France

 

Writer/director Bruno Dumont

Dumont on the set with Léa Seydoux

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FRANCE                    B                                                                                                         France  Germany  Italy  Belgium  (133 mi)  2021  d: Bruno Dumont

The ever-cynical Bruno Dumont, a former philosophy professor long associated with the unsettling New French Extremity movement, has never been known as subtle, starting his career using naturalism and extreme realism mixed with elements of mysticism, known for using non-professional actors, following in the footsteps of Robert Bresson, accentuating the banalities in people’s lives, veering into a provocative use of the grotesque, sexual behavior, rape, murder, and extreme violence (though much of that is missing in this film), where his own fatalistic philosophy has influenced all his works, perhaps none more profoundly nihilistic as TWENTYNINE PALMS (2003).  He contrasted that with 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #5 Hadewijch (2009), the first of his Joan of Arc themes exploring sainthood, mixing themes of excessive devotion and religious zealousness into a spreading fundamentalist extremism, a film that mirrored the extreme religious fanaticism engulfing the Islamic world, mixing in a heavy dose of Catholicism for good measure, followed by another dark parable Hors Satan (2011), leaving doubts whether religion was the answer in the modern world, resembling Bresson’s utterly despairing Mouchette (1967) and the Dardenne brother’s similarly downward spiraling ROSETTA (1999).  After a few slapstick comedies gone awry, Dumont returned to his Joan of Arc themes with two movies, Jeannette: The Childhood of Joan of Arc (Jeannette, l'enfance de Jeanne d'Arc) (2017) and JEANNE (2019), a figure who was supposedly a paragon of moral virtue, especially in French culture, both adaptations inspired by the strongly pronounced Catholicism of Charles Péguy while also mixing in his own avowed atheism, again using non-professionals, where his mocking tone of derision may have gotten the better of him.  The same could be said for this film, a mocking, yet superbly stylized satire of a nation in crisis, set in an urban setting, rare for a Dumont film more typically set in rural confines, complete with historic cultural references juxtaposed into savage parodies of nightly televised news broadcasts that report on world events.  What we discover is a glaring phenomenon exposing the shallowness of contemporary journalism, accentuating instead an obsession with instant celebrity status that has driven out all other aspirations and intentions, where an irrational and obsessional pursuit of narcissism has replaced the existing moral order, creating a society consumed by ratings and popularity, where blowing up the Internet supersedes any conventional media standard of objectivity, honesty, or truth.  A film that not only places the name of the nation in the title, but doubles down where the lead character is a famous television news anchor known as France de Meurs, where her last name is a riff on the manners or morals of the nation.  Played by an alluring Léa Seydoux who magnificently carries the film in the performance of her career, on camera nearly the entire time, never more expressive or compelling, becoming the real reason to see this film, moving from hilarious comedy to tragedy and pathos in a real rollercoaster of shifting emotions, yet she’s always dressed in designer clothes, though never wearing the same expensive outfit twice.  The story itself is uneven, abruptly changing gears while often lacking focus and credibility, nonetheless it feels strangely contemporary, becoming a social commentary on a nation obsessed by sound bites and cellphones, as television has become a medium of political drivel, all but guaranteeing a platform for an unending barrage of dishonesty, which appears to stunt the growth of human intelligence, dramatically altering the landscape, creating a society no longer able to decipher good from bad anymore, where a creeping violence is the norm, much of it spread by the Internet.  Dumont’s vision of what’s happening in France mirrors the highly popular Fox News broadcasts in America, where television has become a distorted exaggeration that bears little resemblance to reality, as what really matters is how carefully orchestrated information is packaged and disseminated, all designed to attract the most viewers, where conventional standards of unfiltered news are simply thrown out the window, as broadcasters and invited guests are only interested in generating a stir on the Internet.  A perfect example of this happened during the Senate Judiciary committee hearings for Chief Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, the first black woman to serve on the court, yet rather than ask legitimate questions, the Republican members of the committee were more interested in grandstanding for the cameras while playing to their base, making incendiary child porn smears with fake outrage that had no basis in truth, but were designed to rile up and infuriate their followers, with Senator Ted Cruz, for instance, caught on camera checking his phone afterwards for his name on Twitter mentions.

