Bonjour Tristesse

Writer/director Durga Chew-Bose

director on the set

director with Lily McInerny and Chloë Sevigny 

novelist Françoise Sagan in Paris, 1955

BONJOUR TRISTESSE                    B                                                                                 France  Canada  Germany  Great Britain  USA  (110 mi)  2024  d: Durga Chew-Bose

This strange new feeling of mine, obsessing me by its sweet languor, is such that I am reluctant to dignify it with the fine, solemn name of ‘sadness.’ It is a feeling so self-indulgent and complete in itself that I am almost ashamed of it, whereas I had always looked upon sadness as being a worthy emotion. Before, I did not know what sadness was, though I knew what it was to be languorous, to have regrets and, more rarely, to feel remorse. Today it is as if I am enfolded in some silken thing, soft and enervating, that sets me apart from others.                                   —Françoise Sagan, opening lines from Bonjour Tristesse, 1954, This strange new feeling of mine, obsessing me by its ... (pdf)

18-year old Françoise Sagan’s once-scandalous 1954 novel is listed at #41 from Le Monde's 100 Books of the Century, a remarkable achievement for a teenager, modeling the 17-year old heroine after herself, a spoiled, free-spirited, and attractive Parisian teenager who has all the luxurious advantages, spending her summers on the French Riviera swimming, sunbathing, collecting seashells, drinking and dancing at nightclubs, hanging out at casinos, and napping, where she lives for sensual pleasure.  The psychological implications remain buried under the surface, revealing a side of herself she never knew existed, playing out like a bad dream.  The heart of Sagan’s text is brutal, a teenager who plays with the lives of adults, a daughter who can’t stand the notion of no longer being the center of her father’s attention, and a cruel insensitivity that disguises itself as logic.  At just 108 pages, written in a spare, yet detailed style, the book caused quite an uproar in a still predominantly Catholic France when it was published because of its amoral yet casual portrayal of free love — a hedonistic man openly living with an unmarried woman, an under-aged teenager who smokes, drinks alcohol, and sleeps with her boyfriend.  Published just a year before Nabokov’s Lolita, both books create quite a vivid impression of a bratty, sassy, pretty, flirty, and thoroughly manipulative teenage girl.  Unlike the author, however, who dived into reading the great classics of Stendahl, Gide, Camus, and Proust as a teenager, taking her pen name of Sagan from the recurring character of The Princesse de Sagan by her favorite author, Proust, this movie version of her teenage self has no such interest, as she couldn’t be bothered by expanding her mind or challenging her wits, as she’s too busy being a layabout under the hot sun, where she literally doesn’t have a care in the world.  That being said, it’s very hard to find audiences that actually care about a character who couldn’t care less about them.  What’s remarkable about cinema is that the intoxicating visual seduction can lure audiences into this dreamworld scenario, beautifully shot by Maximilian Pittner in Cassis, just 30 kilometers from Marseille, with very little camera movement, where the radiant nature of endless sunny days against a deep blue sea reminds viewers of Éric Rohmer, who made a living setting conversation-heavy stories under this exact same scenario, like CLAIRE’S KNEE (1970), PAULINE AT THE BEACH (1983), or A Summer's Tale (Conte d'été) (1996), with characters inevitably encountering some moral dilemma that takes us on an interior journey that balances the sensuous color palette.  Arguably the weakest and most disappointing element is the insipid music soundtrack, which sounds like generic indie-film light, just a step above elevator music, with the exception of The Roches’ Come Softly to Me YouTube (3:02), which appeared in Joan Micklin Silver’s CROSSING DELANCEY (1988), an updated cover version of the Fleetwoods song that beautifully blends the past into the present.  Montreal-based culture critic and feminist writer-director Durga Chew-Bose has made a lusciously beautiful remake of the 1958 Otto Preminger film by the same title steeped in operatic melodrama, now updated to contemporary times through an understated, minimalist lens, but with mixed results, as she attempts to accentuate the complexity of the relationships between the women, capturing how they observe and influence one another in subtle, often unspoken ways, and how they wield influence over one another’s fates, creating a storyline revolving around underlying motives, existential dilemmas, and the hedonism of the privileged French bourgeoisie, reflective of Sagan’s own upbringing and background.  This film explores jealousy, love, and breaking trust in spectacular fashion, intentionally eliminating the voiceover narration so prominent in the Preminger version, instead letting the camera discreetly observe, relying upon the performances to convey emotion, where the heaviness of silence hangs in the air like low-lying fog, while the surrounding luxury can choke off any possibility for growth, as the shallow, indulgent lifestyle shields characters from adult reality.   

