ponderings of the pococurante

Normally I prefer to write a straight up review, but in light of an unusual experience in watching film, I thought I’d make this a meta-review of sorts:

I went to watch this film at Zhongshan park in Shanghai last Tuesday. When the lights dimmed, a “documentary” about Tibet came on. As you know, this is the sensitive year for anniversaries in China, and is, in particular, the 50th anniversary of the uprising in Tibet that led to the exile of the Dalai Lama.The documentary was called, quite pointedly, “China’s Tibet, Past and Future”. If you’ve followed this issue at all, none of the information presented in this film are surprising:

*Tibet has always been part of China and the Tibetan rulers have acknowledged Chinese suzerainty since ancient times. Here are pictures and images of various historical documents that prove this point.
*WHy bother decrying the vetting of Tibetan religious leaders by China’s central government? Emperors used to do this, including with the latest Dalai Lama, so what’s the big deal if the CCP inherits this role.
*Tibet was a despotic, feudal system before the Chinese liberated it. It was a cruel theocracy of vast socio-economic inequality. The lamas and their families–the upper strata of the ancien regime–owned everything, including virtually all the arable land and other resources of production. Regular people had next to nothing.
*China liberated Tibet and gave it a good dose of progressive socialist ideology–and things improved greatly.
*Tibetan heritage is fluorishng and the standard of living has steadily improved.

It was clearly and unambiguously agitprop, but 21st. century China style, wrapping the historical narrative of Tibet up in and interweaving it with that of modern China as a whole, including the successful Beijing Olympics and the upcoming World Expo. At fifteen minutes, it was long and tendentious, and made me a bit impatient, since even after it finished, there was yet another long preview (of a regular movie), so that the film we came to watch didn’t start until a good twenty or twenty five minutes after the time stated on the ticket.

*24 City (24城記）*

Jia Zhangke has said, over the years, that he wants to alternate making docs and fiction films, and in this case he has melded the two.There are real people mixed with actors doing recreations–Joan Chen, Lv Liping, Zhao Tao, among others–but while these actors put on some decent performances these interviewees, the film doesn’t end up being more than a series of vignettes. I doubt that Jia intended to put together some systematic history of the place, but there is an unfinished, work-in-progress feel to this movie that tends to work towards its detriment. However, many of the interviews with the real people are better, because you know they are real–so here, again,is a meta-level question–how does the fact that you are watching Joan Chen change your perception of what’s being shown? It’s obvious that no matter how good Chen’s acting chops are, what she is doing is a performance. Most of the time, of course, we accept this–because that’s what makes fictional films possible in the first place–however, in this case, while Chen and the others are fine, they are still a bit actorly–and you wouldn’t really notice that fact unless you had all these more “real” performances to compare them with.

Jia is probably too intelligent not to notice this himself, but it still took me aback when he confronted this head on during the Joan Chen segment, where she says in her youth, at the prime of her beauty, her coworkers at the factory compared her to the actress Joan Chen. A little pomo joke? Maybe, but it made me a bit skittish. I suppose I still relish the suspension of disbelief,and don’t like the feeling of being taken for a ride, even if the ride, for the most part, is an enjoyable one.

That said, there are some moving moments, both from the actors and the real interviewees–enough to remind you that Jia Zhangke is one of the only Chinese filmmakers out there that can convey the gravity of China’s changing. That pathos, that uniquely Chinese pathos that glossier magazines and Western media don’t–or rather, *can’t* pick up on–are captured by Jia’s lens. One can almost forgive the lack of polish for that very reason–Jia, more than other filmmakers is continually creating audiovisual artifacts for us, the rest of the world, Chinese and non-Chinese alike–that will, I believe, stand the test of time,not only for their aesthetic excellence but because they are excellent chronicles of China. They are chronicles of physical reality, of its metamorphosis–but more than that,they are chronicles of the spirit, of what Chinese people call *jingshen*, which can mean anything mental, intellectual, spiritual–and in Jia’s case, it’s the emotional undertow, the things that are not said, that are glossed over and ignored by ideological or mainstream rhetorics that finally, as it were, get their say.

It is this kind of pathos that you don’t normally see among the audiovisual artifacts being produced today: and that’s what makes the contrast with the Tibetan propaganda film so striking. Jia was once an unofficial or underground filmmaker–and he no longer is, and he is, as well as know, no longer a skint and scrappy indie guy. He makes money. He’s got connections. But there’s still something very real, and very heartfelt at the core, and in a world of cinematic
phoniness, there’s something to be said for that stick to your guns type mentality.