Dumont even interjects a ZELIG (1983) style faux-documentary look by placing news reporter France in an actual President Emmanuel Macron press conference at the prestigious Élysée Palace (using archival footage), where she’s been prepped by her constantly supportive, yet way over-the-top personal assistant, Lou (Blanche Gardin), to ask a controversial question, “Mr. President, one may wonder about the insurrectional state of French society.  Are you heedless or powerless?”  Referencing the Epicurean paradox exploring good and evil, the question has no definitive answer, but remains one of life’s moral quandaries, yet was intentionally asked to stump the President, apparently separating herself from her other news competitors, where France is indiscreetly seen making mocking facial expressions to her producer Lou at the back of the room, actually mimicking oral sex and a blow-up of the Internet in a display of sheer insolence, while Macron offers a measured response that doesn’t really amount to anything.  Apparently the French press howled with laughter when the film screened at Cannes, though it was met by a chorus of boos at the end.  France is a famous Parisian TV journalist who hosts a nightly hour-long talk show A View of the World that allows rival politicians an opportunity to air their views, while also running calculated puff pieces that show her broadcasting from the front lines of various trouble spots, all carefully designed to place her in the center of every shot, where despite the storyline, she is the focus of every story, jetting to war zones or interviewing refugees, with a relaxing poolside retreat located somewhere nearby.  When she visits a North African hotspot, a holdout against the looming crisis of ISIS, she stages the soldiers as if they’re on a movie set, barking out instructions and directing their actions, while also orchestrating the camera to her best effect, specifically designed to boost her social media profile.  Every television appearance is like a fashion shoot, dressed in brightly colored lipstick and decorative outfits that accentuate her sensuality, her face whitened, like a porcelain doll, having that perfect look of a perfume commercial, where there’s even a giant photo of herself placed directly behind her seat, so no one could ever confuse who is the real subject of every broadcast, making her the country’s hottest journalist, turned into a national celebrity, like a movie star, recognized by everyone on the street, all wanting to take selfie photos with her, which becomes a part of her daily ritual.  As she returns to her massive place des Vosges home, it is more reminiscent of a dimly lit museum, like living inside a church, filled with ostentatious and wildly over-sized paintings and stained-glass artwork on the walls, not like any other home, where she lays on the couch in a state of repose, still believing the world is at her feet.  Her somber novelist husband Fred de Meurs (Benjamin Biolay) resembles a statue, both barely moving, instead exhibiting a sense of inertia, not greeting or recognizing the other, yet offering glances from afar, while their ten-year old son JoJo (Gaëtan Amiel) is a caricature of an overly pampered and spoiled child who despises them both, with his long, flowing locks of hair, showing little interest in schoolwork, displaying, perhaps, the apathy and defiance of the next generation.  Equally mysterious is a visit to her analyst, taking place in another opulent setting, with floor to ceiling windows, where the world of fashion continually collides with a contemporary bourgeois view of Paris, yet Dumont places so much emphasis on spectacular costumes (costume design by Alexandra Charles), set decoration by Pierre Renault and Pauline Stern, production design by Erwan Le Gal, hair and makeup artists Barbara Kreuzer and Simon Livet, and gorgeous cinematography by David Chambille, creating an extraordinary look of the film, which was dedicated to Christophe, the musical composer, rare in Dumont films, yet he was an early victim of the Covid crisis.  Supposedly on top of this superficially constructed world, France seemingly has it all, yet it all topples down when she inadvertently hits young Middle Eastern delivery driver named Baptiste (Jawad Zemmar) on a scooter with her car, causing a commotion, all captured by leering cellphones in an outbreak of negative press, while she’s consumed by a growing avalanche of guilt, causing her all kinds of grief, which is only compounded once she learns he was supporting his immigrant family.  Buying him gifts and writing checks for the family (in the best colonial spirit), she follows him from his hospital recuperation until he’s back to good health, leading her to quit her job, which takes the nation by surprise.  Despite her best efforts to be helpful and supportive of Baptiste’s family, who are awed by her celebrity status, she is deeply unhappy and depressed, forced to confront her own inflated view of herself, suggesting the entire foundation of her supreme air of confidence onscreen is artificially constructed, where beauty covers up for a lack of moral foundation, leaving her exposed for being shallow and empty, at times reducing her to tears.