The rich emotional density of this film resembles Paolo Sorrentino’s Parthenope (2024), where the opulent grandeur of the sumptuous imagery is most pronounced, both set against the idyllic backdrop of the Mediterranean Sea, seemingly inspired by the fleetingness of beauty and youth, where the sensuality on display is nothing less than stunning, where the striking look of the film supersedes the thin character development that only hints at something deeper.  With an updated screenplay adapted by Chew-Bose, writing a coming-of-age story with a jagged center, set in the sun-drenched south of France locale that is perfectly rendered, where you can literally feel the sun against your skin, at the center of the picture is Cécile (Lily McInerny), an American college student studying in Paris, a spirited young girl navigating the complexities of adolescence along with her charming but indulgent widowed father, Raymond, played by Danish actor Claes Bang, the selfish lady-killing womanizer in Ruben Östlund’s The Square (2017), and before that a one-night stand in Pernille Fischer Christensen’s A Soap (En Soap) (2006).  Cécile is a liberated female character that is youthful and disillusioned beneath a veneer of sophistication and wit, driven by self-destructive attitudes and behaviors as she navigates the complexities of love, sex, apathy, and existential angst without moral judgment in the treacherous world of languorous ennui.  Jean Seberg’s character in Godard’s iconic Breathless (À Bout de Souffle) (1960) is a continuation of her amoral role in Preminger’s earlier version of Cécile, but in this film, she is less the heartless manipulator of Preminger’s adaptation and more of a conflicted teenager, where there’s a difference between a potential sociopath and just a confused girl.  The pair are enjoying a carefree summer together, reveling in the warmth of the Mediterranean sun, while sharing their experience with Raymond's latest romantic interest, the captivating but much younger professional dancer Elsa (Naïlia Harzoune), closer in age to Cécile, who splits her time with them in a bohemian, gender-inverted JULES AND JIM (1962) scenario and her boyfriend Cyril (Aliocha Schneider).  What immediately stands out is the sound of Raymond’s voice, as it sounds so similar to the smarmy voice of LOLITA’s James Mason, so morally smug and egotistical, evoking the meditative calmness of a relaxation tape with every self-righteous word, where it’s just hard to root for a guy like this, as his philandering lifestyle is the epitome of wealth and privilege, apparently squandering his life in decadence, moving from one lover to the next, setting a questionable example for his daughter.  However, it’s important to note that beneath the shallow surface of pseudo-profound dialogues lies a subtle degree of sophisticated depth and complexity, as we witness a young woman’s journey into self-definition through her psychological development, but it’s not as plain to see as the stunning beauty of the French Riviera where the film is shot, instead the film highlights the conflict between Cécile’s quest for personal freedom and the emotional impact of her actions on others.  Also, the title, which comes from the opening lines of a Paul Èluard poem published in 1932 (Barely Disfigured by Paul Eluard - Famous poems), translates to Hello Sadness, suggesting an exploration of the opposite of happiness, so the stunning beauty of the Côte d’Azur can be deceiving.  Seemingly living in a world of bliss, where everything feels so right, Raymond alters the balance by inviting an old friend, a celebrated American-born, Paris-based fashion designer Anne (Chloë Sevigny, an inspired choice, given an expanded presence, seen recently in a Charli xcx - 360 (official video) YouTube, 4:24), a godmother to Cécile and best friend of her deceased mother, where the three of them once went everywhere together, the living picture of their own carefree youth decades ago.