To bring it back to Tibet: it is a strange juxtaposition, watching these two films together–we’re so used to seeing just previews before the movie that to see this stylish bit of agitprop is a bit startling: it hearkens back to newsreels of old, a time when the news was delivered on big screens, or when the political just had to intrude everywhere
because the world was in the throes of war or what have you. I feel obliged to mention that when we went, on Tuesday afternoon, even with the half off discount the theater was nearly empty.I highly doubt that Jia is going to make much money off this film, at least on the domestic market. Likewise, watching propaganda in the afternoon with a handful of other people didn’t quite jibe with I am sure that they play the Tibet film before the other, popular movies, so that before you settle down to watching “Transporter 3″ you get a good dose of “historical” education about the Tibet issue. Just in case things get hairy and out of control in Tibetan areas this March, or throughout the rest of this sensitive year.

China changes, or China never changes. Same ideological posture, except now in IMAX. However, Jia’s world, everything changes–and the only thing that lasts, the only thing that binds us are memories.Children are lost to their parents. Migrations, emotional rows, generation gaps all tear families asunder. The ligature of memory is strained as people get older–it seems strong when they are recalling it in front of us–but of course, we know that simply recalling something and saying it verbally doesn’t really do justice to the “strength” or “saturation” of that memory among the many memories that are stored in your brain or the salient memories constitutive of the sense of self and identity. Therefore, you get the uneasy sense that you are watching something that was unearthed quite by accident, and could very well have been lost. Maybe these “little people”, these “laobaixing” don’t mean much in the large scale of things: you read media articles with Chinese government planners, bureaucrats and energy scientists that are talking about the year 2100 like it’s tomorrow. Just about all of us who are alive now will be dead by that time, and our secrets and wounds, the maybes and could have beens–both individual and collective–will be just as gone. I’ve always been afraid that the official Chinese meta-narrative would swamp and subsume everything else–which is why it’s that much more incumbent on artists, in whatever medium, to keep recording the micro-sadnesses, vicissitudes, twists and turns, warp and woof of the individual life and consciousness. Lest it be completely be forgotten by History.

Normally I prefer to write a straight up review, but in light of an unusual experience in watching film, I thought I’d make this a meta-review of sorts:

I went to watch this film at Zhongshan park in Shanghai last Tuesday. When the lights dimmed, a “documentary” about Tibet came on. As you know, this is the sensitive year for anniversaries in China, and is, in particular, the 50th anniversary of the uprising in Tibet that led to the exile of the Dalai Lama.The documentary was called, quite pointedly, “China’s Tibet, Past and Future”. If you’ve followed this issue at all, none of the information presented in this film are surprising:

*Tibet has always been part of China and the Tibetan rulers have acknowledged Chinese suzerainty since ancient times. Here are pictures and images of various historical documents that prove this point.
*WHy bother decrying the vetting of Tibetan religious leaders by China’s central government? Emperors used to do this, including with the latest Dalai Lama, so what’s the big deal if the CCP inherits this role.
*Tibet was a despotic, feudal system before the Chinese liberated it. It was a cruel theocracy of vast socio-economic inequality. The lamas and their families–the upper strata of the ancien regime–owned everything, including virtually all the arable land and other resources of production. Regular people had next to nothing.
*China liberated Tibet and gave it a good dose of progressive socialist ideology–and things improved greatly.
*Tibetan heritage is fluorishng and the standard of living has steadily improved.

It was clearly and unambiguously agitprop, but 21st. century China style, wrapping the historical narrative of Tibet up in and interweaving it with that of modern China as a whole, including the successful Beijing Olympics and the upcoming World Expo. At fifteen minutes, it was long and tendentious, and made me a bit impatient, since even after it finished, there was yet another long preview (of a regular movie), so that the film we came to watch didn’t start until a good twenty or twenty five minutes after the time stated on the ticket.

*24 City (24城記）*

Jia Zhangke has said, over the years, that he wants to alternate making docs and fiction films, and in this case he has melded the two.There are real people mixed with actors doing recreations–Joan Chen, Lv Liping, Zhao Tao, among others–but while these actors put on some decent performances these interviewees, the film doesn’t end up being more than a series of vignettes. I doubt that Jia intended to put together some systematic history of the place, but there is an unfinished, work-in-progress feel to this movie that tends to work towards its detriment. However, many of the interviews with the real people are better, because you know they are real–so here, again,is a meta-level question–how does the fact that you are watching Joan Chen change your perception of what’s being shown? It’s obvious that no matter how good Chen’s acting chops are, what she is doing is a performance. Most of the time, of course, we accept this–because that’s what makes fictional films possible in the first place–however, in this case, while Chen and the others are fine, they are still a bit actorly–and you wouldn’t really notice that fact unless you had all these more “real” performances to compare them with.

