La Jetée

 

Marker (left) with Alain Resnais

Writer/director Chris Marker

LA JETÉE         A                                                                                                                          aka: Death on the Pier                                                                                                           France  (28 mi)  1962  d: Chris Marker

Under the orders of Jean-Luc, I’ve said for a long time that films should be seen first in theaters, and that television and video are only there to refresh your memory. Now that I no longer have any time at all to go to the cinema, I’ve started seeing films by lowering my eyes [on a television or computer screen], with an ever increasing sense of sinfulness.                —Chris Marker Film Comment interview, 2003

This post-apocalyptic science fiction drama was released in 1962, immersed in the doomsday, nuclear disaster mindset of the era, when there was an alarmist aspect of the culture in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s, when Cold War tensions and a threat of nuclear war convinced government leaders in the United States that millions of lives could be saved by the construction of bomb shelters (Nuclear Fallout Shelters Were Never Going to Work), with Life magazine, at the behest of President Kennedy, spurring a nationwide trend to build backyard bomb shelters, (LIFE Magazine “How You Can Survive Fallout”).  Among the most popular films of the day was Stanley Kramer’s bleak depiction of the aftermath of a nuclear war in ON THE BEACH (1959), listed among the Top-Grossing Movies of 1959, while Pat Frank’s Alas, Babylon in 1959 was one of the first apocalyptic novels of the nuclear age, and Eugene Burdick and Harvey Wheeler’s Fail-Safe, depicting a nightmarish military nuclear fiasco, became a bestselling American novel in 1962, initially released during the Cuban Missile Crisis.  And how could we forget Stanley Kubrick’s hilariously subversive Cold War satire, DR. STRANGELOVE OR: HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB (1964)?  Yet one of the most radical films of the era is simply a compilation of still photographs beautifully edited together in a 28-minute montage that film critic Pauline Kael described as “very possibly the greatest science-fiction movie yet made.”  While this is his only foray into fictional narrative filmmaking, Marker is the undisputed master of the film essay, as evidenced by films like Le Joli Mai (1963), The Grin Without a Cat (Le Fond de L’Air Est Rouge) (1977), and Sans Soleil (1982), where his experimental style creates layers of dramatic intrigue that viewers are required to sift through in order to make sense of this disturbing WWIII scenario where the world is wiped out from nuclear annihilation, yet it ponders whether the past and future can possibly rescue the present. Much of this unravels through the power of suggestion, where a disembodied voice becomes a recurring narrative device in Marker films, reminding us of the importance of memories, existing in two versions, one in French and the other in English (Jean Négroni in French, James Kirk in English), walking us through a series of baffling events that continuously challenge the viewer.  Even after more than half a century, viewers are still unsure of just what they’ve seen, as there’s an enigmatic quality to this film that is part of its enduring legacy, where so much is compressed into a brief window of time.  By the early 60’s, Marker had already established himself as one of the major artistic figures in France, having fought in the Resistance during the war, he published his only novel, Le Coeur Net (The Forthright Spirit), in 1949, which is about aviation, followed in 1952 by an illustrated essay on French writer Jean Giraudoux, Giraudoux Par Lui-Même.  He worked as an assistant director for Alain Resnais on his devastating Holocaust documentary NIGHT AND FOG (1955), and was also a prolific film critic, writing for the left-wing Catholic journal Esprit (magazine) and Cahiers du Cinéma.  He was a tireless traveler, editing the innovative guidebook series Petite Planète for Éditions de Seuil, (Isabel Stevens on Chris Marker's "Petite Planète"), contributing his own photographs, playfully exploring the people and terrain of Siberia four years after the death of Stalin in LETTER FROM SIBERIA (1957), while in 1959, he published Coréennes, a photographic study of Korea.  Making upwards of 70 films, many of them collaborations, Marker directed 20 or so feature films, becoming known as a filmmaker, poet, novelist, photographer, editor, and even a videographer and digital multimedia artist who has been challenging audiences for years with his complex ruminations on time, memory, and the rapid advancement of life on this planet.  Many of his earliest films are personal travelogues, making trips to China, North Korea, Israel, the Soviet Union, and Cuba, with Marker assuming the role of a foreign correspondent in the intimate documentary ¡CUBA SÍ! (1961), chronicling the island’s transition from the dictatorship of Batista to the Cuban Revolution under Fidel Castro, including several interviews with him, ending with the Bay of Bigs incident, but the film was banned for two years for remaining largely sympathetic to Castro and the making of a revolution.  But he became known internationally for making this film, made simultaneously with Le Joli Mai (1963), composed entirely of photographs by cinematographer Jean Chiabaud except for one startling 5-second shot of a mysterious woman lazily opening her eyes from a slumber as she blinks at the viewers.  Our perception of a photograph is that it captures the present moment, yet it instantly becomes the past, as a photograph will always remain a memory. 