Anne’s arrival upsets the perfect symmetry of Cécile’s summer, happily leading a carefree existence, doing whatever she pleases at any given moment, but the more thoughtfully reserved and calculating Anne always has a watchful eye on her, coming from a more serious world where things have consequences, assuming a more firmly grounded parental role that Cécile simply doesn’t appreciate, immediately growing resentful, perceiving her as a threat to her freedom, plunging Cécile into jealousy, admiration, and uncertainty, forcing her to grapple with her own identity.  Unlike Cécile and her father, Anne’s character brings a certain gravitas, coming from a high-profile world of creating art where she had no time for relationships, a life defined by hard work, intelligence, and a well-organized outlook, and though she’s chic, sophisticated, and refined, sharing her fashion sense with Cécile, she is considerably less free-spirited than the original trio, which is why they are all flabbergasted when Raymond announces they are engaged to be married, causing Elsa to flee while leaving Cécile furiously incensed.  Raymond and Anne seem happy and in love, though it all sounds a bit soap opera-ish, with Cécile craving her father’s undivided attention, as she resists conformity and order but longs for the certainty of emotional stability, wanting to be seen as a person in her own right making her own decisions, but is frightened to relinquish her dependency, secretly devising a plan to break up the marriage, relying upon deception and devious motives.  Despite the south of France setting, there’s very little French dialogue, with the characters speaking English most of the time, which feels like an abrupt shock, as if something isn’t quite right, while Anne also transforms Raymond’s behavior into something more conventional, no longer the rich playboy succumbing to his libertine desires, avoiding that “easy life” to which he has been accustomed to for so many years.  Apparently stealing away that free-spirited side of her father that Cécile loves so much feels like the ultimate betrayal, where it all plays out under the surface with a few added twists and surprises.  Perhaps it’s the feeling like American actress Lily McInerny is in over her head, as she never has the same dramatic screen presence as the others, feeling more shallow and immature, like she’s just a kid.  The melodramatic dovetail the film takes isn’t exactly a shocker, as she intervenes tragically in a love triangle involving her father, which is carefully planned ahead of time and stealthily executed, but jolts her into a new reality of dangerously unexpected surprises, and only afterwards realizes she’s taken things much too far, with Anne never realizing she was the target of a malicious scheme, but it’s now too late to do anything about it.  A special bond undeniably exists between a father and daughter, yet how unfortunate that the only love she knew at the time was “possessive” love, wanting to possess the unrivaled love of her father who barely even knew the meaning of the word himself.  The fear of having to share that love with his fiancée, Anne, a woman who is a much more controlling presence, leads to disastrous results, succumbing to an Iago-like game of cruel deception, never fully understanding the damage she is causing until it is too late, leaving her disgusted with herself for her own dishonesty, eventually filled with self-loathing, which brings an end to her carefree life, resulting in a permanent and more haunting sense of sadness.  While the central relationship appears to be between Cécile and Raymond, there’s a curious lack of interest in Raymond’s role in all this, where his irresponsible behavior is never scrutinized and instead viewed as predictable male carousing, yet in this version a deeper truth emerges between Cécile and Anne, offering a belated awareness of Anne’s idea of building a new family.  Tinged with melancholy and regret afterwards, this captures the rebelliousness and naiveté of youth, revealing a world where fantasy and tragedy are interlinked. 