Jia is probably too intelligent not to notice this himself, but it still took me aback when he confronted this head on during the Joan Chen segment, where she says in her youth, at the prime of her beauty, her coworkers at the factory compared her to the actress Joan Chen. A little pomo joke? Maybe, but it made me a bit skittish. I suppose I still relish the suspension of disbelief,and don’t like the feeling of being taken for a ride, even if the ride, for the most part, is an enjoyable one.

That said, there are some moving moments, both from the actors and the real interviewees–enough to remind you that Jia Zhangke is one of the only Chinese filmmakers out there that can convey the gravity of China’s changing. That pathos, that uniquely Chinese pathos that glossier magazines and Western media don’t–or rather, *can’t* pick up on–are captured by Jia’s lens. One can almost forgive the lack of polish for that very reason–Jia, more than other filmmakers is continually creating audiovisual artifacts for us, the rest of the world, Chinese and non-Chinese alike–that will, I believe, stand the test of time,not only for their aesthetic excellence but because they are excellent chronicles of China. They are chronicles of physical reality, of its metamorphosis–but more than that,they are chronicles of the spirit, of what Chinese people call *jingshen*, which can mean anything mental, intellectual, spiritual–and in Jia’s case, it’s the emotional undertow, the things that are not said, that are glossed over and ignored by ideological or mainstream rhetorics that finally, as it were, get their say.

It is this kind of pathos that you don’t normally see among the audiovisual artifacts being produced today: and that’s what makes the contrast with the Tibetan propaganda film so striking. Jia was once an unofficial or underground filmmaker–and he no longer is, and he is, as well as know, no longer a skint and scrappy indie guy. He makes money. He’s got connections. But there’s still something very real, and very heartfelt at the core, and in a world of cinematic
phoniness, there’s something to be said for that stick to your guns type mentality.

To bring it back to Tibet: it is a strange juxtaposition, watching these two films together–we’re so used to seeing just previews before the movie that to see this stylish bit of agitprop is a bit startling: it hearkens back to newsreels of old, a time when the news was delivered on big screens, or when the political just had to intrude everywhere
because the world was in the throes of war or what have you. I feel obliged to mention that when we went, on Tuesday afternoon, even with the half off discount the theater was nearly empty.I highly doubt that Jia is going to make much money off this film, at least on the domestic market. Likewise, watching propaganda in the afternoon with a handful of other people didn’t quite jibe with I am sure that they play the Tibet film before the other, popular movies, so that before you settle down to watching “Transporter 3″ you get a good dose of “historical” education about the Tibet issue. Just in case things get hairy and out of control in Tibetan areas this March, or throughout the rest of this sensitive year.

China changes, or China never changes. Same ideological posture, except now in IMAX. However, Jia’s world, everything changes–and the only thing that lasts, the only thing that binds us are memories.Children are lost to their parents. Migrations, emotional rows, generation gaps all tear families asunder. The ligature of memory is strained as people get older–it seems strong when they are recalling it in front of us–but of course, we know that simply recalling something and saying it verbally doesn’t really do justice to the “strength” or “saturation” of that memory among the many memories that are stored in your brain or the salient memories constitutive of the sense of self and identity. Therefore, you get the uneasy sense that you are watching something that was unearthed quite by accident, and could very well have been lost. Maybe these “little people”, these “laobaixing” don’t mean much in the large scale of things: you read media articles with Chinese government planners, bureaucrats and energy scientists that are talking about the year 2100 like it’s tomorrow. Just about all of us who are alive now will be dead by that time, and our secrets and wounds, the maybes and could have beens–both individual and collective–will be just as gone. I’ve always been afraid that the official Chinese meta-narrative would swamp and subsume everything else–which is why it’s that much more incumbent on artists, in whatever medium, to keep recording the micro-sadnesses, vicissitudes, twists and turns, warp and woof of the individual life and consciousness. Lest it be completely be forgotten by History.

Everyone knows that Godard is a bit of an acquired taste, and that no matter how much some cinephile effuses about the man’s genius, there are plenty of people that are going to find his movies unwatchable. This film, however, is a bit of an exception. It’s a rollicking tale with quirky narration (done by godard himself) and digressions. ALso worth mentioning is that slightly off kilter and shaky, grainy and contrasty black and white cinematography of Paris streets that has become, thanks to Godard more so than other filmmakers, an essential addition to our cinematic imagination and vocabulary.