Marker is part of the Left Bank Group spearheaded by Alain Resnais, who were more experimental and politically conscious than the French New Wave, fiercely defying convention, viewing cinema more as an art form, inhabiting the same mysterious realm as the nearly incomprehensible Alain Resnais puzzle film Last Year at Marienbad (L'Année Dernière à Marienbad) (1961), where this is among Marker’s more stylish and innovative films, an existentialist tale of doomed existence, and a parable of our modern fate, exuding a penetrating intelligence, and may represent cinema’s closest approach to poetry.  Using a fragmented structure to show how brief the most impactful moments in our life can be, having an unforgettable gravity, as those memories shape our lives and make us who we are, yet this is only apparent when the film takes an astonishing turn into time travel, taking us into the realm of science fiction to examine what it is that truly makes us human.  The opening of the film is strange enough, full of mysterious implications, yet what’s immediately clear is that something very precise and concrete has happened, as the sounds of a jet engine quickly become swallowed up by the voices of the Saint Alexander Nevsky Cathedral choir singing a Liturgy of the Good Saturday announcing the start of a nuclear war, LA JETÉE (1962) Dir. Chris Marker - YouTube (2:20), with the rest of the film delving into the hidden recesses of the imagination to explore the profound ramifications, The First Minute | La Jetée (1962) YouTube (1:21). Reminiscent of Kurt Vonnegut’s seminal time traveling novel Slaughterhouse-Five, where the horrors of war leave behind a catastrophic impact on the survivors, continually revisiting the trauma, where only science fiction allows him to explain what he witnessed, or THE LATHE OF HEAVEN (1980), a remarkable made-for-television adaptation of the Ursula K. Le Guin apocalyptic sci-fi novel, but instead of time traveling, the central protagonist has the power to alter the entire world through dreams.  While the premise is similar in each of these films, using the fantastic to better understand the ordinary, it is achieved in radically different ways, becoming a story of trauma, memory, longing, and loss in a quiet and understated format.  Marker doesn’t even have names for his characters, instead they are who they appear to be, a man, a woman, a prisoner, a doctor, who seem to exist only in the imagination, where what’s important are the ideas they generate, as that’s what sticks with us.  In the aftermath of a nuclear war that has left the world in utter annihilation, a group of mysterious scientists (with the faint sound of untranslated German) test their experimental time travel program, which becomes a key instrument in the fate of the human race, in hopes that traveling to both the past and the future may find the resources needed to save the dismal present.  Experimenting on prisoners, much like the Nazi’s did in WWII, their initial tests are all unsuccessful, insinuating some may have died in the process, or gone mad, leading to a prisoner (Davos Hanich), chosen for his strong attachment to a childhood memory, the image of a man shot dead on the observation pier at Paris-Orly airport, yet what captivated him was the shocked look on a woman’s face (Hélène Châtelain, only appearing in two short films), where he inevitably returns back to that moment searching for her, replaying it over and over in his head.  His journey is structured by the memory of the woman’s face, as he is driven by his desire to reunite with the beauty of that face, the image that preceded the nuclear blast.  A narrator dryly informs us, “Nothing sorts out memories from ordinary moments.  It is only later that they claim remembrance, when they show their scars.”  Other than retreating into tunnels underneath the Palais de Chaillot, resembling Fritz Lang’s underground world in METROPOLIS (1927), there is no explanation for how any of them have survived for so many years, though clearly there are one set of victorious oppressors and one of oppressed prisoners, with a stream of images of destroyed ruins left behind offering viewers a glimpse of a destroyed world, left trapped underneath the ground by a contaminating radioactivity, necessitating a need to seek out unimaginable solutions that don’t exist today, with suggestions that this is their only hope.  While the film suggests he actually time travels, that is the nature of storytelling leaving that impression, as the prisoner never seems to leave his state of captivity, but may be encouraged to think so, where it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s imagined, but this entire film may be a drug-induced dream happening inside his head.  

