a DVD copy will have to suffice in the meanwhile.

One Chimpanzee, Two Chimpanzee...: The Loneliest Planet (2012)

The mood film is an incredibly tricky style to navigate, where if a viewer is offered too little it can prove underwhelming and lacking considerably, where as if it i s too grand and distancing it is easy for it to become deemed pretentious and result in the dismissal of the work by critics, and, subsequently, moviegoers who often foolishly assume that if a critic cannot grasp the movie then it is certainly not for them.  Yet, when a mood piece is able to find the middle ground between serene simplicity and grandiose existentialisms the result can be profound, and, almost always, quite watchable, at least this proves to be the case for Julia Loktev's The Loneliest Planet, one of the early releases from last year that seems to have become lost in the hype of Big Hollywood films and the liveliness of Oscar Buzz, which is a bit of a tragedy because like so many low budget films this year it is something both mesmerizing and polarizing and considers the neo-couple in a less than comforting light.  In fact, I would closely compare it with Take This Waltz, only this film specifically finds itself set in the mountains of Georgia(the country), as opposed to the urban landscape of Toronto.  Both films consider with equal weight the woes and aftermath of one misstep in a assumedly perfect relationship, while carefully plotting all parties involved, never taking sides in the matter, often still careful to remind viewers that no party involved is truly free of blame.  I am also usually hesitant to praise a film where the landscape completely consumes its characters, for one this is a tool often used to detract from narrative formation and plot gaps, at least this was certainly the case in something like The English Patient.  I will make an exception with The Loneliest Planet, because the narrative is driven by a couples decision to venture forth into a foreign land far from their familiarity inundated with threats both natural and human, invariably crowding in on their inner emotions and ability to engage with one another.  Finally, with the exception of a couple of students the film contains only three main characters, an ever risky endeavor that pays off magnificently in this film.

The film begins with the jarring image of a naked Nica (Hani Furstenberg) jumping up and down attempting to keep warm as she waits for Alex (Gael Garcia Bernal) to fetch a pitcher of warm water to help heat up her manual shower.  It is revealed in this moment that the two are rather expert travelers, engaged to be married, who have decided that their next expedition shall take them through the mountains of Georgia, again that is the country, not the state.  Knowing little of the Georgian language aside from basic bartering skills, the two hire Gato (Bidzina Gudjabidze) a season guide whose decent understanding of English assures their safety to a degree, even if it means paying a bit more than initially planned, mostly because Gato shows open concern for having a woman traveling.  Regardless, the trio makes a decent group and they travel through the rocks, waters and windy valleys of Georgia, all the while Alex and Nica share in their intimacy, only occasionally concerned with Gato's ability to hear their actions.  Unfortunately, Georgia is not a politically stable area and the trio run into some rather angry locals who do not take kindly to foreigners traveling about their land.  An older man in the group goes so far as to hold a gun to Alex's face which leads him to unconsciously place Nica in front of him as a human shield, only to quickly realize his mistake and move back in front.  The man eventually backs down and the trio are allowed to go, Nica packs quickly and moves along clearly infuriated with Alex.  It is during the next few days as Nica deliberately ignores Alex that Gato begins to make moves on Nica, conversing with her and opening up about his own life, yet she eventually realizes that Alex was only acting in a matter of ear and the two rekindle their relationship.  However, before this Gato makes a pass at Nica who is not receptive and runs back to the tent where her and Alex engage in somewhat uncomfortable intercourse.  The final scene of the films shows the three packing up their tents as though it were the first day of the trip, ignoring the very real betrayals and deceptions which have unfolded in the past few days.

As scathing and biting as The Loneliest Planet proves to be towards the idea of marriage, romance and faithfulness, one cannot help but consider the very international appeal of the film, beginning firstly with its setting.  I am admittedly unaware of any other films set in this remote part of the former Soviet Union, but was more than welcoming of the lush landscapes and eerie chilliness of each scene, not to mention the latent tension of its very foreign elements.  It is always rewarding to see filmmakers go out of their way to find locales that are not represented in cinema often enough, let alone in a non-fantasized setting.  Sure lots of people film in New Zealand, but it is rarely in realistic tone.  Even the director Julia Loktev represents a certain amount of internationalism in her Russian-American identity, one that is very much the combination of two opposing ideologies in a historical sense and given Loktev's age I imagine it was a very real experience.  The cast is also multi-national including what appears to be a handful of Georgian actors, one Israeli actor and the well-established Bernal of Mexican heritage who is a staple of Spanish cinema, particularly the films of Pedro Almodovar.  If all of the production were not enough to make this film international, the dialogue is often varied and never subtitled, allowing for yet another level of multi-nationalism, one that in order to fully comprehend demands a proficiency in at least four different languages.  The topics shared by the characters though also expand beyond one nation, Gato speaks about his own past, while also considering the role that China plays in his country, not to mention some rather specific opinions about the Western world, ones that are understandably negative.  All of this muddling together, certainly adds a poignancy to the films closing scene of the separated identities breaking down their thin tents, perhaps spaces of separation, and accepting a connectedness, even if said connection is the result of some rather unfortunate engagements.

Key Scene:  The moment when Alex unknowingly betrays Nica is so simple that it is nearly deceiving and if you do not pay full attention to its occurring may be perplexed as to why it matters.  However, it is a brilliant moment of filming and acting that might be one of the best scenes of last year.

This is a great thing to watch on Netflix, although I recommend doing so when it is dark out, as much of the movie is set against a black backdrop and it can be difficult to judge a frame with any sort of light messing up the screen.