The Dead Don't Die

Director Jim Jarmusch

THE DEAD DON’T DIE                  C+                  

USA  Sweden  (105 mi)  2019 d:  Jim Jarmusch             Official site [United States]

Kind of a cheesy and lightweight comedic genre film by this director that somehow got selected to open the Cannes Film Festival, receiving less than stellar reviews, surviving apparently on the fumes of this director’s reputation, though it has a remarkable all-star cast.  It’s not a particularly good zombie flick, but it distinguishes itself by being reverential to the masters of the genre, where snide and sarcastic references to George Romero’s subversive commentary run throughout the film, but there’s very little actual story.  Instead it’s more of a mood piece that uses apocalyptic zombie references to comment on oversaturated consumer culture, with individuals spending all their time on self-centered social media, where their smartphones are literally attached to their bodies, inseparable, doing all the heavy lifting that their brains used to do, rendering mankind into a brainless state of confusion completely reliant upon their electronic gadgetry to survive, without which they have no significant life to speak of.  This comment on passivity may be the key to the film, as too much of it lends itself to overly dire circumstances, suggesting a certain fatalism (like the current state of our nation), where we begin to resemble the walking dead.  Jarmusch already made a vampire flick, Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), a gangster flick, GHOST DOG: THE WAY OF THE SAMURAI (1999), and a western, Dead Man (1995), so he’s tinkered with genre films before, but this is easily his least effective as it barely scratches the surface.  In typical Jarmusch style, however, the film is so deadpan that the characters themselves barely come alive throughout the film, which may itself be a commentary on the state of our lives, where the high point may be a mysterious conversation that makes mocking, self-reverential humor about the director himself, which is completely out of character from the rest of the film, or even this director’s career, with Bill Murray as himself calling him “a dick” at one point after he feels slighted by what he perceives as unequal treatment, offering behind-the-scenes insight into the personal relationships, which is amusing, but it can’t save this film from its startling deficiencies, where many may find this a complete waste of time.  It does, however, have its own theme song, Sturgill Simpson - The Dead Don't Die [Official Video] - YouTube (3:51), heard on the radio by two cops making their rounds, Chief Cliff Robertson (Bill Murray) and his partner Ronnie Peterson (Adam Driver), where the chief thinks it sounds very familiar, only to be told by his partner that “it’s the theme song,” where everyone in the film feels a connection to the song, as if they’ve all heard it before, giving the film a déjà vu theme.  Set in the tiny Pennsylvania town of Centerville (from Frank Zappa’s 1971 surreal mockumentary 200 MOTELS), population 738, described as “a real nice place” on the sign driving in, while Zappa’s film describes the town as “a real nice place to raise your kids up.”  When it doesn’t get dark at night despite the lateness of the time, with watches and cellphones all going dead, there are signs of an impending apocalypse, though few are capable of anticipating the enormity of the situation, despite calamitous warnings from newscaster Posie Juarez (Rosie Perez) that no one takes seriously, as who really believes in a zombie infestation?