Described as a photo-novel, in effect this is a blend of photography and cinema into a unique artform that is unlike any other film in the history of cinema, especially considering the depths of the experience, drawing upon the subconscious imagination and turning impossibilities into an existing reality.  Marker completed the film while the Cuban Missile Crisis was unfolding in real time, where the imagined dystopian future mirrors the global fears of the Cold War, as the film’s bleak tones and dark pessimism must be contextualized as part of a larger story of post-War Europe, which was left helpless as the United States and the Soviet Union pushed the world to the brink of nuclear war.  What’s also interesting is that the time travel journeys are not voluntary, but are forced, with subjects lying in a hammock with bandages over their eyes, with wires connected to a monitoring device, accompanied by the sound of his heartbeat, which is indistinguishable from the sound of marching feet, where one of the nefarious masterminds standing over him is Jacques Ledoux, curator of the Royal Film Archive of Belgium, using stimulants of some kind, perhaps a combination of drugs and hypnosis, and the prisoner is not sent into his own memory, but his memories are utilized as he’s first sent first into the past, and then the future, which opens up his eyes into what might be possible.  One of the first signs that the experiment is working is his recognition of a pastoral landscape, and gardens, memories of peacetime, offering a moment of serenity amidst the draining psychological stress of the experience.  This initial success leads to more, yet a driving interest may be his obsession to find this enigmatic “ghost woman,” who has often been compared to Madeleine in Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958), as Marker was a fervent devotee of that picture.  It’s also important to realize that what we see onscreen is not reality, but an artificial reconstruction of an alternate reality, where a common element is still shots of immovable objects, yet the rhythmic editing technique of shifting stills offers the suggestion of motion, as viewers are watching a “motion picture” even if the objects do not move.  From the very start, the prisoner is not sure if the object of his desire even exists, or if she is a product of his imagination.  Through subsequent sessions, they meet more frequently, spending a day walking through a park, showing close-ups of the woman’s face at rest, feeling the sun on her face, yet he comes and goes, before mysteriously vanishing, only to return again, as she waits for him, becoming attached, like lost lovers at the end of a dying world, always surrounded by static objects, even visiting a surreal museum of stuffed animals, accompanied by otherworldly music, La Jetée - A Museum Filled with Ageless Animals - YouTube (3:34).  The images are initially silent, but soon we begin to hear the sound of birds, which only grow louder, leading to a bedroom scene, where he watches the woman sleep peacefully before she awakes to find him at her side, and blinks, as the movement of the camera becomes the only real moment in the protagonist’s life.  Then suddenly he is pulled back to the underground camp, a prisoner directed by people whose motives he can only guess about, eventually realizing that he’s been duped, used as a guinea pig for their own purposes before likely being eliminated, stuck in a state of paralysis where he has no freedom of movement.  As we might suspect, that one moment changes things, wondering whether her moving may be a dream, but it’s a dream associated with the freedom of escaping from the stillness, wondering if they could escape together into a world that could move, where the possibility of love might exist.  This suggests a longing for a time he never thought he could revisit, one where he never actually belongs, associated with a longing for a women he could never really know, yet the mere possibility is an emotional jolt that is tremendously affecting to watch.  What follows is a reverie of a different order, as he dreams of escape, but can he really escape the prison confinement, where every act is determined, any more than he can escape from his own consciousness, which has its own mortal limits.  Memory forever connects us to the past, providing a sense of stability, yet loss is a central component to the film, providing a traumatic reference, as man is ultimately unable to extricate himself from his own historical circumstances.  While this may be an essay on politics and transcendence, it also questions whether love can exist during times of war, where one attempts to reclaim their own sanity in the face of controlling and destructive forces.  Marker challenges our sense of free will by telling a story where none of the characters possess it, where in this film the only freedom that really exists is the one within.  