The plot follows the familiar two men and a woman triangle, as they live their lives in Paris: they are layabouts, dandies, not bad but perhaps bored by something in their lives. Anna Karina’s character, Odile, tells them about a stash of money that her aunt’s employer has, a huge wad of cash, and they hatch a half-baked plan to get the loot and then leave Paris for some place better.

But this film is not about the story or the plot, but about the very texture of films themselves; the ways they make you feel, the idiosyncracies of each section. There are so many classic conversations and pieces in the movie, it’s hard to talk about them all: from the opening sequence, the almost still but machine gun fast montage of their three faces, to the classic game of suggestive looks and innuendos when they are in English class together: this movie is a several course dinner, and while you appreciate the whole, you get there by separately savoring its parts.
Of course, there are things binding the whole thing together: the beauty and grace of each one of the actors. Their sense of cool, of what to say, when to say it: the games they play, the way they offer and then light cigarettes: you can’t tell if these are the imaginations of a movie man or have some root in Parisian youth culture of the day–but no matter. That is perhaps what makes for its magic: this creation of a familiar yet alternative universe, right in front of us.

Of course, I am not the first and will certainly not be the last to rave about that classic cafe dance scene. The dance they are doing is called the Madison, and you can see the scene here. Its heyday was, i believe, in the late 1950s.

If I could make movies, I would really love to do a “remake” of this movie in Shanghai, or else do some kind of sequel, but of course, that’s thinking like a HOllywood producer, and movies like this, and filmmakers like godard, survive insofar as they find a breathing space outside that system. And thank god that they have managed to do so for as long as they have.

Everyone knows that Godard is a bit of an acquired taste, and that no matter how much some cinephile effuses about the man’s genius, there are plenty of people that are going to find his movies unwatchable. This film, however, is a bit of an exception. It’s a rollicking tale with quirky narration (done by godard himself) and digressions. ALso worth mentioning is that slightly off kilter and shaky, grainy and contrasty black and white cinematography of Paris streets that has become, thanks to Godard more so than other filmmakers, an essential addition to our cinematic imagination and vocabulary.

The plot follows the familiar two men and a woman triangle, as they live their lives in Paris: they are layabouts, dandies, not bad but perhaps bored by something in their lives. Anna Karina’s character, Odile, tells them about a stash of money that her aunt’s employer has, a huge wad of cash, and they hatch a half-baked plan to get the loot and then leave Paris for some place better.

But this film is not about the story or the plot, but about the very texture of films themselves; the ways they make you feel, the idiosyncracies of each section. There are so many classic conversations and pieces in the movie, it’s hard to talk about them all: from the opening sequence, the almost still but machine gun fast montage of their three faces, to the classic game of suggestive looks and innuendos when they are in English class together: this movie is a several course dinner, and while you appreciate the whole, you get there by separately savoring its parts.
Of course, there are things binding the whole thing together: the beauty and grace of each one of the actors. Their sense of cool, of what to say, when to say it: the games they play, the way they offer and then light cigarettes: you can’t tell if these are the imaginations of a movie man or have some root in Parisian youth culture of the day–but no matter. That is perhaps what makes for its magic: this creation of a familiar yet alternative universe, right in front of us.

Of course, I am not the first and will certainly not be the last to rave about that classic cafe dance scene. The dance they are doing is called the Madison, and you can see the scene here. Its heyday was, i believe, in the late 1950s.

If I could make movies, I would really love to do a “remake” of this movie in Shanghai, or else do some kind of sequel, but of course, that’s thinking like a HOllywood producer, and movies like this, and filmmakers like godard, survive insofar as they find a breathing space outside that system. And thank god that they have managed to do so for as long as they have.

[spoiler alert] Kate Winslet, as well all know, has had a big year with Revolutionary Road and The Reader. Both are decent films that I really would like to cheer for, though they never seem to reach beyond the B+ range; they both just fall short of being excellent. The Reader role, was, to be sure, challenging. There wasn’t nearly enough about the “banality of evil” after you discover that Hannah (played by Winslet) was a former Nazi concentration camp guard who knowingly sent thousands of Jews to their deaths. Perhaps we don’t need to rehash these arguments or reinvestigate this psychology because of most of what is worthwhile of saying about this subject perhaps already has, in far more eloquent terms than can be managed by a mainstream movie.

