On release Godard was about to turn 65 and this film amongst other works of the time found him ruminating on the 'closing of the book' and his legacy in French film. 20 years plus later Godard of course went on to more creative glory adding to his oeuvre with such masterful works as 'Goodbye to Language' and 'Film Socialisme'. Godard's place in film history is assured and this film stands as an interesting footnote.
I thought I would find this too self-indulgent from JLG's part but I actually didn't hate it. I'm also not trying to understand it, I didn't understand it and I guess I wouldn't. I just saw him, as he is, no frills, having a conversation with himself. I found it calming to watch.
Ce qui frappe toujours et encore, c'est cette indépendance, cette irrépressible indépendance d'écriture visuelle, sonore, graphique. JLG se livre en citant ses livres, s'expose en se filmant... Qui d'autres peut proposer des plans fixes de paysages, des travellings sur une bibliothèque, des plans cul-panda sur une soubrette en mini-short qui déclame, des écrans et tableaux, des pages écrites ou schématiques, etc. ?
There is something utterly narcissistic about self-portraits, intimate conversations with oneself in front of ornate mirrors, often cryptic and inarticulate to the bystander. JLG talks to himself in this epitaph of cool imaginery, reflections, whispers and mumbles, letting death approach one step closer, letting her know that he is waiting, true to himself, capricious, light, vague to the last of his days.
It must be lonely being an intellectual and of course he has a young maid.
I admire his thought process(fluid and unbounded) but sometimes its just too much like the comparison between stereo,geometry and Israel... wtf?