La Jetée (La Jetee 1962)FULL FILM - YouTube  Criterion French version with English subtitles (28:06)

Le Petit Soldat

 

Godard making his Hitchcockian cameo

Writer/director Jean-Luc Godard

Godard with cinematographer Raoul Coutard

Godard on the set

LE PETIT SOLDAT (The Little Soldier)                   B                                                                 France  (88 mi)  1963  d: Jean-Luc Godard

 The time for action is past.  I have grown older.  The time for reflection has come.                  ―opening narration from Bruno Forestier (Michel Subor)

In a 1971 essay, filmmaker Satyajit Ray summed up this early film (Tribute To Jean Luc Godard), “A cinema of the head and not of the heart, and therefore a cinema of the minority.” In the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, Godard made a number of politically radical films, with the mass general strike of May 68 in France figuring prominently in his development at this time, openly embracing Marxist orthodoxies, where the turning point is LA CHINOISE (1967), an absurdist, pop-art parody of Maoist/Leftist student activism coming a year earlier, followed just months later by the surreal anarchist portrayal of society’s collapse in WEEKEND (1967), with the film’s ominous final caption, Fin de Cinéma.  Coming in the midst of his most groundbreaking period of early 60’s films, Jean-Luc Godard: the Early Years, where he’s generally considered the pioneer of the French New Wave, he makes this outlier of a film, perhaps more interesting for what it foreshadows in Godard’s career than anything else, shot in the spring of 1960 in Geneva and Zürich immediately after Breathless (À Bout de Souffle) (1959), but it didn’t open in Paris until the year after My Life to Live (Vivre Sa Vie: Film en douze tableaux) (1962), making this his fourth film, but it’s actually his second, as it was banned from release in France until January 1963 due to its controversial display of torture on both the French and Algerian sides during the Algerian War, revealing the dirty little secret that French soldiers tortured Algerian prisoners and sympathizers, while the implicit anti-war message was not in keeping with the nationalist fervor.  The French government also threatened to bar Godard, a Swiss citizen, from France and the film’s producer, Georges de Beauregard, from the movie industry if it were shown internationally.  The struggle for Algerian independence was achieved in 1962 (The Algerian Revolution Changed the World for the Better), so eloquently documented in Gillo Pontecorvo’s The Battle of Algiers (1965), and the ban was overturned soon after the war was over.  While the politics of the film are vague and confusing, not really advocating one position over another, it does take a look at the dubious methods employed during the Algerian war, while also amusingly showing a photo of an alleged co-conspirator during an extended torture scene, which turns out to be producer Georges de Beauregard.  Godard joined forces with avowed leftist journalist Jean-Pierre Gorin, making a series of radical films with the Dziga Vertov Group, moving away from dramatic films, preferring to blend Brechtian distancing techniques with Marxist ideology, vowing not to make “political films,” preferring instead to “make films politically.”  Eventually abandoning his Marxist ideology of the 70’s, he never stopped making political films, as KING LEAR (1987) is not the Shakespearean play one expects, instead it’s rooted in the Chernobyl disaster, while FOR EVER MOZART (1996) dramatizes the civil war in the former Yugoslavia.  Godard was raised in bourgeois comfort along the shores of Lake Geneva in Switzerland, coming from an extravagantly wealthy family, as his father was a Swiss doctor while his mother was a medical assistant and daughter of one of the most prominent bankers in France, who was also well-connected in literary circles, as his closest friend was poet Paul Valéry.  Postwar Paris was a place of great philosophical and political debate, where the dominant intellectual figure was Jean-Paul Sartre, a prolific writer and advocate of existentialism, believing it was essential, after the experience of the war, that writers and artists become engaged with politics, taking sides if necessary.  The preeminent film critic was André Bazin, placing an emphasis on film technique, valuing the aesthetic and spiritual qualities of cinema more than any social message.  Godard was transformed by both, quickly becoming friends with two other film fanatics, François Truffaut and Jacques Rivette, often seeing three or four films every day, eventually joining forces in 1949 with editor Éric Rohmer in a short-lived film magazine La Gazette du cinema, with Godard, only nineteen years old at the time, already writing complex articles and reviews.  By the mid 50’s, these young guns turned Cahiers du cinema into the leading film publication in the country, still maintaining considerable influence today.

