Jane By Charlotte

 

Director Charlotte Gainsbourg

Gainsbourg with her mother Jane Birkin

Gainsbourg on the set

Jane Birkin

JANE BY CHARLOTTE         C+                                                                                           France  (88 mi)  2022  d: Charlotte Gainsbourg

The idea is to see you as I never have before, or have dared to see you.  Filming you with a camera is basically an excuse just to look at you.                                                                          —Charlotte Gainsbourg to her mother

Something of a mother/daughter valentine between Jane Birkin and her daughter Charlotte Gainsbourg as Birkin nears the end of her life, writing a definitive postscript, which is mostly a glorified home movie that pales in comparison to Chantal Akerman’s No Home Movie (2015), which documents her mother’s final days and is a more avant garde cinematic endeavor, but both are to be commended for airing in public such personalized expressions.  No backstory is provided, so for the most part you need to already be familiar with the family history, feeling like an insider portrait, which it is, but this may be alienating to many viewers who aren’t already aware of that storyline.  In some ways inspired by the unflinching documentary Grey Gardens (1976) by Albert and David Maysles, yet the focus is almost entirely in the present, as both women seem like they’ve lived privileged lives, where celebrity and fame have allowed them to live comfortably, with all their needs provided for, yet their conversations together never provide any real depth of emotion or intellectual curiosity, as Charlotte seems to know very little about her mother’s current life, retracing pieces of Birkin’s life, but for the most part it lacks substance and complexity, where you might think this diary-like personal tribute was a vanity project made for no one else but the two of them.  It certainly lacks the playful spirit of Varda’s JANE B. PAR AGNÈS V. (1988), one of three films they made together, which cleverly captures Birkin’s anxieties about turning 40, a whimsical effort exploring her diverse personality that exudes fun and creativity, yet Charlotte hated the film, as a film crew was encamped in their home for the better part of a year when she was just 16, certainly putting a damper on her teenage social life.  With no mention whatsoever of Birkin’s acting career, or that she became a French fashion icon, it’s worth mentioning that she worked with Bertrand Tavernier, Alain Resnais, and even Hong Sang-soo, while also starring in Jacques Rivette’s final film, Around a Small Mountain (36 vues du Pic Saint Loup) (2009), having worked together in four films, including LA BELLE NOISEUSE (1991), so she has worked with and been surrounded by other great artists.  Charlotte Gainsbourg is perhaps best known for working with Lars van Trier in films like ANTICHRIST (2009), winning the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival, Melancholia (2011), and Parts 1 and 2 of Nymphomaniac: Volume 1 (2014).  Both also have careers as popular singers, following in the footsteps of Gainsbourg’s father, French singer and songwriter Serge Gainsbourg, an iconic figure in French pop, with Birkin having a 12-year creative and romantic partnership with him, though he’s 19-years older, where at the time she was completely uninhibited about taking nude photos, becoming internationally famous in 1969 following their sung, spoken, and whispered duet song Serge Gainsbourg ft. Jane Birkin - Je t'aime...Moi non plus ... YouTube (4:25), which reached number one in the UK, the first foreign-language song to do so, originally written two years earlier for former lover Brigitte Bardot, but given a re-emphasized sexual allure with overtly erotic lyrics, including plenty of heavy breathing and orgiastic moans from Birkin that were deemed so offensive that the song was banned from the radio in Spain, Sweden, Brazil, Great Britain, Italy, and banned before 11 pm in France, while also thoroughly denounced by the Vatican.  According to Birkin, both found it all terribly amusing, with Gainsbourg calling the Pope “our greatest PR man.”  In France, both remain revered, larger than life public figures, where their fame is considerable. 

