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 Square

THE SQUARE           B-                                                       

Sweden (145 mi) 2017  d:  Ruben Östlund   

How much inhumanity does it take before we access your humanity?

—Marketing slogan showing a child being blown to smithereens while in “The Square” for an upcoming art exhibit

Ruben Östlund has an extremely provocative style of satirical filmmaking, bordering on cruel, that is not for everyone, known as an overcontrolling director specializing in what might be described as a theater of discomfort, where he’s intentionally creating cringe-inducing set-ups that will make viewers squirm.  While in his earlier films, Play (2011) and Force Majeure (Turist) (2014), he is very adept in tapping into humiliating personal circumstances, enlarging them into a broader societal context, actually making an incisive social comment about how easily we misjudge the world around us, which might look a little differently when seen in this light.  With THE SQUARE, however, all bets are off, as he takes aim at the wealthy, specifically how privilege allows them to live in an artificial bubble of the culturally elite, completely protected from the outside world, living by values they pretend to believe in, but completely abandon when threatened or when the moment suits them, becoming not an indictment of those values, but their misappropriation by the privileged and powerful in a Western society that depends upon them.  The film centers on Christian (Claes Bang), an erudite and educated man of manners who is the chief curator of a modern art museum, Stockholm’s X-Royal Museum, while also divorced, a devoted father of two daughters, living in an upscale apartment, driving an environment-friendly electric car, and a supporter of liberal causes.  While you’d think he’s in an enviable position, wielding power and influence, through a series of unfortunate incidents, for which he has no one but himself to blame, he is reduced to a cowardly mush before the film is through, exposed as a total hypocrite in every respect, thinking he’s the smartest man in the room and can weasel his way out of tight jams due to his privileged status as a man of letters, but ends up thoroughly disgraced.  With a screenplay written by the director himself, the film moves from one outrageous set piece to the next, bordering on the surreal, clearly crossing the line of bad taste, growing deliriously out of control in a grotesque spectacle by the end, revealing a darker underside of the human condition, suggesting complacency leads to an overall cowardice in Western democratic societies to actually stand up for what’s right, forcing others to fight your battles for you.  Christian is in the middle of it all, thinking he is above the fray, yet is powerless to exert his so-called influence when it matters, losing all perspective of what it means to be a decent and respectable citizen.    

At issue is one of the museum’s upcoming installations known as “The Square,” which is simply a small designated space in front of the museum which is continually lit up and marked off as a safe zone.  Along with the artist’s name, an inscription around it reads, “The Square is a sanctuary of trust and caring. Within it, we all share equal rights and obligations.”  While this kind of hollow manifesto rings false, as it’s largely meaningless, yet the museum is forced to promote it like it would any other exhibit, requiring resources and ingenuity, hiring a team of young media experts to find the best way to draw in an interested public.  Mirroring this exhibit is one already taking up an entire room in the museum, with the constant presence of a lone security guard hovering nearby, comprised of small pyramid-like piles of gravel.  The irony of that exhibit is that people tend to peep around the corner to have a look, but inevitably walk away without so much as a visit, as it simply doesn’t catch their eye.  What makes this a truly modern era movie, however, is the promotion campaign thinks the bigger the better, as the exhibit will draw more attention that way.  But this covers up the soulless superficiality of modern existence, where opinion polls define the issues, and instead of a well-written article enhancing interest, word gets spread through social media, reducing analytic thought to a herd mentality of what’s currently liked on Facebook, where people respond to other like-minded views, never really challenging themselves, but simply agreeing with others that agree with them.  This comfortable aloofness may reflect an inherent emptiness at the heart of modern sensibility, defined by a short attention span, and a detached inability to capture one’s interest unless something goes viral on the Internet, which for many constitutes approval, as without that brief flair of artificially generated interest, no one would be paying attention.  If much of this feels like an advertising technique, it is.  Much of the film is told with that in mind, filled with an obsession with performance art that is littered throughout the film, actually becoming one giant spectacle of performance art, using cinema as the provocation.         

Winner of the prestigious Palme d’Or (First prize) at Cannes, which is certainly an honor, but it seems like a make-up call for not awarding Maren Ade’s Toni Erdmann (2016) the year before, an equally cringeworthy effort, a dazzling choreography of awkward and uncomfortable moments, reaching unseen heights of comic farce and outrageous spectacle, the likes of which we haven’t seen in decades, which left the festival emptyhanded.  While decidedly unfair, the world works like this.  Away from the spectacle that is Cannes, however, this film may not play so well, though much of it is hilariously funny, well written and acted, and the director exerts his usual mastery behind the camera, but the ostentatiousness of the director is a bit like the Wizard in THE WIZARD OF OZ (1939), who presents himself as all-powerful, but is little more than a middle-aged man behind a curtain pulling the levers, where the derisive tone may leave many viewers thinking the joke is on them, as if the director on high is making fun of the little people below, where viewers are reduced to peons that can be easily controlled and manipulated.  This ultimately takes the fun out of the picture, where many viewers may find this smug and overly pretentious, perhaps even cruel.  The problem is the uncomfortable feel of emotional manipulation, as viewers become rats in a cage, a behavior experiment taking place in the lab intending to provoke a reaction, using crass, mass-market advertisement techniques that amount to bullying, feeling similarly manipulative and emotionally contrived, using his characters (and the audience as well) as a punching bag, sending wave after wave of what amounts to the most humiliating and degrading situations possible, and then asking everyone what they would do under similar circumstances?  This actually feels more like a game than a film, like Haneke’s Funny Games (1997), where the director already knows the answers, or has some preconceived idea, but pushes the buttons beyond any point of social acceptability, like being subjected to electric shock treatments, each one a bigger jolt than the last, which actually changes the rules of the game, as the director wants his audience to suffer uncontrollably, like wetting one’s pants, and only then will he feel satisfied.  If people reject his idea, as they refuse to play along, claiming free will, he’ll simply call them part of the status quo, claiming we’re all numbed into complacency, suggesting we need to wake up.  Occasionally this method works, just not when it’s so overly contrived and obvious, as it feels like the director is pulling the strings, and we’re being used as his puppets.  He’s actually cramming it down the audience’s throat, premiering at Cannes with an elite, upper echelon patron audience comprised very much like the invited-guests-only awards gala dinner depicted in the film, where they apparently ate it up.  Audiences apparently love to see themselves depicted onscreen.  As it turns out, often the film that screams the loudest is the only one heard.