One of the few Godard films set in an earlier time, as the entire film is a flashback, as reflected by that opening voiceover, never having the privilege of accessing the present, so it actually takes place a few years earlier, playing out against a backdrop of a succession of radio broadcasts dating back to the spring of 1958 which explicitly refer to the Algerian uprising, yet there are also newspaper headlines with a date corresponding to when the film was actually shot, the same year, incidentally, that JFK became President.  A French colony since 1830, Algeria was in a state of revolt, with militants fighting a guerrilla war for independence since 1955.  French citizens as well as the military soldiers came under sustained attack from the Algerian resistance, with the army responding with escalating brutality, determined that Algeria would remain French.  General Charles De Gaulle rode that wave of military escalation to the French Presidency in 1959, having no intention to liberate French colonies, incorrectly assuming retention of colonial interests was their last chance to conserve French international power, rewriting the constitution while establishing the Fifth Republic, as the fourth had been weakened by a series of colonial losses from French Indochina to Morocco and Tunisia.  The insurrection in Algeria was viewed as the final straw, much like America viewed Vietnam, yet both ended up as humiliating debacles of colonial misadventure.  Delving into the behind-the-scenes espionage battles for each side, in typical Godard fashion it features a love affair with a girl, a gun, and a car, in this case a souped-up 1951 Chevrolet Styleline Deluxe, turning the terrorism that was tearing France apart into a pulp fiction B-movie, complete with incessant images of cigarettes and sunglasses.  Bruno Forestier, played by a brooding Michel Subor, appearing 40-years later in two of the best films Claire Denis ever made, Beau Travail (1999), which imagines this same character much later in life, also the otherworldly The Intruder (L’intrus) (2004), is an army deserter on the run in France, taking refuge in Geneva, Switzerland, and because of his precarious position as a deserter, he is blackmailed into doing dirty jobs for the right-wing French OAS (Organisation armée secrète), finding himself posing as a journalist and photographer, with Godard making a cameo appearance behind Bruno at a train station, anxiously looking at his watch about eight minutes into the film.  Much like Michel Poiccard in Breathless (À Bout de Souffle), Bruno is self-involved, but colder, harder, and more disdainful, evolving into his own existential dilemmas, portraying a kind of intellectual and moral confusion, reflective of man’s alienated existence, mirroring the existential inner dialogue of Bresson’s Pickpocket (1959), made about the same time, expressing a deeply tormented subconscious, where his voiceover narration takes us into film noir territory, one of which includes Godard’s most famous line, spoken during a photo-shoot sequence, “Photography is truth.  And cinema is truth 24 times per second.”  Before Godard, the Jump cut was a mistake, a sign of amateurism, yet in his hands, it was symbolic emphasis announcing that the rules of cinema were meant to be broken, like removing most of the ambient sound, which is especially noticeable in outdoor street scenes or driving through traffic, while emphasizing the protagonist’s fractured uncertainty with an abrupt editing style, almost entirely dubbed, as was his first film, where the voiceover takes the place of a nearly non-existent musical soundtrack, though Maurice Laroux’s deliberately oppressive atonal piano music adds to a disorienting mood.  Bruno’s immediate superior is Jacques (Henri-Jacques Huet), a veteran of the Indochina war, ordering him to carry out an assassination of Arthur Palivoda, a radio host who is pro-FLN (National Liberation Front) and adamantly in favor of Algerian independence.  But Bruno hesitates, questioning his lack of political convictions, discovering he really has no compelling interest, feeling morally empty and vacuous, revealing a side that is completely different than how he sees himself, where the character he most resembles is Jean-Louis Trintignant in Bertolucci’s The Conformist (Il Conformista) (1970), which also exhibits a complicated flashback technique, reflecting the character’s anxiety-ridden state of mind.  As a kind of diversion, and quite unexpectedly, Bruno loses a bet that he wouldn’t fall in love with a girl, Le Petit Soldat - The Bet (CC) YouTube (4:04), but instead falls head-over-heels in love with Véronica Dreyer (Anna Karina in her first feature role, discovered as a successful young model in a soap ad for Palmolive), a friend of a friend who, unbeknownst to him, may be working for the FLN, though this is never mentioned until the end. 