Birkin, born in London during the grim postwar period of rationing, initially emerged from the youth-driven Swinging London Mod Scene of the 60’s, making a brief appearance in a controversial nude scene as a blonde model in Antonioni’s BLOW-UP (1966), but found fame singing in French, relocating to France permanently by the end of the decade despite not speaking a word of French, eventually acquiring French citizenship.  Charlotte was also born in London, but raised in Paris, growing up on film sets, as both parents were involved in the film industry, winning a César award at the age of 14 for Most Promising Actress for her role in Claude Miller’s AN IMPUDENT GIRL (1985), making her musical debut in 1984 at the age of 13 with a scandalously creepy song that many believe glamorizes pedophilia and incest, Charlotte Gainsbourg & Serge Gainsbourg - Lemon Incest ... YouTube (5:10), a duet with her father, where he actually climbs into bed with her.  So this family is not without controversy.  Nonetheless, making the film offers Charlotte an opportunity to be closer to her mother, referencing a notebook with questions to ask her, but it’s clear Birkin is used to being the center of attention, a position she’s found herself in for nearly her entire lifetime, so her willingness to acquiesce to her daughter’s creative whims also allows her an opportunity not just to be a collaborator in her artistic venture, but to spend time with Charlotte for perhaps the very first time in her daughter’s adult life.  While it may seem like an instant love affair, catching up on the empty spaces and hidden corners of their lives, allowing them to just chat as mother and daughter, the film went on hold for two years after Charlotte asked a single question, with Birkin finding it too intrusive, as if she was being blamed for the family ills, but eventually she came around, as she misconstrued Charlotte’s intentions, where this is mostly a tender portrait of what it’s like having a famous parent, while also gathering insight into this latter stage of her life.  Using a combination of a 16mm Bolex camera for outdoor shots, occasionally employing a telephoto lens, while also snapping photos of her with a small Leica, there’s an intimacy and an unfamiliarity with each other, acknowledging there’s always been a shyness and a sense of reserve between them in a way that doesn’t exist with her other children.  Birkin freely admits, “You were very intimidating.  I felt privileged to be in your presence.”  Joining her mother in Japan for a performance of Gainsbourg’s songs, backed by an orchestra, seen hand-drawing self-portraits that she hands out as autographs, the film also takes them to a rooftop overlook of New York City, Charlotte’s childhood home on the Rue de Verneuil in Paris where they lived with Serge (Rue de Verneuil and the former house of Serge Gainsbourg), which has been left virtually untouched since his passing in 1991, which Birkin hasn’t set foot in for thirty years and is now a museum, where nothing has changed except the graffiti strewn on the front of the building, while also traveling the French countryside in search of a new puppy, yet the most luxuriant time is spent at Birkin's impressive coastal residence in Brittany’s northern Finistère.  The cutest thing in the film is Charlotte’s precocious 10-year old daughter Jo Attal, who brings a breath of fresh air, usually seen munching away on food, where just being a kid adds a refreshing element to what can at times feel like a morbid exploration just prior to death, as it anticipates her mother’s departure, reminiscent of Sarah Polley’s Stories We Tell (2012), a memory piece that goes in search of her own mother who died of cancer when she was just eleven years old, crafting a valentine remembrance for a woman she knew all too briefly.

There are a flurry of quickly shot photographs, as Gainsbourg is improvising, adding a contemporaneous element, along with walks on the beach where there are attempts to be self-reflective, but much of the conversations border on the banal, never really offering something we haven’t seen before.  Perhaps the most haunting aspect is the use of home movies shown on the wall, with Birkin in darkened silhouette sitting in the foreground as images of the past are projected across her body, an example of memories that she carries literally playing out before her eyes.  It’s an interesting device of mixing mediums, with Charlotte asking her mother to comment on what she sees, but it becomes too personal and too painful, as the spirit of some who are no longer with us becomes too much to bear, so she’s forced to look away.  In some respects, there are unseen ghosts lingering, as the film is haunted by the presence not only of Serge Gainsbourg, but also Kate Barry, the eldest daughter that Birkin had with her first husband, composer John Barry, who suffered from an addiction to drugs and alcohol since she was a teenager and died in 2013 at the age of 46 under mysterious circumstances, as she fell from the window of a 4th floor apartment in Paris, where there is speculation it was a suicide.  This kind of selective memory from a dark domain affects all of us as we age, reinventing different versions in our head, where we tune out material that is simply too harrowing, reminiscent of soldiers who never talk about their wartime experiences with their children.  In a kind of eye-opening moment of clarity, Birkin acknowledges “Varda was right.  You must capture the present,” though Varda’s films were about so much more.  This idea of living in the present, however, letting go of the past, and not waiting for the future has a kind of Zen meditative aspect to it, as the emphasis on the present moment is perhaps Zen's most distinctive characteristic.  Birkin does ponder the changes that occur to the body during aging, which coincides with a desire to shed her image of beauty in order to be taken more seriously as an artist, as she opens up about her life-long insomnia problem, and her sleeping pills addiction that she’s had since a teenager.  This is a particularly uncomfortable section, like a portrait of depression, conveying her insecurities in a confessional manner, acknowledging she is anxiety-ridden, and has been for a long time, as she’s simply not able to shut off the brain, continually re-examining what could have been, playing out those possibilities over and over in her mind.  She also can’t throw things away, even old batteries, and calls it a sickness, so her home is a cluttered stockpile for collectibles, where nothing appears organized, but things are strewn around in a haphazard manner.  Good luck trying to find anything.  Fortunately, she knows on some level that nothing is lost, but to another degree nothing is found as well.  Perhaps surprisingly, there is little glamor in their lives, living as quietly and unpretentiously as possible, which is not always the case for people who work in the creative arts, so there’s a refreshing transparency in their relationship that may not have existed beforehand.  At times illuminating, this is also challenging, where the music is easily the least compelling aspect, using a stripped back style and an unconventional approach to its subject, where the question is whether any of this is effectively transferred to the audience.  Is this a lasting piece of art that will cement their legacy, or is it just a love letter from a daughter to her mother?  In 2002, Birkin received a diagnosis of leukemia and underwent various cancer treatments, as the lingering disease continued to cause health challenges, including a mild stroke two years ago, eventually succumbing at the age of 76 earlier this year, just a year after the film was released.  According to French President Emmanuel Macron, he described Birkin as a “French icon” and a “complete artist” who “bequeaths us tunes and images that will never leave us.”