Apparently at the suggestion of her analyst and her husband, she goes on a thoroughly upscale spa retreat at the Schloss Elmau in the German Bavarian Alps during the middle of the winter, where the lakes and mountains are covered in snow and ice, creating a serene setting of solace and retreat, yet even there she’s besieged by adoring fans who want to take selfies, simply a relentless aspect of celebrity culture where cameras are everywhere, despite the fact only the wealthiest crème de la crème can afford its luxuriousness.  Seeing another analyst there, again with floor to ceiling windows, the metaphoric view is that she’s transparent, easily seen through, overly exposed, with no apparent hidden secrets, as she’s devoured by near-pathological exposure, recalling Elizabeth Taylor’s inner demons in Suddenly, Last Summer (1959) from a European vacation with her gay cousin where he was literally devoured alive in a cannibalistic feeding frenzy by hordes of angry locals at a remote location.  While that was Tennessee Williams in his most exasperated commentary on homosexuality, this is Bruno Dumont on yet another philosophical treatise on good and evil.  A remarkable aspect of this retreat, as she’s fighting depression and forced to confront a growing vulnerability, she develops a romantic fascination with a young Latin instructor, Charles Castro (Emanuele Arioli), perhaps even falling in love, where the two actually sing to each other on a frozen lake, yet when they return to Paris and meet at a café, he accidentally leaves his phone on the table, where she’s horrified to discover he’s actually a journalist hired to write a blistering exposé on her eventful journey to an upscale mountain retreat, basically scamming her while also betraying her confidence, which leaves her a shattered emotional wreck.  Things, of course, only grow darker and more disturbing after that, shattering all illusions, yet there’s Lou, her constant companion at her side throughout it all, exhibiting overwhelming cynicism and contempt for others, yet continually offering her an upbeat message, suggesting she will defy the odds and rise again, as that’s what heroines do, yet when other members of the press hound her after a scandal, Lou bitterly calls them “Leeches!”  While the storyline can be insufferable at times, accentuating her psychological meltdown through an embellished melodrama, it does emphasize the difficulty of maintaining one’s identity in a massively corrosive culture driven by constant attention.  With French flags flapping in the breeze and a pronounced appearance of the Eiffel Tower, she attempts an on-air comeback, resuming her rightful place in the industry, but she’s a changed woman, unable to keep from tearing up on camera, no longer the detached reporter, but now somehow deeply affected by it all, it’s a new and different look, supposedly more representative of her growing awareness, and by extension a nation in crisis, yet any way you slice it the film couldn’t be more thoroughly manipulating, even arrogant in its pretentious overreach, perhaps best represented by an extended car sequence with ominous overtones, confirming our worst suspicions, La pire scène d'accident de voiture de tous les temps (France, 2021) YouTube (3:19), like the apocalyptic finale in Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point (1970).  The film takes a baffling change of direction when France travels to the north, the site of Dumont’s first two films, and interviews Danièle (Annick Lavieville), who lived with a man who had been convicted for rape, claiming nothing happened for twenty years before he struck again and committed a revolting child murder, having no inclination he would become a repeat offender, yet transfixed by the idea, “If we can’t believe that someone who has done bad can do good, we are lost.”  Dumont claimed the film was originally entitled One Half-Lit Morning, a quote from Charles Péguy, with suggestions that humans are always seeking redemption in their lives, which is clearly the intended effect here, and yet in Danièle’s case, the idea becomes muddled in a larger conversation about the essence of evil, a subject in nearly all of Dumont’s films, constructing a storyline that veers into hyperbolic exaggeration, starting out as a comic parody before taking a turn into an anticlimactic melodrama, stripping the artificial surfaces, perhaps trying to make it seem more confounding than it is.  If ever there was a metaphorical film, this is it, as Dumont would like to mirror the French society with his own cinematic reflections, something he’s done with all his films since the beginning, creating relevant social commentary that is also ambivalent, viewed through a veneer of existential detachment.  While clearly finding that politicians on every political spectrum are little more than scam artists, his focus has always been on the people themselves, products of their environment, with this film suggesting society has lost its way, bogged down in superficial realities that lose a core emphasis on what it means to be human, as the digital reality, a medium that has truly deteriorated in the past few years, is a carefully constructed fiction portrayed as reality.  The developing tragedy is one of sorrow, mirrored on France’s face during one haunting shot near the end of the film that Dumont holds for an interminable length of time, an ominous look of melancholy and gloom, as if the genie is out of the bottle and it’s too late to stop the disastrous effects of narcissism contaminating the nation, no longer capable of sober reflection, mesmerized instead by insipid catch phrases, with Dumont suggesting art is transfiguration, taking the ordinary and transforming it into grace, as we are reminded that “Only the present remains.  Here and now.”  However, grace is the one thing that’s sadly missing from this film.  Instead, as in all Dumont films, we are left to ponder whether it will inevitably lead to our ultimate doom.