When half-eaten bodies are discovered laying in their own blood on the floor of the diner the next morning, the chief knows something is up, but it takes Ronnie to figure it out for him, as all signs point to zombies, the undead, ghouls.  Meanwhile, a local gas station run by Bobby Wiggins (Caleb Landry Jones) is also a haven for the occult and all things weird and strange, selling vintage comic books and horror paraphernalia, where he’s also an expert on how to deal with the undead.  It’s surprising that in times of real apocalyptic need, it’s the fringe characters that know how to survive, as the rest are overly predictable conformists who refuse to believe this day is any different than any other.  This film is more about cameo appearances than storyline, where there’s a certain delight in who shows up next.  Rounding out the police crew is the straight-laced Mindy Morrison (Chloë Sevigny), who’s a bit freaked out by what she sees, serving the role of the screamer when the time is right.  While there’s never any real accumulation of suspense, the first zombies we’re introduced to happen to be Iggy Pop and Sara Driver, Jarmusch’s longtime companion rarely ever appearing in his films, not since MYSTERY TRAIN (1989).  They also happen to be caffeine addicts, where we learn zombies return back to what they liked best about the living, mumbling out a desire for “coffee,” with Carol Kane making an appearance as an undead with a thirst for “chardonnay,” or Sturgill Simpson has a hankering for a “guitar,” while others cry out for “Xanax” or “Wi-Fi,” carrying iPhones that are mysteriously charged even though no one else can get a signal.  When a group of unsuspecting kids driving on the road head into town to fill up on gas, Zoe (Selena Gomez), Zach (Luka Sabbat) and Jack (Austin Butler), described by locals as hipsters from the city, they happen to be driving a Pontiac LeMans, the same vehicle featured in Romero’s THE NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968).  Meanwhile there’s a group of teenagers housed at the Juvenile detention center, Maya Delmont as Stella, Taliyah Whitaker as Olivia, and Jahi Winston as Geronimo, with the running gag being these big beefy security guards continually remove Geronimo from the women’s quarters as a violation of rules, as the three of them are inseparable and continue to hang out together.  Glued to the television news reports, their astute commentary is among the more intelligent in the film, completely unrecognized by anyone else, apparently, though they have the wherewithal to survive in the end when everyone else fails.  The star of the show, however, is none other than Tilda Swinton as Zelda Winston, the funeral home director, who weirdly has her own habits that others find strange (Murray attributes it to her being Scottish), like decorating the corpses in colorful make-up, speaking to them as old friends, like playing with dolls, or always walking in straight lines, or better yet her mysterious samurai sword routine performed before a golden image of Buddha, carrying the sword with her wherever she goes, easily decapitating zombies as she walks down the street unobstructed.  Her fearlessness sets her apart from the rest, easily mingling with the undead, viewing them as little different from the living.       

In a film where irony is like a foreign language, accentuated by the music from Jarmusch’s own band Sqürl, what’s clear is no one has a strategy of what to do while under zombie attack, as handling a few is no problem, but handling a surge of relentlessly attacking living corpses feasting on your flesh is another story altogether, as they tend to overpower even those with the best survival instincts, where the best plan seems to be to stay away from them altogether.  Unlike Ruben Fleischer’s ZOMBIELAND (2009), still the most commercially successful zombie flick of all time (a sequel is coming out in the fall), zombies are not used for target practice, or wiped out in record numbers like playing some demolition derby video game.  Instead they become recognizable figures come back to haunt the living, including some of the living characters seen earlier in the film who return later in the swarms of the undead, where it’s hard not to still think of them as human and among the living, plaguing the consciousness of those that knew them.  This is a new twist on a familiar theme, but Jarmusch doesn’t do much with it.  Instead he uses a social misfit narrator to comment on what we’re seeing, Tom Waits as Hermit Bob, a scruffy outsider resembling Bigfoot who’s been living in the woods for decades, becoming a mythical creature, but also an expert on survival.  Watching it all through binoculars safely tucked away behind the trees, he offers a cryptic condemnation of the modern world, revealing a society that “sold its soul for a Gameboy.”  Jarmusch seems to be doing the same, using Steve Buscemi as Farmer Miller, an acknowledged racist wearing a red Trump MAGA hat that instead says “Make America White Again,” as he’s a loathsome and despicable character that no one likes, getting his just due by the end, completely clueless about the undead, where he sees no difference between the living and the dead, hating them all, making vile comments about trespassers on his property while they start eating him alive.  According to the news reports, all of this was caused by the unrestricted access energy companies had to drive exploratory holes into the earth through polar fracking, actually causing a shift of the Earth’s axis, literally altering the world as we know it, opening a Pandora’s Box of mythological plagues and turmoil suddenly unleashed into the world.  In this version, zombies spill burnt ash instead of blood, and must be decapitated to die, craving the blood and flesh of humans for which they have an unquenchable thirst.  While this may attempt to resemble Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963) in terms of a nightmarish doomsday scenario, what’s missing is any element of dread or suspense, or a feeling like zombies are taking over the world.  It never really establishes that kind of momentous impact, feeling more like a bedtime story where it will all be different when we awake, perhaps needing an amusing end coda that never comes, instead leaving viewers sucked into a B-movie end-of-the-world scenario where it all just “ends badly.”