As usual, Ralph Fiennes is a bit insufferable, but what can you expect, for the most part, he’s got a monopoly on these stiff upper-lip, handsome man of many secrets and mysterious past type roles. The bits with his daughter are not that moving, but then again, you know where most of the drama lies–in the parts about his youth and romance with Hanna–the rest is stocking stuffer.

The bits with the law students talking about the Nazi trials is also a bit stiff and didactic, again, maybe perhaps the subject has already been talked about ad infinitum.

Winslet’s performance is quite good, and does remind me, in a ways, of her role in Revolutionary Road–in both she’s been a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. It’s not surprising that Hannah commits suicide at the The Reader–was she like that character in Shawshank REdemption, that couldn’t adapt and cope with the outside world? NOt really, she never even made it out. No doubt she was afraid, but perhaps she also felt like she did not deserve to be out, to regain her freedom–as long as she was in prison, she was still, in effect, doing penance for her sins.

These characters should have no problem winning our basic sympathy, but there isn’t really much to them beyond that–I prefer characters of the mysterious, unpredictable, and beguiling type–and none of them were that.

[spoiler alert] Kate Winslet, as well all know, has had a big year with Revolutionary Road and The Reader. Both are decent films that I really would like to cheer for, though they never seem to reach beyond the B+ range; they both just fall short of being excellent. The Reader role, was, to be sure, challenging. There wasn’t nearly enough about the “banality of evil” after you discover that Hannah (played by Winslet) was a former Nazi concentration camp guard who knowingly sent thousands of Jews to their deaths. Perhaps we don’t need to rehash these arguments or reinvestigate this psychology because of most of what is worthwhile of saying about this subject perhaps already has, in far more eloquent terms than can be managed by a mainstream movie.

As usual, Ralph Fiennes is a bit insufferable, but what can you expect, for the most part, he’s got a monopoly on these stiff upper-lip, handsome man of many secrets and mysterious past type roles. The bits with his daughter are not that moving, but then again, you know where most of the drama lies–in the parts about his youth and romance with Hanna–the rest is stocking stuffer.

The bits with the law students talking about the Nazi trials is also a bit stiff and didactic, again, maybe perhaps the subject has already been talked about ad infinitum.

Winslet’s performance is quite good, and does remind me, in a ways, of her role in Revolutionary Road–in both she’s been a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. It’s not surprising that Hannah commits suicide at the The Reader–was she like that character in Shawshank REdemption, that couldn’t adapt and cope with the outside world? NOt really, she never even made it out. No doubt she was afraid, but perhaps she also felt like she did not deserve to be out, to regain her freedom–as long as she was in prison, she was still, in effect, doing penance for her sins.

These characters should have no problem winning our basic sympathy, but there isn’t really much to them beyond that–I prefer characters of the mysterious, unpredictable, and beguiling type–and none of them were that.

I hadn’t really heard of this film prior to dling it, and i didnt have any high expectations from it. It’s based on a fantasy novel about a future man that travels back in time to Earth circa the 8th century CE, in Norway during the time of the Vikings. So there’s many typical elements of time travel stories in it; the guy from the future somehow has to win the trust of the simple folk of an earlier age, has to fret about whether or not to go back, has to decide whether or not his emotional baggage is worth keeping or must be chucked in order to save the universe or get laid with the woman we all know he is going to get the very first moment we see them on the screen together.

It wasn’t terrible though, there wasn’t anything too cheesy. Although John Hurt is in the movie, there aren’t that many super famous people in the film, which to me is always a good thing b/c it means we don’t see the entire repertoire of media images of the actor when we see them in the role. You don’t know these actors, so, seeing them for the first time, you can almost believe that what you are seeing is something “real.”

The morwin, the creature that wreaks havoc on the Vikings, is quite creepy: it’s very Alien-esque, not as scary, but it does manage to pluck people up and away in the darkness in that same ninja way. The books form a series, so naturally one expects that if this movie is successful that there might be another in the future.

Usually these medieval costume type films make you want to retch, so cliche they are: but again, I found this film to be entertaining and fairly inoffensive. Worth a watch on a lazy Sunday, if nothing else.

I hadn’t really heard of this film prior to dling it, and i didnt have any high expectations from it. It’s based on a fantasy novel about a future man that travels back in time to Earth circa the 8th century CE, in Norway during the time of the Vikings. So there’s many typical elements of time travel stories in it; the guy from the future somehow has to win the trust of the simple folk of an earlier age, has to fret about whether or not to go back, has to decide whether or not his emotional baggage is worth keeping or must be chucked in order to save the universe or get laid with the woman we all know he is going to get the very first moment we see them on the screen together.