The photo-shoot with Véronica is also an existential monologue, “When you photograph a face, you photograph the soul behind it,” Le petit soldat [The Little Soldier] (1961) by Jean-Luc Godard ... YouTube (4:16).  While this suggests a certain amount of philosophical self-reflection, spoken in the midst of a budding love affair, it’s more surface than real, as Bruno pretends to political activism, while deferring from action, becoming a story about a man without ideals, perhaps hoping freedom will come from the barrel of a gun, yet this becomes a perplexing dilemma, with Véronica bluntly getting to the heart of the matter near the end, “I could see the French are wrong.  The others have an ideal, but not the French.  Against the Germans, the French had an ideal.  Not against the Algerians.  They’ll lose.”  Lacking a moral center, Bruno’s ambivalence may reflect how ordinary French citizens viewed the Algerian crisis, which was mostly happening on distant shores, and not really anyone’s immediate concern, so they had little vested interest, and by the time the film was finally released, the war was over, which may explain the viewer indifference, yet it was made without knowing the outcome, revealing the problems of war and its moral repercussions.  As he tries to seduce her with his camera, he asks infantile questions while making silly requests, “Shake your hair like this, or light a cigarette, take a shower,” hoping the camera will reveal the secrets he’s unable to uncover, exploding irrationally when he learns she wants to be an actress, exhibiting paternalistic and sexist attitudes, which may reflect Godard’s own views, as he seems equally befuddled by her own alluring feminine mystique, where he uses her initial awkwardness in front of a camera to his advantage, becoming a dominating presence in his next films.  They were a couple by the end of the picture, marrying not long afterwards, becoming one of the most celebrated pairings of the 1960’s, making seven critically acclaimed films together before suffering one of the most well-publicized break-ups.  While there is a casual reference to the car-bombing of Professor Lachenal, this is in reference to the March 26, 1960 letter bomb murder of Professor Georges Laperche at the University of Liège (Two Books of Questions, One Opera and a Composition ...), known for his opposition to the French occupation of Algiers, where incidents of this kind led to the conflict being described as a “dirty war,” as the government secretly targets the arms dealers before going after FLN sympathizers.  Bruno’s hesitation is viewed with distrust, suspecting he’s a double agent who’s been compromised, leading to his kidnapping and torture by Algerian militants attempting to identify who he is working for, which is chilling in its nonchalance of burning flesh, electrocution, and waterboarding, creating a murky atmosphere of unrelenting anxiety and tension, while later, behind the scenes, we discover the pro-colonial French do exactly the same, making reference to French-Algerian journalist and French Communist Party member Henri Alleg’s autobiographical account of enduring French torture sessions in his 1958 book La Question, an instant best-seller that was re-issued by a Swiss publisher after it was banned by the French government.  French soldiers were subject to brutal torture from the Nazi’s during the war, so the thought of them now inflicting these same atrocities against the Algerians and even some of their own citizens was unconscionable.  Bruno’s character embodies Sartre’s existential quandary about man’s fate in the modern world, and the limits of freedom of choice when it comes to political action, mirroring Godard’s own existential predicament at the time, juxtaposed against the dirty secrets and double-crosses behind the Algerian War.  As both factions, French and Algerian, close in on him, he desperately wants to flee to safety with Véronica, but he also faces a lingering sense of duty, the same profound anguish faced by the Communist characters in Andre Malraux’s The Human Condition.  At times this becomes a dry political exposé spouting didactic phrases with a stream-of-conscious sensibility in line with his later films, quoting revolutionaries, or literary figures seemingly at random, having the same tiresome effect as the William S. Burroughs Cut-up technique, as it’s never integrated into a meaningful or cohesive narrative, feeling hollow and fractured, and deeply pessimistic, where it hits the same repetitive note over and over again with little relief, Le Petit Soldat (1963) Jean-Luc Godard - promising ending scene (with subtitles) YouTube (6:43).  It’s easy to see why this darkly somber and contemplative film didn’t fit with his other more spontaneously upbeat works at the time, all shot by Raoul Coutard, and even when seen from today’s vantage point, there’s never a real sense of urgency, instead it provides an ugly backdrop for the underhanded power struggles going on behind the scenes, where the political left and right are indistinguishable, equally deplorable, reflecting the same amorality that exists in gangster films, where there’s no beauty or truth, only a detached yet heavy-handed fatalism about the future, where ideals and values are worthless, having been corrupted to the point of meaninglessness, mirroring his final act of desperation, hoping to find relief in escapism, but there is no relief, only inevitability.    

Le Petit Soldat (1963) - Jean-Luc Godard Criterion film on YouTube (1:28:24)

Watch Le Petit Soldat Full Movie Online Free With English ...  entire film available on FshareTV with multiple subtitle options (1:28:00)