Nymphomaniac: Volume 1

NYMPHOMANIAC:  VOLUME 1        D                 

Denmark  Germany  France  Belgium  Great Britain  (Volume 1, 118 mi, Volume II, 123 mi)  2014  ‘Scope  d:  Lars von Trier     Official Site

Another epic flop from the man who makes outrageous claims to greatness, but remains the most pretentious filmmaker on the planet.  Even early in von Trier’s career (whose name is Lars Trier, as he himself added the "von" to emulate Erich von Stroheim and Josef von Sternberg), he considered himself the natural heir to Danish master Carl Theodor Dreyer, using Dreyer’s unrealized screenplay for a made-for-TV version of Euripides’ Greek tragedy MEDEA (1988), a film that begins with a dedication to Dreyer, calling his film “an homage to the master.”  In more recent films, von Trier is giving thanks in the end credits to Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky, in whose company he only appears dwarfed in comparison, but it doesn’t stop the swelled expectations from this director who becomes more and more irrelevant with each movie.  While this is originally conceived in two parts, much like Tarantino’s KILL BILL Pt’s 1 and 2 (2003-04), this reviewer has seen enough in the first section so there will be no interest in Part 2, expected to be released in several weeks, while in Denmark it was released as one five-hour film, which will likely make the DVD copies.  Every von Trier film now, whatever the subject matter, is all about the director himself, as he is such a megalomaniac that he can think of little else, as all roads lead back to him.  Charlotte Gainsbourg returns as von Trier’s muse for the third film in a row going back to ANTICHRIST (2009), perfectly suiting the director’s taste for self-abnegation, the driving force of nearly every von Trier film since BREAKING THE WAVES (1996).  You’d think the audience would grow sick of a director trotting out the exact same psychological state of mind in every movie, expressing a similar masochistic impulse to fall victim to obsessional impulses that only destroy humankind.  For his legions of followers, apparently, they can’t get enough, yet for others, it’s gotten ridiculous and we’ve had enough. 

Once more, von Trier can’t stop himself from eternally long monologues, which only grow in dreary yet descriptive detail of endless monotony, where sex is used not so much as a clinical subject matter, as shown here, but as a battering ram for human obsession.  Gainsbourg as Joe is found battered and beaten, lying unconscious on the street, where she is discovered by a curious academic named Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), who nurses her back to health, and in doing so, listens to her recount a life full of meaningless sexual exploits, which she uses to drive home the point that she’s a despicably contemptible and worthless human being.  While Seligman suggests there are countless examples in literature and the arts of equally contemptible human behavior, he provides a counterpoint to her theme, usually rambling on about one of his favorite personal obsessions, like fly-fishing, turning her wretched sexual exploits into a common sport, which he meticulously details in his own mind in order to help understand where she’s coming from, yet unlike fishermen, and despite her claims otherwise, Joe receives no pleasure in sex, as it only temporarily numbs the pain.  Seen in a Sex Addiction treatment program, Joe refuses to acknowledge the term sex addiction, preferring to believe in the lust of her female anatomy.  But lust suggests human desire, yet for Joe it’s little more than a necessary trip to the grocery store, just part of the typical routine of the day, where she has 9 or 10 sexual encounters daily.  Joe’s early life is played by Stacy Martin, where the audience may cringe at how she and her teenage girlfriend B (Sophie Kennedy Clark) casually try to have sex with as many men as possible on a passenger train, where there’s obviously no feelings involved whatsoever, in fact, love is what they’re rebelling against, developing dogma-like rules for how to play the game, never repeating the same guy twice.  Over time, however, B falls for a guy she wants to keep seeing, which only infuriorates Joe, who finds that overly sentimental. 