It wasn’t terrible though, there wasn’t anything too cheesy. Although John Hurt is in the movie, there aren’t that many super famous people in the film, which to me is always a good thing b/c it means we don’t see the entire repertoire of media images of the actor when we see them in the role. You don’t know these actors, so, seeing them for the first time, you can almost believe that what you are seeing is something “real.”

The morwin, the creature that wreaks havoc on the Vikings, is quite creepy: it’s very Alien-esque, not as scary, but it does manage to pluck people up and away in the darkness in that same ninja way. The books form a series, so naturally one expects that if this movie is successful that there might be another in the future.

Usually these medieval costume type films make you want to retch, so cliche they are: but again, I found this film to be entertaining and fairly inoffensive. Worth a watch on a lazy Sunday, if nothing else.

Well, after taking a look at the blurb on the DVd cover and feeling in the mood for some black and white Nouvelle Vague classics, i decided to get this one…and was quite disappointed. The themes treated in the movie, including the worldwide conspiracy against disaffected lefty artists in Paris, made me roll my eyes more than once. But that’s part of what makes it charming, in another sense–the refusal to do conspiracy in the conventional manner. I have to say that one of the highlights of film, like with any others of this period, is the visual delight of taking in 1960s Paris in black and white. Everything about it tickles my fancy, and in a way that i would be at a loss to explain, at least in rational terms.

The other highlight of the film would have to be Jean-Luc Godard’s cameo in the movie, which is quite funny…he’s so iconic that i didn’t have a hard time knowing when it was him, but it seems, even in that very brief scene, that the man has some comic chops and that, had he applied himself in that direction, might not have been an entirely shabby actor.

Reverse Shot has an article about this film, which i think places it in context, both with respect to Rivette’s ongoing ouevre as well as his place among the pantheon of nouvelle vague greats:

To end at the beginning, then, comparing Paris Belongs to Us to New Wave debuts might seem unfair, but it ultimately vindicates its director. Those other films (and that’s not including Cleo from 5 to 7 and Le Beau serge) immediately displayed their creator’s talent in what turned out to be—to borrow a phrase—instant classics, whereas Paris displayed Rivette’s arguably richer potential (and definitely his greater difficulty) at the expense of solidified “quality.” That’s the way it is sometimes. Artists develop in their own way, at their own rhythm and by their own logic. Fortunately, though, if Pericles is to Paris Belongs to Us as Gerard is to Rivette, then at least Rivette went on to master his craft—at least we can see and evaluate this fascinating disappointment with its future payoffs excitedly in mind.—MICHAEL JOSHUA ROWIN”

Well, after taking a look at the blurb on the DVd cover and feeling in the mood for some black and white Nouvelle Vague classics, i decided to get this one…and was quite disappointed. The themes treated in the movie, including the worldwide conspiracy against disaffected lefty artists in Paris, made me roll my eyes more than once. But that’s part of what makes it charming, in another sense–the refusal to do conspiracy in the conventional manner. I have to say that one of the highlights of film, like with any others of this period, is the visual delight of taking in 1960s Paris in black and white. Everything about it tickles my fancy, and in a way that i would be at a loss to explain, at least in rational terms.

The other highlight of the film would have to be Jean-Luc Godard’s cameo in the movie, which is quite funny…he’s so iconic that i didn’t have a hard time knowing when it was him, but it seems, even in that very brief scene, that the man has some comic chops and that, had he applied himself in that direction, might not have been an entirely shabby actor.

Reverse Shot has an article about this film, which i think places it in context, both with respect to Rivette’s ongoing ouevre as well as his place among the pantheon of nouvelle vague greats:

To end at the beginning, then, comparing Paris Belongs to Us to New Wave debuts might seem unfair, but it ultimately vindicates its director. Those other films (and that’s not including Cleo from 5 to 7 and Le Beau serge) immediately displayed their creator’s talent in what turned out to be—to borrow a phrase—instant classics, whereas Paris displayed Rivette’s arguably richer potential (and definitely his greater difficulty) at the expense of solidified “quality.” That’s the way it is sometimes. Artists develop in their own way, at their own rhythm and by their own logic. Fortunately, though, if Pericles is to Paris Belongs to Us as Gerard is to Rivette, then at least Rivette went on to master his craft—at least we can see and evaluate this fascinating disappointment with its future payoffs excitedly in mind.—MICHAEL JOSHUA ROWIN”