Jeannette: The Childhood of Joan of Arc (Jeannette, l'enfance de Jeanne d'Arc)

Director Bruno Dumont on the set

 

Young actress Lise Leplat Prudhomme with the director

 

JEANNETTE:  THE CHILDHOOD OF JOAN OF ARC (Jeannette, l'enfance de Jeanne d'Arc) – made for TV                   D                    

France  (105 mi)  2017 d:  Bruno Dumont

Dumont’s dark parable Hors Satan (2011) took the film about as far as it could go, philosophically speaking, much like Béla Tarr in The Turin Horse (2011), reaching the end of the road.  His resurgence with a provincial crime drama, L'il Quinquin (P'tit Quinquin) – Made for TV (2015), and comic farce, Slack Bay (Ma Loute) (2016), have seemed like an odd detour, basically challenging what was an austere director to work in a more whimsical style, where it would be difficult to call this new direction a success, as these are wildly offbeat efforts that defy audiences to like them.  Dumont is back to using non-professional actors that few have heard of, skimping on production detail, seemingly making a film on the fly, like a stream-of-conscious effort, where the challenge is on Dumont to produce something out of nothing.  The results are mixed.  Some are offering high praise for sheer bonkers originality.  Don’t expect that here.  While clearly he has created something unlike anything else he’s ever done before, this is also absurdly exaggerated, inert filmmaking, an overly staged song and dance production set in a natural world, but completely artificialized, performed entirely for the camera, becoming a style over substance film.  The story of Joan of Arc is one of the most often depicted throughout the annals of cinema, with the most infamous being Dreyer’s silent masterwork, THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC (1928), Rivette’s six-hour JOAN THE MAID (1994), and Bresson’s The Trial of Joan of Arc (Procès de Jeanne d'Arc) (1962), where the French in particular find this among the most treasured moments in history, as a teenage shepherdess inspired by communions with God and visions of holy saints actually joins the battlefield, turning the tide of history, leading the charge to drive the British out of France, where she was arrested by the enemy, tried and charged with heresy, eventually burned at the stake.  Her sainthood is an inspirational story of the miraculous power of divine faith, as Jeanne was herself a commoner, a farm girl, uneducated and illiterate, yet she was challenged by the most brilliant legal minds and scholars in England, and held her own, remaining defiant until the end, reaffirming her faith in God, not the English.  Dumont has already filmed a Joan of Arc parable taking place in the modern world, 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #5 Hadewijch (2009), which remains one of his best films, but his interest here is with the historical figure herself, not in her most valiant moments, but in what came before, the prequel of what led to her transformation into becoming such an iconic figure.  Turning this into a rock opera, staged outdoors near Domrémy, the birthplace of Jeanne, this is a no frills reproduction, using electronic music largely composed by French musician Gautier Serre, aka Igorrr.     