Whether it is Stacy Martin or Charlotte Gainsbourg, both are tainted by emotional dysfunction, as they simply don’t feel anything or show any empathy towards others.  All they think about is themselves, all that matters is thinking about themselves, where like vampires who are endlessly dead, feeding their obsession is their only way of life.  It’s difficult for the audience to watch a series of continual affairs where the woman are continually naked, engage in loveless and passionless sex, shown with that same expressionless look on their face, where this has little to do with sex as we know it.  While something is going on in their heads, there’s little attraction other than these men qualify as sexually active males, where one is as good as another.  In some cases, we never even see their faces, as they simply become an anonymous stream of male appendages to use.  There is nothing remotely curious about any of this, because both Joe and Seligman are clueless about just how uninteresting they become after awhile, yet the audience is forced to endure more, becoming more of an exercise in marathon manipulation than anything else, where it has the feel of being bullied by a director who insists upon maintaining control long after the interest is gone.  While expressed in the utter detachment of a clinical exercise, the masochistic predictability of the stunted emotional growth factor becomes all too tedious after awhile, as from childhood to adulthood, Joe remains stuck in the same rut.  While this is not a film to recommend to anyone, it does have one redeeming scene involving Uma Thurman who brings a zest for life into the forefront, like a force of nature, providing what’s missing in the rest of the picture.  Her sequence is well-written and she astounds, as always, dominating the scene, literally overwhelming the presence of everyone else on the set, making them all seem so insignificant.  Her appearance is stunning for injecting well-needed humor into the movie, but she’s only in one scene, so the rest of the film is subject to the same endless parade of self indulgence, nonchalance, guilt, and self-loathing, where one soon grows tired of all the attention paid to this gloomy nonsense, the final in his trilogy about depression, following ANTICHRIST (2009) and Melancholia (2011), where it’s depressing to think this is what qualifies as a serious effort to understand depression. 

Much better films on the subject are Hitchcock’s The Wrong Man (1956) and Vertigo (1958), Ingmar Bergman’s THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY (1961), Frank Perry’s DAVID AND LISA (1962), John Cassavetes’ A Child Is Waiting (1963) and A Woman Under the Influence (1974),  Robert Rossen’s Lilith (1964), Roman Polanski’s REPULSION (1965), Werner Herzog’s AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD (1972), Albert and David Maysles GREY GARDENS (1975), Robert Redford’a ORDINARY PEOPLE (1980), Graeme Clifford’s FRANCES (1982), Jane Campion’s SWEETIE (1989) and AN ANGEL AT MY TABLE (1990), Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky’s BROTHER’S KEEPER (1992), Lodge Kerrigan’s CLEAN, SHAVEN (1993) and KEANE (2004), Scott Hicks’ SHINE (1996), Terry Zwigoff’s Ghost World (2001), Michael Haneke’s THE PIANO TEACHER (2001), William Friedkin’s Bug (2006), Joachim Trier’s Reprise (2006), Sam Mendes’ REVOLUTIONARY ROAD (2008), Jeff Nichols’ Take Shelter (2011), Sean Durkin’s Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011), Kenneth Lonnergan’s 2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #2 Margaret, and David O. Russell’s Silver Linings Playbook (2012).

Melancholia

MELANCHOLIA                                C                    

Denmark  Sweden  France  Germany  (135 mi)  2011  'Scope  d:  Lars von Trier

Don’t miss the opening ten minutes, a wordless slow-mo montage set to the Prelude orchestral music of Wagner’s opera Tristan und Isolde, seen in its entirety here:  Melancholia Prologue on YouTube (7:46), as it’s filled with the most dramatic shots of the film, all of which set the apocalyptic tone of gloom and doom which dominate this film, as an approaching star named Melancholia is veering toward the earth’s orbit, but scientists expect it to pass by without interference or harm.  Shot in ‘Scope with a mix of digital and 35 mm imagery by Manuel Alberto Claro, most all of it taking place at a single location, a mammoth estate in Västra Götaland County in Sweden that resembles the grounds of LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD (1961), a sign of the upper echelons of the aristocracy.  After an opening Prologue, the film is divided in two parts, each representing the state of mind of two sisters, Kristen Dunst as Justine and Charlotte Gainsbourg as Claire.  Justine arrives on the scene as the bride in her full wedding regalia with the groom in tow, both in the throes of love as they experience a comically absurd sequence where it’s near impossible for the driver to park a stretch limo.  This moment of levity is interrupted by the severity expressed from her late arrival where she’s apparently missed the first several hours of the world’s most expensive and elaborately planned wedding, by Udo Kier of course as the wedding planner, who after awhile refuses to even look at the bride as she’s completely ruined his wedding.  Justine can’t seem to focus and continually wanders off, throwing the timing off, forcing guests to continually wait, where Claire and her husband John, Kiefer Sutherland, who’s paying for it all, grow more irate by the minute, as they feel embarrassed by the apparent indifference of the bride.  Nonetheless, despite Claire’s continual interference, supposedly reminding her sister of her social obligations, Justine just never gets the hang of it, and her more casual air doesn’t match the growing mood of annoyance and frazzled nerves, especially from Justine’s unhappily separated parents, the equally carefree John Hurt dangling two women named Betty on his arm, and the contemptuous view of her domineering mother, Charlotte Rampling, who hates weddings in general and is not afraid to express her misanthropic views. 

The man in the middle of this apparent wedding from hell is Alexander Skarsgård as Michael, the groom, a perfectly charming and innocent young man who’s thrilled at the idea of being married to Justine, though, as the night goes on, he learns he really doesn’t know her at all.  When the father of the groom, Stellan Skarsgård, makes a perfectly odious speech about his preference between his son’s happiness and his own business success, he quite naturally chooses the success of his business, which simply stakes his claim as the biggest egoist in the room.  There’s plenty of behind the scenes nastiness, especially when Justine has had enough and simply tells off the father-in-law that he’s an imbecile whose arrogance is despicable, where he and his family, again with the groom in tow, quickly exit the premises.  One guesses this may all blow over by the morning, but it doesn’t, as the sisters, for days, weeks, or even months afterwards, continue to inhabit the immense grounds, which is located on a golf course.  Never once throughout this ordeal is anyone ever seen actually playing golf at this ultra exclusive country estate.  Only afterwards is there a suggestion that Justine suffers from depression, which really isn’t remotely suggested during the wedding party itself, where instead the idea of a perfect day where she's supposed to be happy is literally forced upon her, leaving her bewildered and in a state of confusion and mixed emotions, where in the aftermath she simply lies around unable to get out of bed.  Sometime later, as the film switches to the other sister, with the mysterious planet moving ever closer, Claire is openly suspicious about the possibilities of what could happen when Melancholia passes near the earth.  John, however, considers himself something of a science expert, who’s continually looking up at the star in his telescope, sharing the moment with his young son, and can barely contain his enthusiasm at this priceless moment, knowing all scientific experts have predicted the star will simply pass by, allowing an unheard of opportunity for skywatchers.   

The mood in the second segment grows more broodingly intense, as Claire becomes more unsettled at the thought of potential doom, despite her husband’s calming speeches to the contrary, she still has her suspicions, made all the more ominous by the abnormal behavior of animals, especially their horses that won’t sit still in their stalls, whinnying and remaining restlessly agitated throughout the day and night.  While Claire grows more hysterical, especially for the life of her son, it’s Justine that develops a calmly fatalistic attitude, sensing the end is near, claiming she knows life in the universe exists only on earth and it’s about to come to an end where no one will notice its absence.  Her ease in accepting impending doom is in stark contrast to her panic ridden sister, where the sisters seem to represent opposite ends of the distressed mood spectrum, but it’s all displayed with heightened melodrama that reeks of excess, especially from Gainsbourg, where the director continues to flood the theater with the neverending sounds of Wagner, a monotonously repetitive theme of gloom that drives the point home with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, as we’ve obviously gotten the point, but is that all there is?  Is this a one-note drama?  All we ever see are the few lives that remain on these massive grounds, where the spacious emptiness is substantial, as all the other people in the world are missing, as no one else is ever seen, as if these are the last humans on earth.  There is no radio, television, Internet news, phone calls, no sirens blaring, nothing to connect these life forms to anyone else on earth, and all this is before anything happens.  Dunst, who won the Best Actress Award at Cannes is good, but nothing special, where the ominous atmospheric mood is substantial, as the director contemplates a scenario where the human race and planet earth are on the verge of collapse from a mysteriously off course star that appears out of nowhere.  Obviously anything’s possible, but this is a bewildering climax that is overly hyped and pre-ordained from the opening prologue, so there’s little mounting tension or suspense.  Judging from the blasé evidence of life shown in the two or so hours onscreen, there is little sustained human drama that makes this feel in any way memorable.