Set in 1425, we are immediately introduced to an 8-year old Jeanne (Lise Leplat Prudhomme), tending to her small flock of sheep roaming the sandy hillsides of the Meuse River, between the villages of Maxey and Domrémy, where Jeanne is seen wading through a small creek, facing the camera, breaking out into song, praying to God to provide a warlord that will drive the English occupying force out of France.  This pretty much describes the rest of the film, as it is exactly the same.  While there are a few moments of spoken words, mostly everything is sung, with characters standing still, facing the camera, occasionally using arm gestures in rhythm with the music or breaking out into a brief spontaneous dance (choreography by Philippe Decouflé).  The static repetition becomes stifling after a while, presented in tableaux format, mostly in close-up, though the changing camera angles often move to high above, gazing upon the world below.  Inspired by the Charles Péguy play published in 1910, Les Mystères de la Charité de Jeanne d’Arc, the film examines the origins of her spiritual conversion, though the words and music are not particularly challenging or inspirational, but are just as repetitive as the static imagery.  So what we’re viewing resembles an animated still-life painting absurdly springing to life, like a choreographed fantasia, fueled by a fairly mediocre musical soundtrack that produces no memorable songs.  If not for the historical importance of the central figure, there would be no interest whatsoever in this work.  Much of it feels amateurish and silly, not always hitting the right notes, with moments of jaw-dropping absurdity at how unaccomplished it is, much like an elementary school production, where the film takes place almost entirely at the same location, using intertitles to announce the passage of time, but the place, somewhat humorously, doesn’t change.  A handful of characters are introduced, mostly relatives, a lone friend, a pair of nuns, and of course the saintly vision, but mostly we are treated to close-ups of this innocent new face.  With the Hundred Years’ War (Hundred Years' War | Britannica.com) weighing heavily upon her shoulders, Jeanne is overwhelmed by a pervasive feeling of sadness, as France has tragically succumbed, with many accepting their fate, lost in the hopelessness of endless perdition, praying to break the English siege of Orléans, for an end to the darkness.  Jeanne is able to speak freely with her same-age friend Hauviette (Lucile Gauthier), who has already entered a convent, so they are on a similar spiritual plane, both strong religious advocates, perhaps even considered extremists.  They are soon joined by Madame Gervaise, an influential nun from the convent, played by two sisters, Elise and Aloine Charles, who add their own unique dance choreography to the mix, all of which figure into Jeanne’s spiritual awakening. 

It must be said that whatever transcendent spiritual aspirations Dumont might have been going for are constantly undermined by the simplicity of the words and the banality of the music, where only the absurdity of the distorted body movements hold any viewer interest at all.  In fact, one could step out of the theater for twenty minutes or so and return later, and you’d have missed nothing important, as it all feels exactly the same, where the overall tone never changes.  The same can’t be said for more compelling films.  Turning Jeanne into a childhood rock star may be a fanciful notion, much like the Broadway hit Jesus Christ Superstar, but cinematically nothing of note actually happens, as the characters simply stand around and sing music that is instantly forgettable.  Despite a fierce Christian devotion, not a hint of it is expressed onscreen.  One might argue this is the Brechtian method, using flat performances where the emotion must be provided by viewers, but Brechtian theater is also accompanied by well-written and powerful language that has the capacity to dramatically move an audience.  Not so here.  Always one of the key moments in her radicalization is Jeanne’s early mystical visions of saints, played here by Saints Margaret and Catherine (the Charles sisters again), both wearing crowns, and Archangel Michael (Anaїs Rivière) with wings, each digitally levitating, hovering over a nearby tree branch, instilling courage in the young girl to break the siege herself, something she finds impossible at her age.  Jumping ahead three years, Jeanne is played by a new actress (Jeanne Voisin), who summons her uncle (Nicolas Leclaire) in a plot to deceive her parents in order to escape her village and finally lead the French resistance.  (There is a Monty Python pratfall when the uncle attempts to mount a horse just behind Jeanne, but instead misses and falls to the ground.)  Plagued by the idea of family betrayal, lying to her family in order to obey God, Jeanne lingers in personal anguish, claiming she didn’t understand the message of the saints until now, but as there is no one else, she believes she is the one called upon by God to reassert France’s rightful sovereignty, leaving town by horseback, ending where other portrayals are just getting started.  Traditionally France has always been a devoutly Catholic nation (more than 80% just a decade ago) with a rich heritage, one of the first countries to adopt Catholicism as its official religion, as evidenced by the multitude of church spires that hold the highest vantage point in nearly every rural village across the nation, or Rohmer’s My Night at Maud's (Ma Nuit Chez Maud) (1969), but the numbers are grim, with more than one-third of France’s population and almost two-thirds of its youth declaring no religion at all, with only about 5% regularly attending Mass anymore (The Church In Decline: France's Vanishing Catholics).  An avowed atheist with an obsession for matters of the spirit and the flesh, perhaps Dumont is attempting to tap into this apathetic youth rebellion by enticing them with an outlandishly bizarre and awkwardly weird made-for TV film that plays in living rooms across the nation, already indicating he wants to make a sequel to the prequel.